Page 52 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
Wyatt’s shoulders shake in a laugh. “A home gym. Me.”
Our eyes meet and I nod. “That’s where the videos of you working out were taken.”
Wyatt rubs his bicep. “I guess I should be thanking the version of me I can’t remember. Because he worked out, I’m getting through this recovery a lot faster.”
I catch the tattoo inside his arm and tingles dance along my skin.
“I’ll be with Dr. Fincher today when we conduct your memory tests,” Savanna says. “I don’t see any reason he won’t approve yourrelease.”
Uncertainty shifts his expression. “But I could fail the tests.”
“It’s unlikely you’ll pass with one-hundred percent,” Savanna says. “Heck, I have trouble with some of those questions. All you need to do is express problem-solving skills. If you do that, it shows you can continue improving outside of the clinic.”
“I’m ready to leave,” he says.
“If you’re serious about leaving, then we should take it up a notch.” Savanna motions at a ramp, which arches in a hill formation with rails on each side. “Wanna give it a go?”
He stands out of the wheelchair. “I’ll walk there.”
I clasp my hands in front, afraid to breathe too loudly. I don’t want to distract him as he slowly makes his way over to the apparatus. Savanna keeps a hand poised behind his back, ready to help him if he stumbles.
But he doesn’t. He makes it the whole way on his own.
“Wow, Wyatt,” I gush. “You’re amazing.”
He blushes. “Thanks, cheerleader.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Savanna jokes.
He winks at her. “You’re the coach.”
Savanna laughs. “Okay, I can deal with that. Now, ready to go? Or, do you need a moment?”
Wyatt takes hold of the grab rails. “No, I got this.”
I hold my breath as he takes the incline.
“Okay, Wyatt,” Savanna says, following on the other side of the rails. “Stop at the top. Going down on a slope requires you to use those abs of yours.”
His body tenses as he approaches the decline. There’s a flex in his jaw, his biceps pulsate, and his sweatpants pull around his thighs.
“Okay, use those muscles,” Savanna coaches. “You got this. Nice and slow.”
With a grunt, Wyatt makes his way down the rubber ramp.
I join Savanna in applause as he holds onto the grab rail, panting.
“Need a seat?” Savanna asks, ready to haul the wheelchair over.
Through deep breaths, he shakes his head, determined to stand.
“We’ll finish with your stretches,” Savanna says, “and then we’ll call it for the morning. Good job, Wyatt.”
“Thanks,” he says, settling his breath.
She turns to me with a wink. “And great job, cheerleader.”
I keep my hands firmly clasped in front as I bounce onto the balls of my feet. “It was all him.”
