Page 118 of Left on Base

“Mhm.” She shares an amused look with the other nurse—Marcus—who’s been not-so-subtly watching this whole drama unfold. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the cute baseball player who brought you in?”

Jaxon, lying on the hospital bed with his feet up while I perch on the edge, lifts his head from the pillow. “Wait, you tripped because of me?”

I reach back and push his head down. “Stop talking.”

My face burns hotter than my throbbing chin. I’m trying not to think about how good he smells after practice or how his hand’s still rubbing my back, as if to say,I’m tired, but I’m here.

“Oh lord, is that a plastic fork?” Marcus asks, and we all turn to see a guy stumble into the ER with—yes—a plastic fork sticking out of his left eye socket.

Jaxon sits up, his head close to mine. “Oh, sick. That’s wild.”

“Listen,” Fork Guy says, hands up like he’s on trial, “in my defense, my roommate told me I couldn’t eat ramen while doing a handstand.”

“Wait,” Jaxon leans forward, squinting. “Bro, aren’t you in my Psych 101 class?”

“Oh hey! Baseball dude!” Fork Guy waves enthusiastically, making the fork wobble. “Yeah, I sit in the back. Usually sleeping. Sometimes eating ramen. Not usually with utensils in my face. Although…” He pauses, thoughtful. “This might explain why I keep failing the depth perception parts of our psych experiments.”

Jackie sighs like someone who’s seen too much. “Sir, please stop moving the fork.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He turns to me. “So what’re you in for? Also, pro tip: blame it on Mercury in retrograde. Works every time. Unless you’re talking to an astronomy major, then blame Saturn. They’re always dragging Saturn.”

“From what we can tell, she fell face-first stalking this one,” Marcus jerks his thumb at Jaxon, who’s back to looking like the patient.

“Dude,” Fork Guy nods sagely, fork flopping. “I feel that. I once climbed three floors up the fire escape to see if my ex wasdating her TA. Turns out she was just tutoring him in Spanish. The restraining order was a bit much if you ask me. Like, sorry I care about your conjugations, Rebecca!”

I want to be his friend. I need to be his friend.

“Sir,” Jackie interrupts, “we really need to look at that fork…”

“Just a minute.” He pauses dramatically. “Wait, are you two like a thing?”

“No,” I say first, noticing Jaxon’s raised eyebrow. “We’re friends. Or whatever.”

“Mhm,” Marcus adds. “Is that why you were stalking him in the bushes?”

“Shut up,” I snap. “Will you just stitch me up?”

“I’m trying.” He’s not.

“One more thing,” Fork Guy turns back as Jackie grabs his sleeve. “Listen, you two remind me of my fork situation right now.”

“How exactly?” Jaxon lifts his head, and his fingers definitely, purposefully, run over the small of my back.

“Well, you’ve clearly got a thing—there’s a vibe—but you’re afraid to pull it out because what if it makes everything worse? Sometimes you gotta yank the fork out, you know? Yeah, it might hurt, and yeah, there might be some blood, and yeah, you might need stitches—oh hey, you’ve already got that covered!” He points at my chin. “But at least you’re not walking around with emotional cutlery in your face anymore.”

“That’s literally the worst medical advice I’ve ever heard,” Marcus says, grinning. “Do not pull that fork out.”

“I’m starting to think the fork isn’t the biggest problem here,” Jackie mutters, clearly done with this shift. She tugs Fork Guy away. “C’mon, Dr. Phil.”

“Okay, okay! But remember what I said about the fork metaphor!” Fork Guy lets Jackie lead him off, then turns back. “Oh, and baseball dude? That essay on behavioral psych is duetomorrow. Although…” He gestures to his fork. “I’ve got a pretty good case study if you want to collaborate.”

“Shit, forgot about that,” Jaxon mutters, glancing at me. His free hand brushes a strand of hair from my face, and I try not to lean into his touch like a cat. “You okay? You scared the hell out of me.”

The lidocaine must be making me brave. I look right at him. “Which part? The face-plant or the stalking?”

“Both?” His voice is soft, but he’s smiling. “So you were stalking me…”

I rest my head on his shoulder—partly because I’m tired, partly because it’s easier to hide my face. “Guilty.”

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