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“Hey yourself.” I give him a small smile, then turn my attention back to the doctor. “Is Miles okay?”
“We’ll need to set up some blood tests to determine exactly how severe the allergy is, and we’ll prescribe an EpiPen in the meantime, but he had a serious allergic reaction. We want to make sure we know the exact cause so he can avoid future contact.”
“We were packing up some boxes in his mother’s house. She has a sphynx cat. I thought they were usually better for people with cat allergies, but maybe we disturbed all the dander in the carpet and that’s what he’s reacting to?”
“It’s possible.” The doctor nods. “But this is a severe reaction, so we’ll do some tests to confirm the allergy.”
Once the doctor is confident the reaction is under control, and Miles’s breathing is back to normal, he leaves to tend to other patients.
The nurse pats Miles on the shoulder. “The antihistamine is a strong one. It’ll probably knock you out.” She looks at me. “You’re welcome to stay and keep your boyfriend company, but you might want to grab a book or a magazine.”
“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m just . . . ” His mother’s cat sitter doesn’t seem like the right thing to say after what we’ve just gone through. “A friend.”
She glances between us and smiles. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two figure things out.”
She pulls the curtain closed behind her. I stand at the end of the bed. He’s so long his feet poke out of the bottom. He’s still wearing his socks, which have little bones on them again.
“You don’t have to stick around. I’ve already taken up more than enough of your time tonight.” He clears his throat and sniffles once.
“I don’t mind staying if you’d like some company.” And I won’t feel very good about myself if I leave him here on his own. “No charge, obviously,” I tack on with a cheeky smile.
His lips turn up in a slow smile. “My eyeballs already feel like there are weights attached to them.” He heavy blinks a couple of times. “I’ll probably pass out on you.”
“That’s okay. Unless you’d like me to go. Maybe I’m exacerbating your allergy?” I’d say I don’t know why I’m so insistent about staying, but I do. I want to make sure he’s okay, and the only way to accomplish that is to hang around until he’s released. I glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing one of my Kitty Whisperer T-shirts, a long cardigan with a cat and ball of yarn pattern, and a pair of jeans. They’re relatively free of cat hair, but that doesn’t mean anything considering.
He’s silent for a few beats before he says, “I’d like it if you stayed.”
chapter eight
I KIND OF LIKE YOU
Miles
I should probably let her go home. There’s something endearing about the nervous way she keeps fidgeting with the buttons on her cardigan, sizing up the chair beside my bed. Or maybe it’s the drugs. Regardless, the whole airways closing deal is unnerving, so I wouldn’t mind some company apart from passing medical staff.
I reach for the plastic cup of water on the bedside table and prop myself up enough so I can take a sip, but I end up dribbling the contents all over my shirt.
“Oh! Let me help.”
She takes the water from my hand as I try to dab at my mouth, which feels . . . odd.
She pulls several tissues from the box on the bedside table and moves my hand away from my face. “You’re a little swollen still; it probably makes things awkward.”
“How swollen?”
She dabs at my mouth with the tissues, and then my chest.
The contact sends a welcome shot of warmth through my arm.
“Um, sort of like you hired the wrong plastic surgeon and they went overboard on the collagen injections.”
I grimace. “That does not sound good at all.”
“The swelling has started to go down, so soon you’ll be back to your handsome self.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
She arches a brow. “The compliment has already been given; no need to fish for more.”
I settle back against the pillow, my eyes already feeling heavy. “Well, I think you’re pretty.” The words are thick in my mouth.
“You’re also on drugs.”
I pry my lids back open. “You were pretty before the drugs.”
She smiles faintly and our gazes meet. Her cheeks flush and her eyes shift away. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” I repeat.
Once she’s finished patting me dry, she brings the straw back to my lips. This time I manage to get a mouthful without it dribbling down my chin. I let my head fall back against the pillow. At this point it feels like it’s made of lead.
“Who’s taking care of your dog? Do you need to call someone?” she asks.
I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I swear I feel her fingers in my hair. Opening my eyes is getting harder.
