Page 31 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
As we settle against Tyler's pillows, I reach up to touch his face gently. "I keep waiting for you to freak out."
"Sorry to disappoint." Tyler turns to kiss my palm. "I'm surprisingly unfreaked."
The moment is perfect, until three sharp knocks break the spell.
"Ethan? You in there? You're not answering your phone." Sylas's voice carries clearly through the door.
Juming back, I whisper, "Oh my god, that's Sylas."
"Do you want to pretend you're not here?" Tyler whispers back, though he doesn't look thrilled at the suggestion.
"No, he knows we're here. Anyway, he'll just keep knocking. And..." I meet Tyler's eyes. "I don't want to hide."
Tyler's expression is intense. "Good. Neither do I."
"Coming, Sy! Just a minute!" I call out, then turn to Tyler while straightening my dishevelled shirt. "How do I look?"
Tyler looks me over, taking in my red face and messy hair with this soft expression that makes my heart skip. "Like someone who's been thoroughly kissed."
"Great," I groan. "He's never going to let me hear the end of this."
Opening it, there on the other side of the door is Sylas, standing there, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He's still in his full Hedwig costume; the platinum blonde wig is slightly askew, and his six-inch glittery platform boots make him tower even more than usual. The smudged blue eyeshadow only intensifies his judgmental stare.
"You always answer your phone, Babe. I wanted to make sure you were okay." Sylas says, eyes moving from me to Tyler.
"Sorry, I got... distracted," I mumble.
"My fault entirely," Tyler steps forward, extending his hand. "I'm Tyler."
Sylas takes the offered hand but fixes Tyler with a penetrating stare. "Oh, I know exactly who you are."
"Okay!" I rub a hand through my hair nervously. "Time to go before this gets awkward."
"Ethan, wait—" Tyler catches my arm as I start to follow Sylas down the hallway. He pulls me aside briefly, loweringhis voice. "Tonight was... I don't even have the words. Can I see you tomorrow?"
I'm surprised by my eagerness, "Yes. Definitely yes."
Tyler's face breaks into a huge smile as we exchange numbers. Then he calls to Sylas, who is pretending not to watch us from a few feet away. "And Sylas, I promise I'll be sure he answers your texts next time."
"Uh-huh. We'll see about that," Sylas says dryly.
As I walk away, I don't resist looking back. Tyler stands in his doorway, watching me go with a look of undisguised happiness that makes my chest tight in the best possible way.
The campus coffeeshop buzzes with mid-morning activity. Students hunch over laptops, and the constant hiss of the espresso machine provides a caffeinated soundtrack to it all. I push through the door ten minutes early to meet Tyler, only to find him already there at a corner table with two cups.
Oh fantastic. Now I'm not even the punctually neurotic one in this equation.
My stomach performs an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine as I weave between tables. It's been exactly nineteen hours since Tyler texted asking if I'd like to "grab coffee sometime," and sixteen hours since Sylas analyzed every word of that message like it contained nuclear launch codes.
"You do realize this is an actual coffee date, right?" Sylas had demanded, snatching my phone to scrutinize Tyler's message for the fifth time. "Not a study session, not a friendly hangout, a real date with the hunky psycho who carriedyou off into the night."
"It's just coffee," I'd insisted, though my frantic wardrobe excavation suggested otherwise. "Besides, he probably realized I was a disaster and wants to let me down gently."
Now, watching Tyler's face light up as he spots me, I'm not so sure about that theory. He's wearing a simple blue Henley that makes his eyes look even warmer, and he's somehow managed to make just sitting there waiting look good. Meanwhile, I changed shirts three times this morning and still ended up in my "safe" green sweater that Sylas insists brings out my eyes, but probably just makes me look like I'm trying too hard.
Remember: act normal. Whatever the hell normal is. Don't mention medical oddities. Don't ramble about hospital procedures. And for the love of God, don't bring up Ryan.
The pep talk I've been giving myself all morning plays on repeat as I approach the table. I've survived clinical rotations, overnight shifts, and that one horrifying incident with the bedpan in freshman year. I can handle coffee with a hot frat boy who's already seen me at my glittery, post-breakup worst.
