Page 21 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Never have any fun.” She presses the button to open the door, and Eloise rolls me into the hallway. As we pass a bathroom, she swiftly grabs a bag and tosses it into my lap. I dive into it, finding my phone and a shirt, but no pants—a casualty of the hospital’s efficiency by cutting off my clothing. At least they were just scrubs.

“Ma’am,” a nurse calls out, approaching us swiftly. I jerk my head up, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. Lying has never been my forte. My mom could always tell when I was fibbing. Her knowing gaze was enough to unravel any half-baked tale.

I bite my cheek, trying to look nonchalant.

“Where are you taking that patient? Dr. Walker said she wasn’t getting discharged until tomorrow morning,” the nurse inquires, her brow furrowed with concern.

“The patient, Ava, needs an X-ray. Didn’t he tell you?” Eloise’s tone is sharp, and her expression stern, as if she’s dealing with an annoying interruption. I almost feel bad for our unsuspecting nurse, but desperation fuels our deceit.

“Oh, no, he didn’t. I can double-check if you’ll wait here,” the nurse offers, her dedication to her duty evident in her earnest expression.

“Don’t bother,” Eloise retorts, pushing me past her and down the hall, out of sight. She lets out a nervous giggle as she hits the elevator button.

We’re heading in the complete opposite direction of radiology too.

“So close,” I mutter under my breath, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling inside me.

“Shush,” Eloise whispers, ushering me into the elevator. “By the time they realize we’re not where we’re supposed to be, we’ll be far away, getting takeout and prepping for my date.” The elevator doors close, sealing our fate.

“Did you scout out our escape route?” I ask in awe and disbelief.

“Of course,” Eloise scoffs, as if she’s a seasoned pro at hospital heists. “This elevator leads to the basement. I parked my car where there are no cameras.”

“I guarantee there are cameras, Eloise,” I counter, my anxiety bubbling up again. My eyes swing all over wildly.

“I disabled them with bubble gum,” she retorts confidently, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You sly fox,” I exclaim, a mix of admiration and relief in my voice.

“Of course I am,” she replies, leaning down to give me an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You’re my chocolate chip. I have to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

“Cookies for life.” I sigh, a wave of relief washing over me as the elevator doors open to the dimly lit garage. Her little purple car sits directly in front of us—our ticket to freedom. She dashes ahead to get the car ready.

“She’s free!” Eloise yells, nearly tipping me over in her haste as she maneuvers around the car. “That was surprisingly uneventful.”

“Don’t jinx us,” I warn, laughing as I hop into the passenger seat and manage to pull myself in without wincing too much. “But I have a feeling this isn’t the last I’ll see of Brody, Tyler, or Ethan.”

Why does the thought of seeing them again send a thrill through me?

Ava

Déjà vu. Maybe what I’m feeling isn’t exactly déjà vu, but it’s darn close.

I feel a tingle race down my spine as I slump farther down in the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. The neon lights of the town flicker outside, casting a kaleidoscope of colors into the car…or maybe it’s just the way today’s craziness keeps replaying in my mind.

I can’t help feeling a bit miffed. Eloise and I made our hospital escape like a pair of stealthy ninjas, only to find ourselves in this unsettling calm. I mean, is it too much for a girl to expect a bit of drama? A dashing chase, perhaps, with cops tracking us down, weaving through the bustling streets? It’s not like we’ve been super secretive.

Here I am, in the back seat of Eloise’s vintage Beetle, its quirky charm lost on me as I brood over the lack of excitement. My expectations in relationships aren’t that sky high.

Speaking of which, Eloise’s current rendezvous with Mr. Red Mutton Chops across the street seems like a circus act. He is clearly nervous, with all his twitching. I tear into my Twizzler pack, each bite a mix of sweet and sour, much like my current mood. Nursing broken ribs and a broken ankle isn’t exactly conducive to playing spy. I won’t even get started on the stitches I keep pulling in my leg. In the last hour alone, I’ve hobbled into Eloise’s retro chic house, navigated through her collection of quirky antiques, and then made it back to the car for her so-called date. The takeout, a promise of spicy Thai cuisine, sits forgotten on their table, where I glare at it.

She chose not to bring it out to me, that bitch.

I peer through the binoculars, the lenses bringing Eloise into sharp focus. She’s sitting in front of the restaurant window, her silhouette framed by the cozy, dim lighting of the place. She’s lavishing attention on Mutton Chops—more than he deserves, with that cartoonish hair and those sideburns that need a trim.

“Mutton chops,” I mutter under my breath. His facial hair looks even more absurd through the binoculars, like something out of a bad 70s movie, and his hair is a mess of red curls, gelled to a stiff peak that defies gravity.

My stomach growls louder than the distant hum of the city night as I watch the burly man maneuver his drink, his bear-like hands enveloping the delicate glass. Eloise said he’s a shifter, right? He has the burly, brooding look down pat.

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