Page 16 of Surviving in Clua


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He’s on my sectional, reading my… e-reader. Could be worse. I glance at the restaurant plans piled by my laptop then back to the giant man with his eyebrows way up in his hairline. “Anybody ever tell you it’s bad manners to snoop in a lady’s e-reader?”

He at least has the decency to drop it back onto the couch and shoot to his feet. Guilty. Embarrassed. I think. It’s not like he blushes. Or looks away. Or lets me look away. “You read that?”

My lips twitch. I’m not sure if he’s judging me or if he’s just plain traumatized by the Super Soldier sexing I may or may not have been saving for bedtime. Imogen Keeper’s finest. “Don’t tell me I’ve scandalized you, big guy?”

His mouth curves into a smirk before he scratches his beard and shakes his head. “We should get going.”

I click my tongue off my teeth and jerk my chin in the direction of the abandoned eBook on my sofa. “You wanna bookmark the page? Highlight your best bits? Imogen Keeper isgoooood. I can wait.”

His rough chuckle pulls the smugness right out of my smile. So does the slow once over he gives me before moving past me to the door. “Naked super soldiers aren’t really my thing.”

My cheeks warm, right along with my chest and my arms and pretty much the whole of me. How does he do that? The man barely talks, but when he does… I shake my head and all those thoughts loose. He’s not interested. Not like that. The fluttering in my tummy doesn’t care though. Not one little bit.

Well, the rest of me does. This is not how this is going down. I have morals and pride—I do not want to rip that faded gray T-shirt off his big-ass body and lick an ab.

Whatever mind-boggling, base, cavewoman he seems to bring out in me is well and truly extinct by the time we make it through the electric doors to the hospital.

I hate hospitals. Nothing good happens in hospitals. My feet stop moving before we make it to the reception. Except babies. Babies happen in hospitals. I lick my lips and blow out a long breath before forcing myself to move to Mylo’s side at the desk.

The young receptionist is taken—eyelashes-fluttering-cheeks-pinkening taken—by the mountain that is Mylo. So taken she doesn’t even look my way. I swivel my eyes between a bemused Mylo and the girl’s cutely wrinkled nose.

“How can I help you?” Her lips press together as she daintily tucks a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, but she still doesn’t manage to drag her doe eyes to me.

I may scowl. I definitely scowl. Then clear my throat. “Hey. Hello. I’m the best friend. I get to be here. Laia Cavina. It’s on the baby-planning-drug-selection paper. Kenzi. Check. I’m the back-up in case of emergency. And he’s my… well, he’s my… he’s with me.”

Disappointment clear in her slight pout, she finally looks my way. “I’ll check that right out for you.”

A couple of minutes of keyboard tapping and her resolutely not staring at him or me later and I’m side by side with Mylo in the mirrored elevator. The doors slide closed. I breathe in. Stare at the stylized CG engraved into the polished steel of the door. Attempt to swallow down the unreasonable panic threatening to suffocate me. Did I mention I hate hospitals? I press my hand to my chest. The last time I was here we thought we were gonna lose Felix. The time before that we did lose Gran. And don’t even get me started on when we lost my best friend, Rosa. I hate everything about hospitals. The smell. The noise. The everything.

I side-eye Mylo. Statue still and staring straight forward the only movement of his big body, his fingers. Thumb tapping each one.

I drag my gaze back up and I’m instantly caught in his unreadable gray stare.

The last time I was here with him we ended up half-naked in an empty hospital room and it ended our almost friendship.

“Everything okay?” His eyebrow quirks. He’s so thinking about it too.

I nod and fix my gaze back on the mirrored doors in front of us. Him calming me down is exactly what imploded us the first time around. A flash of his hands cupping my face in the darkness of the empty hospital room tightens my chest with the same acute anticipation it did that night. My heart thumps and my lips part. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

Mylo moves to step from the elevator obliviously.

I falter. I’m being stupid. I fill my lungs with sterile air and force myself to follow him out into the shiny new maternity ward before the doors slide shut again.

“Still don’t like hospitals, huh?” His rough voice doesn’t hold any mocking or humor. Of course, it doesn’t. It’s Mylo. Hero with a man-bun, Mylo.

I shake my head but avoid meeting his concerned stare as we push through the doors to the waiting room. It was way easier to convince myself I don’t like him when he’s growling at me like a rottweiler chewing a wasp. “It’s stupid. If you of all people can come into a hospital and be fine about it, I sure should be able to—”

“Me of all people?” His eyes narrow and his whole body seems to tense.

My words disintegrate on my tongue at the pinch to his features.

“Your shoulder.” My gaze flicks to the black and gray tattoo stretching out from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt and the scarred skin it covers.

He snorts, but his smile’s forced and the tightness around his eyes stays put. “Yeah. The operations weren’t fun.” He rolls his massive shoulder. “Rehab even less so.”

I curl my fingers against the urge to touch the detailed pocket watches and roses of his tattoo. “Yet I’m the one with the phobia of hospitals.”

“Maybe I just hide mine better. But...” As natural as if he does it every day—as if shit isn’t uncomfortably complicated between us, he clasps my bicep and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve got a feeling you’re about to get over yours.” He raises his chin to something behind me, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

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