Page 17 of Reformation

Shit… what were we talking about? Oh. Right. She’s an adorable creeper.

“You were,” I say, hoping the silence didn’t last too long. “And I’m not mad. I’ve definitely woken up to much worse.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“I was in a fraternity in college. That’s all you need to know.”

She smiles and takes a step toward me, away from the door she was about to exit.

“Is that where you learned that bad pickup line? Because, honestly? Angel? Heaven? I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bad-pickup-line kind of guy.”

I push myself up, glad that she has decided to stay, even if she’s trying to give me shit. “Who said that was bad? I think that was pretty clever. And timely. You should always give bonus points for timeliness.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “Well, I do believe you are married, which means that bad pickup lines need to be tucked away. Besides that, youdon’tthink it was a bad one? Because if you think that was good, then I’d love to hear a bad one. You know. For comparison.”

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t compliment a beautiful woman.”

“If you think that was a compliment, then maybe I need to bring you a dictionary. Help you pass the time here.”

I smile, liking her playful tone, despite her mention of my marital status. She’s right though. I am married, and a good married man shouldn’t be tossing out cheesy pickup lines to his nephew’s kindergarten teacher. Then again, a good marriage would probably have the wife at the hospital with her husband who nearly died.

Annika hasn’t been here once. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she was watching me at night, wondering if there was a plug she could pull or something she could inject into an IV that would go unnoticed.

If there is one good thing to come out of this hospital stay, it’s that I’ve realized just how much of a heartless woman Annika is. And I don’t care how much it costs, how messy it is, or how long it will take, I’m leaving Annika the second I get out of here.

“I do have time, but I don’t need to look up the definition, Miss Blackstone. Because I have the pickup line to end all pickup lines at my disposal. The question is, are you ready for it?”

She pulls up a seat next to my bed before sitting down. “Lay it on me.”

I sit up a little straighter and lean forward, closing the distance between us. And mentally patting myself on the back for not having some sort of semi-perverted response for her saying “lay it on me.” I’m pretty sure in my current condition, I couldn’t lay anything on anyone at the moment. I pick up the scent of something floral from her, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been in the hospital for six days, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.

I clear my throat, hoping it sounds like I’m preparing for the line, not pushing away thoughts of flowery perfume on a woman who is completely off-limits.

“Paige?”

“Yes, Garrett?”

“On a scale of one to America, how free are you tonight?”

She holds back a laugh, but after a few seconds, she can’t contain it. It comes out loud and full and it’s contagious. I’m pretty sure she woke up my roommate, and from the sounds of it, his wife is getting a good chuckle out of my terrible line. I don’t care if we woke up the whole floor, because Paige’s laugh is one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.

“My God, that was horrible.”

“And if by horrible you mean amazing, then you are correct.”

Her laugh is now taking over her petite frame, which only makes me laugh harder. That is until I’m reminded why I’m here.

I begin coughing, which shoots Paige from her seat. By the time I catch my breath, she is next to me, holding my hand.

“It’s fine. Just… hurts a little.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “This is all my fault. And how horrible am I? I haven’t even asked you if you’re OK? Or why you are here? God, I’m a horrible person. Who talks about pickup lines in a hospital room!”

I turn my hand over, giving her comforting hand a squeeze. “Don’t you dare apologize. This is the first time I’ve smiled, or laughed, since I’ve been in here. And I had a pulmonary embolism. It was sudden and I got lucky. But please, my family is worried enough. I don’t need you worrying about me too.”

My words aren’t a lie. This night has been the best since my near-death experience on the beach. Mom and Mark, along with Charlie and the kids, have come by each day. Annika, being MIA, has been good and bad. Good, because I really don’t want to see her. Bad, because I’m running out of ways to explain to my mom about why my wife hasn’t been here without saying the words “bitch” and “divorce.” In all reality, she’s probably off finding her next husband.

I got a roommate yesterday, and he seems like a good-enough guy, even though we haven’t talked much. Even if I wanted to, it would be hard. The guy always has visitors. And when no one is randomly stopping by with well wishes, his wife is making sure he’s taken care of.

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