Read an #excerpt from Hidden Under Her Heart (Chance For Love) by @AyalaRachelle
Hidden Under Her Heart
A Story of
Abortion & Courage
by
Rachelle Ayala
Follow @AyalaRachelle
www.rachelleayala.com
Cover links
to Amazon
“What are you doing?” The patient blinked, his once cocky grin tightening into a grimace.
“Making sure there are no air bubbles. Wouldn’t want one in your vein, would you?”
He jerked his arm back. “Wait, what happens if I get an air bubble?”
“You’d get an embolism, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, pass out and die. Nothing to worry about.” Let’s see Mr. Big Flirt lob that one back. “Hold still.”
Snickers came from the other nurses beyond the privacy curtain.
The man leaned forward, and the right side of his cheek dimpled. He flexed his bicep. “Bet I can break that tiny needle of yours.”
“And get it embedded in those precious muscles? I don’t think so. Chance of infection, septic shock—” She shook her head slowly. “Possible amputation.”
He closed his heartbreaker eyes and turned toward the curtain. “You win, little nurse.”
Arrogant wuss. She might be a petite allergy nurse, but she held the advantage and the needle. It pierced his skin right below his shapely deltoid. He winced, and the dark freckles on his face danced over warm brown skin. A straight nose with a slight flair over full fleshy lips and a chiseled jaw blended into short cropped frizzy hair.
She rubbed his arm with alcohol—his body heat and a hint of cologne inviting her to linger. Probably a player. Bet he flirts with all the nurses. She picked up the second vial, cat and dog antigen.
“How many am I getting?” the man asked.
“Four. And since you’re new, it’ll be every week for six weeks until you’re at maintenance dose.”
He trained clear emerald eyes on her. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”
Maryanne steadied her breathing and stuck the second needle deeper. “Luck of the draw. You might get Vera or Priya.”
“Ow! I have a swim meet coming up. Is my arm gonna be sore?”
She dabbed the tiny spots of blood with a tissue. “No, but you might experience massive swelling, itching, and an anaphylactic reaction.”
“Ana what?” He sucked in his breath.
Maryanne kept a straight face and gestured for his other arm. “Two more.”
She administered the dust mite shot. “Don’t worry. We observe you for forty-five minutes before letting you leave.”
“I hate needles. Did you have to poke so hard?”
Maryanne waved the last syringe, teasing. “I like poking you.”
He caught her wrist. His long fingers stroked the back of her hand while his thumb slowly circled her palm. “Not fair when I can’t poke back.”
Author Bio
Rachelle is an active member of online critique group, Critique Circle, and a volunteer for the World Literary Cafe. She is a very happy woman and lives in California with her husband. She has three children and has taught violin and made mountain dulcimers.
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