Page 64 of The Fake Out

“This is not what I imagined when you said ‘getting dressed up.’”

Chris laughed, low and a little evil. “I think you look hot.”

“That’s because I am hot.” I attempted to pat at the sweat on my forehead with a giant paw. It did not help. “It’s got to be a million degrees in this thing.”

Not even in my very active imagination would I have put myself at the children’s hospital in Houston wearing a rabbit suit on a Thursday evening. Not some sexy little playgirl number with bunny ears and a little tail either. This was a head-to-toe costume from the tip of the very long, sticky-uppy ears to the oversized bunny feet. In between all that was a round, fluffy body covered in a polka-dotted pink dress. My grandmother would be so proud.

Chris adjusted my bunny nose with its mile-long whiskers before taking a step back and giving me the once-over. “I think you are the very embodiment of Harriet the Heart Hare.”

Harriet the Heart Hare was the mascot for the Children’s Heart Fund and, as such, she showed up at all their events. While a woman named Molly usually did all the gigs in the Houston area, she was sick. So, I’d volunteered.

Was volunteered? Something like that.

“I think I’m ready.” I took a step forward and almost fell flat on my face.

“Whoa.” Chris steadied me and hooked his arm through one of mine. “We don’t want Harriet to look like she’s been knocking back margaritas all day. You hold onto me and we’ll make the rounds.”

“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled and picked up one oversized foot and winced as it slapped down on the linoleum hospital floor.

With a chuckle, Chris guided me down the brightly painted hallway toward a larger room the staff called the game room. Chris explained this wing was for kids with heart issues. Many were returning guests and often stayed for weeks at a time.

“Chris,” said a woman in jeans, an Elmo t-shirt, red high-top Converse and an ID badge swinging from her neck. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Dr. C.” He held up his hand. “Nice shoes.”

Grinning, she gave him a high-five as we passed.

“She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. One time, with the family’s permission, I got to watch her put a heart stent in. It was amazing.”

“You mean you hadn’t already done that to earn your Surgery badge?”

“Funny. Can we pick up the pace a little here? I’d like to see the kids before they graduate from high school.”

“Well, excuse me. It feels like I’m walking around inside a seven-hundred-pound sauna.” I batted away one of the rabbit ears dangling in my face. “I don’t get to strut around wearing a football jersey and shorts.”

And looking very good in them, of course. The jerk.

We passed a couple of nurses who called out greetings, a mother coming out of one of the rooms who Chris paused next to and gave a side hug, and a woman pushing a cart full of cleaning supplies who he stopped to ask about her son in college.

“So, do you come here often?” I asked.

“Now who has cheesy pickup lines?”

I scowled, which only made my bunny nose twitch and Chris laugh.

“At least twice a year. Usually around Easter. Then around the holidays when I can get away, I lay on the guilt and get a bunch of the guys from the team to visit. We have a big party. All the kids are invited, even the ones who aren’t currently patients. There’s a ton of food and games and a visit from Santa. Oh, and karaoke, which I am awesome at.”

“I can imagine,” I said in a dry voice. “Is this the only one you visit?”

“I try to get to others when we’re at away games if I can sneak off for a couple of hours. I visit the one in Oklahoma City more because my sister has spent a lot of time there.”

“Ninety-five,” a voice yelled as we passed a patient room with the door propped open. It was the number on the back of Chris’s jersey.

With a grin, he stopped and backtracked taking me with him. “Yo, Carmichael.”

I hovered by the door while Chris walked over to the hospital bed where a young kid was laying, a toothy smile stretched across his thin face. They did a complicated handshake and Chris sat on the edge of the bed while the boy began to chatter excitedly. My heart did a funny sort of flip that was hard to ignore. I tried to, of course.

“You aren’t Molly,” a woman said beside me.