Page 5 of A Kiss on a Dare
I grab a sandwich and take a bite, trying to sound casual as I ask, “Do you work out?” I quickly add, “You seem to eat a lot, and you look great.”
Gabrielle smirks, a trace of humor flickering in his eyes. “Thanks. Yeah, I do. Do you?”
“Yup,” I say, shrugging with a self-deprecating smile. “Can you tell?”
To my surprise, Gabrielle doesn’t laugh or make a joke. Instead, he looks me over, his gaze briefly drifting to my arms and chest, his expression thoughtful. “Of course. You’re in great shape,” he says, his tone completely serious.
The lack of sarcasm catches me off guard. There’s no teasing in his voice, just calm sincerity, and for a moment, I forget how to respond.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling heat rush up my neck. To cover for it, I pull out my phone and quickly type a reply to Cat:
Done.
I can practically feel her eyes boring into the back of my head from across the room, watching like a hawk. But I don’t dare turn around. For one, it would feel ridiculous—like I’m checking in with my mom or something. And, if I’m honest, there’s another reason: I don’t want to remind Gabrielle about her. Not when he hasn’t brought her up himself.
“The hardest part for me is hitting my protein goal,” Gabrielle says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I blink at him, a little caught off guard because I’d been too busy lost in my own head.
And, of course, my brain instantly dives into the gutter.I can help you reach your protein goal,it supplies helpfully, uninvited.
But out loud, I manage to say, “Yeah, with the hospital schedule, I’m definitely not getting enough either.”
And then, because my brain apparently loves to torment me, it adds,I could use your help.God, the combination of being really drunk and really horny is like Mentos and Coke—I need to sober up before I just climb Gabrielle like a tree.
My phone buzzes again. I throw a quick glance at the screen—it’s Cat again.
Hope ur not lying! Second dare: touch his arm.
I almost roll my eyes. Great, just what I needed—figuring out how to touch him without looking weird or completely obsessed.
Of course, it’s at that exact moment Gabrielle says, “…or do you like eating out?”
I freeze, my alcohol-soaked brain turning to mush.Eating out?My mind spins out of control, veering into territory that absolutely shouldn’t apply to this conversation. I take a deep breath, trying to get a grip.How did we jump to eating out?
Before I can say something really, really embarrassing, Gabrielle steps closer. He repeats himself, louder this time, probably noticing my confusion. “I asked if you meal prep, eat in the hospital cafeteria or if you like eating out?”
I blink, and my face burns so hot I’m sure it’s glowing.Great job, me.Now he’s definitely caught the look on my face—that split-second flash ofoh no, I was thinking about eating you out.
And as if that isn’t bad enough, he’s standing so close now that I can catch his scent. It’s clean, warm, and maddeningly manly, the kind of smell that could make you forget your own name.
I need food. Real food. Immediately. Anything to keep the gin and tonic sloshing around inside me from hijacking my brain and forcing me to say something ridiculously horny.
“I eat in the cafeteria mostly,” I say, the words tumbling out, and immediately, I start overthinking them.Did that sound normal? Not weird? Definitely not horny, right?
To cover my growing panic, I add, “But I loooove eating out when I have time.”
That’s when Gabrielle’s meticulously groomed eyebrows shoot up, and I realize—too late—that I’ve oversold it.Nobody loves going out for lunch that much.My face heats up for what feels like the tenth time tonight, and in a desperate attempt to recover, I stammer, “But mostly the cafeteria. The cafeteria’s...good.”
For a second, I’m sure I catch the corners of Gabrielle’s mouth twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. His gaze lingers on me—not judgmental, not impatient—justtherelike he’s genuinely paying attention. And it’s so disarming, so intense, that I feel my pulse quicken.
Without thinking, I rush to the buffet table, grabbing another sandwich and stuffing it in my mouth as if carbs will save me from my own awkwardness.
When I turn back, sandwich halfway chewed, Gabrielle is still watching me. His expression is polite, patient, and oddly focused like he’s somehow amused by me without making me feel small. The way he’s looking at me does something strange to my insides, twisting and flipping in a way that feels both thrilling and terrifying.
Because for the past year, Gabrielle has been all professionalism: polite, efficient, and distant. Barely sparing me a glance unless it was about jaundice, cancer, or thyroid disease. And now? Now he’s standing here, being sofriendlyit feels unreal. I can’t screw this up—not even if he’s straight—because it feels too damn good to have him look at me like this.
Gabrielle turns to the buffet table again, picking up a couple of pastries and placing them neatly on his plate. Then, without a word, he grabs a shot of something and downs it in one smooth motion.
The way his throat moves as he swallows almost makes me choke on my sandwich. I glance away and spot Cat at our table in the corner, making a show of squeezing her bicep while gesturing wildly at me.Subtle as ever, Cat.I quickly turn back before Gabrielle notices her, too, and try to focus.
