Page 46 of Call Out
“Doctor Lance-me-a-lot.”
“I’ll stay with you tonight if you promise to behave.”
“Omigod.” I jackknife to sitting, my face covered in unkempt strands.
A thunderous pounding ache crosses my brow. The drapes are pulled with a skiff of daylight playing hide and seek underneath. My new stem green, scatter pillows are stacked up in the corner like the Eiffel Tower. I catch sight of my horrifying reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me has a pale face, with no trace of makeup from the night before and a satin night gown covering her dignity.
On the nightstand to my left sits a jug filled to the brim with water, sliced lemons and ice. To my right, the bed is empty. Danny went home because I’m a drunken floozy.
A clatter and a bang echoes from downstairs. Footsteps thud as they hit carpeted steps. I count the number, holding my breath when I know the last one is reached. My heart stills. I strategically clasp the duvet to my chest like a protective shield. Metallic rattles, sounding like a collection of butcher’s knives. It could be Danny, or it could be an intruder. What if he left the door unlocked when he left? Let’s face it, I was a hot mess last night. No, actually, I wasn’t hot at all. I was shameful and extraordinarily aroused by everything he did.
I’ve let him down with my childish antics and thirst for chardonnay. Ugh! My stomach flips with a nauseous roll. Never again. No way, never. Tara can keep the Devil’s urine for herself.
“Look who’s finally awake.” Danny swaggers into the room with a full tray.
“Finally?” I glance at the bedside clock. “It’s midday? What happened? Have I been sleeping all that time?”
His damp hair is choppy, unstyled, with messy flare and oh, so sexy in its disarray. He sets the tray on the bottom of the bed. Bare golden muscles flex and he grins right at me. “I tried to get you to drink water last night, but you were unconscious by the time I came back upstairs.” He bends over me and kisses the crown of my head. “I made you peppermint tea and toast.” The jug tips, ice tinkles and water glugs. “Have this first. Your liver needs it, ma’am.” Sweet jeezus. He winks at me. A semi-naked buff medic with a panty melting smile is taking care of a hungover harlot.
“I’m so sorry, Danny.” My skin pinks a shade of regret and wooziness. “That was inappropriate behavior on my part. Nonna would be terribly disappointed with me.” I sip the cool water and feel it journey into my empty stomach.
Danny chuckles. “I’m not disappointed, Viv. Don’t ever feel like you can’t be yourself around me.”
“I’m not a drunken strumpet. That’s not me at all.”
“Are you sure about that?” A playfulness dances on his mouth. “You were very persuasive.”
I groan as disgrace washes over me. “And you declined.”
“I did.” He smirks. “Which means you owe me.”
“Oh yeah?” When I lean forward to pick up the slice of toast, my belly gurgles with acid. “I feel sick.”
“Sit back.” Danny arranges my pillow so I can press my back to the headboard comfortably. Then he lifts the plate of toasted triangles and sets it on my lap. “How about we watch a movie in bed? My shift starts at five. We have a few hours before I need to leave.”
With a glass of water in one hand and breakfast in the other, I grin as my gorgeous man gathers the remote control, rounds the bed and clambers in beside me.
Over the next hour and forty-five minutes, we watch a psychological thriller on Netflix. For the most part, I hide under the covers with my cheek stuck to smooth skin and a fast heartbeat. I’m not sure whether it’s my roaming nails causing his pulse to race or the fact the killer is sitting beside the woman, and she has no clue. How could she not know? You only have to look in a man’s eyes to see the depth of his soul.
As the credits roll, Danny stretches and yawns. “I should get going.”
“Danny.” I prop up on an elbow. “Thanks for looking after me. I promise, it’s the last time you’ll ever have to do that.”
“What happens if you get the flu or a virus?” He tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. “I’ll be right here, Viv.” His eyes swim with emotion and then he shakes his head lightly. “We still need to have that talk. I want to get something off my chest.”
“Why didn’t you bring it up before the movie?”
“It’s not the type of conversation to have with someone who thinks they’re going to vomit every time they move.”
“So when then?”
“After my shift. I’ll swing by, and we can talk first thing in the morning.” His eyes darken and his head bows. “You’ll be feeling better by then.”
“Can you give me a clue?”
“I’ll answer number ten.” Danny flicks off the duvet and clambers out of bed.
“Your biggest secret?” I ask, shuffling up to sitting.
