Page 80 of Saving Summer
She opened her eyes and forced them to focus. A set of bare feet came into view. She lifted her gaze to his knees. One scarred, the other not. A little higher, and muscled thighs disappeared into a pair of grey athletic shorts.
A pity, really. The shorts that is…but happily, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Onward, her gaze trailed over defined abs. A pink scar running horizontal under the right side of his rib cage. Over hard pecs. A chiseled jaw. Full lips. Fierce blue eyes. Scruffy man bun. And holy God, he looked good enough to eat.
She really shouldn’t be this attracted to her baby’s daddy. “Why are you half naked?”
“I was on my way to shower after my physio session. Can you stand?” He offered his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet, and keeping her close, he ran his fingers across her forehead and down her cheek like he was checking her for fever. “Are you diabetic?”
“No.”
Both hands cupping her jaw, he tilted her head up. “Hypoglycemia is rare in non-diabetics. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes, at the clinic in Kalispell.”
His hand on her throat did things to her as he checked her pulse. “Did he run any blood tests?”
“Yes. All negative.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two years.”
“Did he prescribe medication?”
“Emergency Glucagon.”
“Nasal spray or injection?”
“Nasal spray.”
“Where is it?”
“Um…” Okay. Now she felt a little silly. She wasn’t used to answering questions about her medical condition or how she managed it. In truth, she’d never told anyone about being hypoglycemic. Well, except for her mother, who never asked a thing about it. “I don’t have any?”
“Why not?”
“It’s expensive, and it expires.” She’d given up on replacing the single-use spray after throwing two unused doses in the garbage. At a hundred and fifty bucks a pop, she couldn’t afford to keep the spray around in case of emergency. Besides, she managed her sugar levels well enough by watching what she ate. “Honestly, I’m fine. I overdid it with the painting and need some juice, no big deal.”
Despite her shaking legs, she would have stepped around him to raid the fridge in the closet, but the hand cupping her jaw held her in place. “You know severe hypoglycemia, if left untreated, can lead to coma, seizures, and death, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m aware, Doctor Snow-it-all.”
He released her and landed a not-so-gentle smack on her ass. “Go lie down. I’ll get your juice.”
“I’m fine. I can—”
“Stop telling me you’re fine.” He pointed to his bed. “And do as you’re told.”
“God, you’re bossy.” She wobbled her way across the floor, put her phone down on the bedside table next to their fake wedding rings, and climbed up onto the mattress while he disappeared into the closet. He returned a few seconds later, juice box in hand. “Where’s your glucose monitor?”
“I don’t have one.” Another medical expense she hadn’t wanted to waste any spare cash on. She knew when her sugar was low without having to prick her finger. “I see you’re back to using your cane. That’s progress.”
“Yeah, Eve’s a miracle worker. And quit deflecting.” He sat on the bed beside her and poked the straw into the top of the box. “Drink this.” He handed her the juice, and she sucked it down fast. “I want to run some tests,” he said, snagging the throw off the end of the bed and covering her legs. “A lot can change in two years, and I’d like to reconfirm your results. In the meantime, I’ll put in an order for a blood monitor and some Glucagon. You’ll carry it with you.”
“That’s not nec—”
“It is necessary. Hypoglycemia is not something to fuck around with. You should’ve told me about your condition.”
