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With his hand in mine, I take advantage of his sleepy state to examine him, getting a proper look at the man who has taken the place of the boy I used to know. His skin is still a perfect shade of golden brown and he’s now got seven freckles. His jawline is sharper, more defined than it used to be, and is coated by a dusting of stubble that gives his pretty boy look a sexy edge. He has a scar running through his right eyebrow, which I know is the result of a wayward boot to the head in the last World Cup game against Brazil, where he scored the one and only goal of the match (a game I watched with stars in my eyes), and his lips are still perfectly plump and kissable.
Wait—where did that come from?
“Are you ready, Matthew?” Dr McNally’s voice jolts me from my overly long, overly inappropriate appraisal of my patient and I jerk my gaze away.
Focus on the medicine, Natalie.
Matthew nods drowsily and looks at me. He’s nervous, so I gently squeeze his hand and try to reassure him.
“It’ll be fine.” I don’t know if this is true, but it sounds right. “You’ll be fine.”
He nods and grits his teeth and we all watch as the surgeon masterfully pops Matthew’s shoulder back in place without so much as a yelp from the patient.
“All done.” The crowd applauds, much to Dr McNally’s dismay, before once again scattering back to their tasks at hand, treating patients other than the star athlete in bed number five.
“That didn’t hurt at all.” Matthew’s voice is slurred, and he looks a little loopy. The effects of the morphine are well and truly activated. “Thanks, Doc!”
Dr McNally makes a note in his chart and pats Matthew on the leg. “Keep your arm in a sling for the next 24 hours and then follow up with the team doctor and physio.”
He lets go of my hand to give the good doctor a limp wave before becoming fascinated with his fingers.
“Look at how they move all independent of each other.” He shows me his fingers like he’s never seen them before and I giggle before I can stop myself. This version of Matthew is adorable.
“Yes, they’re fingers,” I agree with him, noting his manager frowning in our direction. “And you’re high as a kite.”
He grins a sloppy grin at me. “Am not.” He pauses. “Am I?”
“It’ll wear off,” I reassure him.
He flops back on his bed and looks around, confused.
“You’re in hospital,” I tell him.
“New Girl!” He’s back to being delighted. “You’re here!”
Oh boy, dopey Matthew is irresistible. OK, all versions of Matthew are irresistible.
“I’m here, but I have to get back to work.”
He pouts his pink lips, and I bite mine to suppress a laugh.
“Stay. Don’t run away from me again.”
I freeze at the angst in his voice.
“You’re so pretty,” he sing-songs at me. “With your big blue eyes and your pretty pink lips. I bet you don’t even know how pretty you are.”
Jordan and I exchange a mortified look. “Matt,” his manager says. “I think maybe you should take a nap. Sleep it off.”
Matthew obediently lies back and closes his eyes. “Always the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
I flee the minute these words have left his mouth, sure that they aren’t about me and are definitely not meant for me to hear.
“Psst, Nat!” Amy calls me over to where she’s been watching this all unfold. “You have some explaining to do.”
I shush her, willing my heart to calm down, and march away from bed number five, away from the bucketload of people pretending to work but really just spying on Matthew, away from all of it.
“I need a minute,” I hiss at her. “I need to not be here when he wakes up.”
