Page 23 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
I giggle and rub a circle on the back of his hand. “Oh my gosh. It’s so good to see you.”
“You too. It feels like no ti-time has passed. But, la-la-look at you. You’re a knockout.”
I giggle, blushing so much I’m almost not concerned about his level of stuttering.
Wyatt clears his throat, and as if on cue, the nurse sets a glass of water down on the table near his playing cards and reading glasses. He thanks her and then takes a sip. His hand shakes as he places the glass back on the table.
“I, I stutter sometimes,” he says, keeping his gaze low. “Th-the doctor said it’s normal with, umm, the, umm, memory loss.”
I plant a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Wyatt. I’ve felt sick over it.”
He lifts his gaze, wearing a lopsided grin. “You’ve been worried about me?”
I bite my lip, slipping my hand down his arm. “Of course. You’ve never stopped being important to me.”
The nurse finishes up at the sink and turns toward the door. “I’ll give you two some privacy to catch up.”
“Bye,” Wyatt says with a wave.
“Are they nice here?”
He shrugs. “I guess. Pretty nice for med-medical staff. I d-don’t love the fact I’m here.”
“But you’re out soon, right?”
Wyatt plants his hands behind him, sighing at the ceiling. “Yes, I can’t wait.”
“Do you know you’re moving into a penthouse?”
He looks down at me with wide-eyed optimism. “That’s real? I thought they were messing with me.”
I giggle with eagerness. “No, it’s true. I just saw my room and it’s drop-dead-incredible. I can’t even imagine what they have in store for you.”
He tilts his head, grazing his bottom lip with teeth. “So, we’re moving into the same hotel?”
Shivers. “Umm, yes, I guess so.”
His eyes stay locked on mine, increasing in heat. “Nice.”
I turn away, needing to fan myself. I gesture at the playing cards, hoping for a breather from the intensity in the room. “What’s going on here?”
Wyatt pulls the table closer. “They have me playing solitaire.” He rubs his thumb and index finger together. “I have numbness in my fingers, and also my brain is really foggy.”
I look at the cards. “And the game is supposed to help?”
He mumbles a laugh. “Yeah, but I suck at it.”
I ease into a laugh. “Practice makes perfect.”
“I guess.”
“And the glasses? I’ve been keeping up with you for years—on stage and behind the scenes—and I’ve never known you to wear glasses.”
“They’re new,” he says, picking up the pair and spinning it by theearpiece. “I have killer headaches and problems focusing. They’re supposed to help.”
“Oh, that’s good then. They look cute on you.”
He sets them back on the table and puffs a laugh. “Thanks.” He then sits back and gives me a hesitant look. “Umm. I don’t know how to ask you something.”
