Page 23 of Big Dix

“Okay, looks like you’ve got yourself a very serious corneal abrasion, Miss Salinas. It should heal fine, but we’re going to have to give you a temporary pressure patch to help with debris and sensitivity. I’m going to write you a prescription for some antibiotic ointment and drops. Follow the directions on your discharge papers and schedule a follow-up appointment with your ophthalmologist as soon as possible. Do you have any questions?”

“A patch? Like an eye patch? You’re shitting me, Doc. Seriously?”

He hands me my paperwork with a grin. “Yep, as serious as a corneal abrasion.”

“Doc’s got jokes.”

“I sure do. You take care of that eye, okay?”

“Will do. Thanks, Dr. Hale.”

Could this situation get any more embarrassing?

A few minutes later, I get discharged and make my way toward the waiting room. Through the window on the emergency room door that leads to the lobby, I catch a glimpse of a tired-looking Atticus slumped down in a chair, flipping through his phone.

The sound of the door opening catches his attention. His eyes meet mine, and he pops up from his seat and rushes toward me, concern furrowing his brow. Atticus takes me in, and his lip twitches as he fights to hold back a smile.

“Don’t you dare laugh. This is all your fault for having super deadly buttons,” I chastise, shaking my finger in his direction.

“Arrr matey, I’d never laugh at you.”

“Hey!” I swat his arm, and before I can blink, he grabs my hand, pulling me into his chest. We lock gazes, and nothing but concern for me resides in his.

“Are you okay? Is there any permanent damage? What do we need to do to follow up?”

The wordwedoesn’t go unnoticed by me. If the butterflies doing somersaults inside my stomach are any indication, I like the sound of it.

“No, should be good as new in a few days. I have to follow up with my optometrist.”

There’s that smile. Damn, Atticus is dreamy and shit.

“Evelyn, if I can do anything, anything at all to help, just ask.”

I smile and pat his chest. The big guy is really concerned. It’s sweet. There’s that damn flutter again.

Wait! Did he… no. I must have misheard him. Did he just say my name?

I peer up at him with my good eye, my head tilted back as far as it will go, my mouth hanging open in shock.

He winks while I’m still trying to catch up.

“You know who I am?”

He smiles, and my insides ignite. Damn, he is so sexy.

“Yup,” he says, making thePpop.

Did the doctor or nurses tell him? Surely, they didn’t. They aren’t allowed to disclose information, but maybe since he brought me here or perhaps because he’s high profile, he worked his way around it.

I mean, why would the staff think I’m just some random chick… and, oh, my god! Does the staff think I am just some random chick he’s brought to the ER? Booty call gone wrong? I mean, that’s what it is, but I bet they think I’m a prostitute!

I’m kind of dressed like a prostitute and I’m okay with that, though. Murder podcasts and stories about prostitutes are my secret jam and if it is a murder podcast about prostitutes; that is entertainment gold! That’s all beside the point. I need to focus. He knows my secret identity.Damn it.I’d suck as a superhero.

“Earth to Evelyn. Where’d you go, sweetheart?”

I love it when he calls me that. Stay on topic, Evelyn. He knows who you are. Shit.

This is embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as that time I walked through the screen door at Manny Hernandez’s thirteenth birthday party. The tiny scar under my bottom lip isn’t my only permanent reminder. I can still hear the laughter today.

---