Check out this excerpt from Getting Real!

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CONNOR: I offer her a hand up from her knees.
“You okay?”
When Violet’s on her feet, she lets go, brushing dark gravel specks off her knees and shins.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” She lifts her face to mine, her pretty cheeks flushed and pink. “Nothing broken but my dignity.”
Ryan rights the shopping cart while Tim and Garrett pick up the scattered bags and groceries.
I spot a box under the green Lincoln beside us and crouch down, scooping it up and handing it to her.
“Here you go.”
It’s a box of tampons. Forty-eight count, regular and super absorbent—for those heavy days.
“Thanks.” She smiles. “Would’ve sucked to not have these when I needed them.”
“I bet.” I nod.
It’s pretty much impossible for emergency department staff to get embarrassed. About anything. We’re too desensitized to nakedness, blood, bodily fluids, colorful cursing, and the inventive ravings of both the mentally ill and derangedly intoxicated.
We’ve seen it all, heard it all . . . smelled it all.
“You working this week?” I ask casually.
“Yeah, I’m on days starting Tuesday.”
Nurses work in twelve-hour shifts, three days on, then three days off.
“I’m on Tuesday too—days.”
She nods, her big brown eyes sparkling in the sun.
At work, I rarely have the opportunity to really look at anyone. It’s too hectic, too busy. Every minute is too important. But I look at her now.
I soak up the view of her heart-shaped mouth, the soft slope of her cheeks, the delicate arch of her brows over her wide, unguarded eyes, and the long line of thick lashes that fan out over creamy skin every time she blinks.
Christ, she’s pretty.