Page 29 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"He does," Ethan nods, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Sylas has been my emotional support teddybear through this whole rollercoaster with Ryan. Never once sugar-coated his opinion, though."
"Let me guess, he wasn't Ryan's biggest fan?"
Ethan lets out a small laugh. "That's putting it mildly. He's called Ryan everything from 'Asshat von Fuckface' to 'Fifty Shades of Nay.' My personal favourite is probably, 'Sir Ghosting McFuck-face.'"
"Creative," I say, impressed.
"Oh, he's got dozens more. Never repeats himself." Ethan's fingers trace along the edge of my desk absently. "But the thing is, beneath all the colourful insults, Sylas was right. He saw what I couldn't, or wouldn't, see. That Ryan was treating me like his dirty little secret."
There's a vulnerability in his voice that makes me want to reach for him again, but I hold back, giving him space to continue.
"Sylas isn't just being overprotective for the sake of it. He's seen how I've bent over backwards for someone who wouldn't even acknowledge me in public." Ethan looks up, meeting my gaze directly. "So yeah, he's a bit much sometimes, but I'd be lost without him."
"For what it's worth," I say softly, "I'm glad you have someone looking out for you like that."
Ethan looks surprised, like he expected me to mock Sylas's overprotectiveness. "Most guys find it annoying."
"Most guys probably didn't just carry you through a frat party, Princess style, in front of everyone they know," I counter with a grin. "Besides, anyone who comes up with nicknames that good has earned some respect."
Chapter 8
Pinch Me, I'm Dreaming (No Really, Am I Hallucinating?)
ETHAN
"Besides, anyone who comes up with nicknames that good has earned some respect."
A chuckle escapes, melting the edge off my anxiety. Something about Tyler makes it impossible to stay nervous for long, even when I have every reason to be freaking out right now.
"Sixteen minutes remaining," I tap the bare skin of my wrist where a watch would be. "Better make this conversation count before my drag queen uses his impressive platform boots to break down your door."
Tyler's grin is infectious. "No pressure or anything."
The absurdity of our situation crashes over me in a wave. A couple of hours ago, I was being thrown at this guy by my closeted now-ex in a horror house. Now I'm standing in his bedroom after being carried up here like some romance novel heroine, with a countdown timer courtesy of my best friend.
My body chooses now to release a laugh that would make my psych rotation professor reach for her notepad. "God, what even is tonight? This morning I was studyingpharmacology and hoping my stupid boyfriend would call, and now I'm..." I gesture vaguely between us, "...whatever this is."
"Having second thoughts?" Tyler asks, his casual tone not quite hiding the hesitation beneath.
"That's just it," I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. "I should be having second, third, and fourth thoughts. I should be running for the door. But weirdly, I'm not."
Something shifts in Tyler's expression, a something around his eyes that makes my pulse skip. He takes a half step closer, and I can smell the faint woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with the sugary fake blood from his costume.
"Good," he says simply. "Because I'd rather you stayed. At least until we figure out what this is."
His directness catches me off guard. Most guys I've known play games, especially ones who look like him, athletic, handsome, with that easy confidence that comes from being universally liked. Yet here he is, just saying what he wants without pretense.
"Fair warning," I lean back against his desk. "I should probably come with hazard labels. Side effects of dating me may include: dramatic exes, public confrontations, and being used as a human landing pad for flying nursing students."
Tyler laughs. "I've had worse Saturday nights. Besides," he adds with a shrug, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "his aim was pretty good. I can't complain about where you landed."
"Not my finest moment."
"I don't know," Tyler shrugs, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If he hadn't done that, we mightnever have met. Sort of makes me want to send him a thank-you card."
"Dear Ryan," I say in a mock-formal voice, "Thank you for your contribution to my love life through your cowardly retreat. Your ability to throw and run created this opportunity. Sincerely, The Guy You Tossed."
Tyler laughs. "Much more effective than Tinder. 'Scared ex throws eligible nursing student directly at interested frat boy.' Should be a new dating app."
