Page 28 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"I promise I'm okay," Ethan insists to his friend, the blush still blazing across his cheeks. But he won't quite meet my eyes now that we're face to face. "We're just going somewhere quieter to talk."
"Mmhmm. 'Talk.' Is that what they're calling it these days?" Sylas's eyes lock with mine. "Listen carefully, Fratty McHotbody. If you hurt him, they will never find your body. And I know enough nursing students to make it look like an accident."
"Understood," My voice serious as I meet his gaze. "I just want to talk to him. Promise."
Sylas studies me for another moment before stepping aside with dramatic flair. "You have twenty minutes before I come looking. With reinforcements."
I don't slow down when we reach the stairs, taking them two at a time with Ethan held tight against my mostly bare chest.
Some cheers follow us upstairs, along with Sylas yelling, “Twenty minutes!” The bedroom door shuts with a solid thunk, muffling the noise below.
As I gently set him down, his feet touching the floor but my hands still lingering on his waist, I'm hit by the thought that I just announced to my entire fraternity, through actions louder than words, that I'm attracted to a guy.
Oh, whoa.
The weird thing is, this realization doesn't scare me likeit probably would have just a few months back. Instead of freaking out, I feel this odd sense of "oh, this fits" settling in my chest, like puzzle pieces finally clicking together after being mixed up for years. My thumbs absently trace small circles against the thin fabric of his scrubs, and I'm hyperaware of how natural it feels to be standing here with him, barely able to hear the muffled noise from the party below.
"So," I start brilliantly, "that happened."
Ethan laughs nervously, taking a small step back but not quite removing himself from my grip. "Did you just caveman-carry me through a party full of frat boys, or am I somewhere dreaming?"
"You are definitely awake, gorgeous, and I believe the technical term is 'firefighter carry,' but yes," I admit, one hand rubbing the back of my neck as a flush of embarrassment creeps up. "Not my smoothest move. I was sort of operating on instinct there."
"I can't believe I let you do that," Ethan groans, covering his face with his hands, his fingers spreading just enough that I can see his mortified green eyes peeking through.
"Everyone was watching! The whole frat! Sylas is never going to let me live this down. He's probably already planning our wedding colours and picking out china patterns. He'll have a Pinterest board by morning, I swear to my sleep-deprived nursing brain."
My fingers instinctively tighten on his hips, enjoying the slight curve there. When he gets animated like this, his hands flutter expressively, and his green eyes widen in a way that makes my chest feel warm. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, rich and genuine. I can't remember the last time someone made me laugh this naturally.
"Oh god, I forgot about the twenty-minute deadline," Isay, thumb absently stroking the edge of his hip bone through his scrubs. The thin fabric there feels worn and soft, and I can feel the warmth of his skin radiating through it. My fingertips tingle with each small circle I trace.
Ethan peeks through his fingers, those brilliant green eyes catching the light from my desk lamp. His lashes are surprisingly long, I notice. "He once timed how long it took Ryan to text me back. With a stopwatch. For five days."
He drops his hands completely now, revealing the flush that's spread across his cheekbones. "He made a colour-coded spreadsheet with response-time averages and everything. Cross-referenced it with Ryan's class schedule to see if there were patterns."
"That's... impressively terrifying," I murmur, trying to process the level of dedication that requires. My engineering brain can't help but admire the methodical approach, even while another part of me wonders what the spreadsheet revealed about this Ryan guy. "Remind me never to get on Sylas's bad side. I believed him when he said he could find creative ways to make me disappear without a trace."
"Welcome to my life," Ethan says, finally dropping his hands and looking around my room. "So... your bedroom, huh? That's not presumptuous at all."
Heat rushes across my face, the warmth spreading from my neck to my hairline in an instant. My hand falls away from his hips like I've been shocked.
"I didn't... I mean, I wasn't—" I stumble over my words, tripping on my own good intentions. My room suddenly feels smaller than it did five minutes ago. The engineering textbooks stacked neatly on my desk and the carefully arranged photos of my family seem to be watching me fumble.
"It was just the first private place I thought of where we could actually talk without twenty guys interrupting. I swear I'm not trying to, you know, I wouldn't just assume?—"
Running a hand through my hair, I mess up the psycho killer hairstyle I was so proud of earlier. "I just..." I pause, searching for the right words. "I didn't want you to leave. Not yet."
The confession just sits there between us, way more truthful than I meant it to be. Something changes in Ethan's eyes, a softness that makes my heart jump.
Smooth, Landis. Real smooth.... Get it together.
"Relax," Ethan says with a small smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I'm teasing you. Though I should warn you that Sylas absolutely will break down this door in—" he checks an imaginary watch on his wrist, tapping the bare skin with his index finger, "—approximately eighteen minutes. He has this sixth sense whenever I'm alone with someone he hasn't personally vetted through his extensive background check system. He once tracked me down at a coffee shop across town just because I didn't answer a text fast enough."
His green eyes scan my room, taking in the organized desk and the family photos while he rocks slightly on his heels. The slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth makes something flutter in my chest.
"Sorry, but he's probably already making a 'What if' plan for your disappearance. The guy missed his calling as a private investigator or maybe a very specialized assassin."
"He sounds intense," I say, leaning against my desk. "But also like he really cares about you."
