Page 87 of Love Sick

His smile does confusing things to my stomach. It either wants to empty its contents onto his shoes or fly away with a cloud’s worth of butterflies.

“I told you I’d come check on you today. You clearly forgot.”

“Oh.” I open the door to let him in, relief flooding like cool water through my veins. “Thanks for driving me home last night. Or—I assume you’re the one who drove me home.”

He drags the scent of fall leaves, cold air and Julian inside with him. “It was no problem.” His bruised knuckles take my full attention when he scratches his forehead.

“What happened to your hand?” I grab it, running my thumb over the swollen joints.

A faint laugh reverberates in his throat. “You don’t even remember that part?”

Vague recollections of cold air and the sensation of being trapped bubble up to the surface of my consciousness. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Wow. You shouldn’t drink if this is the kind of amnesia you get.”

I tug him to the kitchen. “I don’t usually drink that much. I succumbed to peer pressure. Tell me what happened.”

“Trevor Tworek doesn’t know how to listen. He tried to kiss you, and you kept saying no, but he did it anyway.”

My mouth falls open. What? And I don’t remember that?

See? You could’ve been hurt.

With a cold tingle of shame in my chest, I open the freezer and grab the only gel pack I own—red lips from the medical spa that injects my Botox. “So you punched him?”

“He tried to hit me first, so I retaliated, but I’m glad I did. Guys who don’t hear the wordnodeserve to be punched. I can’t believe you own a devil-red mouth-shaped ice pack.”

I try to retrieve the lost memories from the black wall of last night, but nothing surfaces. Trevor’s flirt-texting has kept me giggling for weeks now. I thought if he ever made a move, I might be receptive.

Well…maybe.

He’s funny, but he’s never made me want things. Not like Julian. Unfortunately.

Did Trevor actually force himself on me?

What the hell?

And Julian punched him. Protected me at my most vulnerable. A flutter of heart-eye emojis skitter through my brain, but I shut them down hard. Now is not the time, not when I’m all nauseated and my brain is too big for my head. I press the gel pack to Julian’s hand.

He sucks in a breath. “Shit! That’s cold.”

I hold tight when he tries to pull away, swatting his forearm. “Hang on. I need more information. What exactly happened?”

His neck cracks and he looks to the side. “I heard you saying no. Went to see what was going on. He had you pinned against a fence outside, trying to kiss you.”

“Was he—hurting me?”

Julian’s expression turns incredulous as his attention shoots to my face. “Uh… Notyet.”

My next words fall out in a rush. “It’s just—we’d been talking a lot recently, so—I’d hoped maybe you misinterpreted—”

His gaze sharpens. “You aren’t into him, are you? Because after last night—”

“No!” I shake my head. “No. I’m not into him. Especially not if he did that.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I just hoped—I was wrong about him, I guess.”

Figures Trevor would wind up being a dick. He probably believes the most recent talk about me—that I snuck a med student up to the deserted eighth floor of the hospital toteachhim some things. So dumb. I don’t even go to the eighth floor. It’s dark and creepy and obviously haunted.

Are all men the same?

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