“Breakfast,” he stated, making a show of setting down the tray on Rose’s bedside table at arm’s length, so as to keep her out of his reach. �...When you are finished, meet me in the hallway. I have something to show you.” He left without waiting for assent.Rose opened the tray to find a thick slab of toast topped off by a fluffy poached egg sprinkled with some kind of red spice. Picking up the cutlery beside it, she ate sitting on the side of the bed, savouring the rich yolk that bled from the egg. I didn’t know her name, but there was just something about that girl. She had been noticeably checking me out all during our conversation—checking me out in a way I was all too familiar with.As a thirty-one year old African-American bisexual woman with a sleek body and, so I’ve been told, a beautiful face with bright eyes and a great smile, I was accustomed to getting hit on, even when I was on duty. I knew it didn’t hurt that my 38 D cups strained against the top of my uniform shirt, screaming. More

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