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“What kind of a nurse are you? I’m about to have a myocardial infarction!”
I cackle, pinching his cheek like he’s my son.
“How was it?” he asks.
I simply give him a long sigh, eyes rolling as if painting the Franklin Canyon sky over me.
“So, you revealed everything on your first date?”
“A lot. But not everything.” I look at my watch. “Hey, I really have to go, but I’ll tell you all about it later.”
I change into my uniform in a flash. As I lay my teal dress on the bed, my body weakens, reminiscing all the things Clayton did to me on, in, beneath, and without it. God, save me. That man is really taking over me.
I close my bedroom door, then rush back downstairs. “I’m ready!”
Clayton stops to look at me.
“I’m no Cinderella, you know.”
“I never wanted Cinderella,” he conveys, opening the car door for me.
He turns on the engine, but he anchors his attention on me. It strikes me that perhaps one of his fantasies is me playing nurse with him—wearing a mini white skirt and barely-there top, my breasts spilling out of the cups.
Sexy—but not as spicy as mine.
“So, does Thomas live with you?”
“He’s my best friend, but if he lived with me, we would be sworn enemies. He sometimes babysits Raffi, that’s all.”
“He looks like a Care Bear.” Clayton watches me laughing. No one has ever called Thomas that. “Don’t you think?”
“I thought he looked like Shawn Mendes, but Care Bear is a better description of him.”
“He works for Fletcher, doesn’t he?”
I bite my lower lip, wondering what he’s hinting at. “Yes. Have you got a problem with that?”
“No.”
“He’s not like Don, okay? I’ve known him since he was sixteen. And he’s close to Raffi.”
“I don’t have a problem with your friend, Isabelle.”
As we arrive at the hospital, he looks at me, straight faced. “Look, I know Fletcher is going to come after us.”
I wish he hadn’t brought it up, but I guess sooner or later, reality will catch up with us. “Are you still worried about Thomas?”
“No. I trust you. I trust him. I’m just stating a fact,” he emphasizes. “When that time comes, let me protect you. Let him come to me. Do you understand?”
“Clayton…”
“Do you understand?”
I take his hand without confirming anything, but ‘I’ve got to go.’
18
ISABELLE
