“Do you want them to kick him out?”
I scramble to my feet, gesturing frantically for Max to follow me. The dog looks between us, clearly reluctant to leave Lila's side.
“Go,” Lila mouths, gesturing toward the bathroom with her good hand.
I pat my thigh, trying to get Max's attention. “Come on, boy,” I whisper urgently.
Max gives Lila one last mournful look before reluctantly following me into the small hospital bathroom. I close the door just as the nurse enters the room, leaving it open just a crack so I can hear what's happening.
“Time’s up,” the nurse announces firmly. “Ms. Brooks needs her rest, and you need to take that dog out of the hospital.”
“What dog?” Lila asks, all innocence. I can practically picture the look she’s putting on.
I press a finger to my lips, silently urging Max to stay quiet. He looks up at me, tail giving a small, uncertain wag, like he understands how serious this is. For a dog who’s been throughso much in the past twenty-four hours, he’s holding it together impressively.
“The golden retriever,” the nurse replies, unimpressed. “Don’t play games with me. I saw it when you came in.”
“Oh, that dog,” Lila replies, her words slurred from the medication. “My boyfriend must’ve taken him outside already. Such a good boyfriend. Did you see how fast he drove me here? Like a NASCAR driver but with better hair.”
I nearly choke trying to hold back a laugh, pressing a hand over my mouth to stay quiet while Max looks up at me with what I swear is judgment.
Boyfriend. I shouldn’t like it this much. But hearing Lila call me that sends the same warm rush through me that I felt back at the sporting goods store when she wrapped an arm around my waist and casually referred to me as her husband.
Fake. Both times completely fake and yet my brain apparently doesn’t care about technicalities.
“The hot nerdy guy with the dog? Like Clark Kent if he studied weather patterns instead of being a reporter. Speaking of patterns, did you know the barometric pressure dropped twelve millibars right before I got hit by that metal sheet?”
I rest my forehead against the cool bathroom door, mortified and, somehow, a little flattered. Nerdy, hot? Clark Kent? No one’s ever compared me to a superhero before—even one in disguise.
“Ms. Brooks, I think you should rest now,” the nurse adds, her tone softening. “The medication is clearly affecting you.”
“That's what he said too! See, you two agree on something. You should have let him stay longer.”
Max nudges my leg with his nose, looking up at me with an expression that seems to say, “Aren't you going to do something?” I shake my head , signaling him to stay put. The last thing we need is to be permanently banned from the hospital.
“He can come back during regular visiting hours tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep.”
I hear shuffling, the sound of the IV stand being adjusted, vital signs being checked. Through the crack in the door, I can see the nurse adjusting Lila's blankets, her back to me as she checks the monitors.
“There. Now get some rest. The doctor will be in to check on you in the morning.”
I hear Lila sigh dramatically as the nurse’s footsteps fade down the hall. After a moment of quiet, she calls out, softer now, “Coast is clear, Clark Kent.”
I push the bathroom door open, heat creeping up my cheeks. Max trots out ahead of me, heading straight back to her bedside like he was never gone.
“Clark Kent?” I ask, lifting a brow.
Lila grins up at me, her focus a little off from the medication. “It was the first thing that came to mind. Besides, you did save me today.”
“I’m hardly Superman,” I mutter, deeply uneasy with the comparison.
“You were today,” she replies simply, her usual sarcasm softened around the edges. Then her eyes drift deliberately down my body before sliding back up again. “Though honestly? You seem more like a Marvel guy. And with your butt, you could definitely be Captain America.” Her mouth curves slowly. “You know. America’s ass.”
My brain completely stops functioning.
Lila is openly staring at me. Openly flirting with me. And somehow that catches me off guard every single time. Because part of me keeps expecting this to disappear. The teasing. The attraction simmering underneath every conversation. The way she looks at me sometimes like she’s genuinely tempted by me.
But she’s looking at me like that right now.
