Holy crap. What’s he doing?
Surprise smacks Luc in the face, but he gets to his feet without hesitating. Then he glances at me. “I-If that’s okay with your sister.”
Now all eyes are on me, including the nurse who looks like she’s about to run out of patience.
“I-I…”
Emmett steps closer and crooks his finger, beckoning me to bend down. When I do, he puts his mouth to my ear.
“I don’t want to cry about getting a shot. That’s for babies.” He’s whispering, but it’s so quiet in the waiting room, Luc must hear it. “If Luc comes with us, I won’t let myself cry. Not in front of him.”
I hold Luc’s gaze over Emmett’s shoulder. Yeah, he’s heard. His eyes are as soft as I’ve ever seen them. He gives me the slightest nod.
In for a penny. In for a pound.
I swallow my sigh. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The nurse looks relieved as she holds the door open for all three of us.
I’m sure I look the opposite as she motions me to the scale. “Okay, ma’am. You’re first. Hop on.”
Great.
I want to be all confident, body positive, and devil-may-care about Luc or anyone else knowing how much I weigh. The urge to order Luc to look away is almost more than I can master, but I do, toeing off my boots—hey, they’re heavy—and stepping on.
But as it happens, after the nurse slides the chunky balance in place and taps the little weighted arrow until the beam levels out, she silently notes the number, keeping it private. I start to shiver a little as I step off the scale. I sneak a peek at Luc while I pick up my boots, but he has the good grace to be engrossed in studying Emmett’s Smash Road progress.
I think I love him.
The thought sends me into such a tailspin I don’t even notice what Emmett’s weigh-in is and if it’s normal or not.
Clearly, whatever virus or bacterium that has invaded my body has messed with my prefrontal cortex and likely amped up my amygdala. That’s the obvious explanation because my logical, reasonable thinking is definitely not what it used to be, and my emotions—not to mention my sex drive—are throwing a rave.
Yep, nothing between my ears can be trusted until I crush this illness.
In the exam room, the nurse goes through her routine while I clutch my elbows against the chill. Q&A. Blood pressure. Temperature. Emmett and I both have fever, but mine is a little higher 102.6, compared to his 101.2.
“Dr. Singh will be right with you,” she says before ducking out and leaving the three of us to stare at each other. So far, aside from the scale, none of this has been too awkward. At least it’s a walk-in clinic, so there’s no paper gowns.
I would have drawn the line at paper gowns.
“What?” Luc says, eyeing me funny.
Crap. Did I just say that out loud? Damn you, fever!
He’s leaning against the empty exam table while Emmett and I languish on the chairs, but he straightens up and comes over to me. He bends down, searching my face. I want to grab him by the collar, yank him down, and mush his mouth against mine.
“Your eyes get glassy and you talklocowhen your fever spikes,” he says, his eyelids lowering as he studies me. “Did you take anything when you woke up?”
I don’t even hear his question. He’s too close.
“Back up, Valencia. My amygdala isn’t the boss of me!”
His brows lift, his hand flattening against his slate-like abs as he laughs. “Wh-ha-ha-hat?”
“You heard me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
Luc shakes his head, amused.
