Page 4 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"He said they're childhood friends," I mumble, but the excuse sounds pathetic even to my ears.
"Ethan." Sylas's voice softens as he tilts my chin up. "Last month, when we went to that party, he pretended not to know you. I saw your face. You looked like someone had ripped your heart out."
My eyes start to burn with unwelcome tears. "He texted me later that night. Said he was sorry. That it was complicated."
"And then he showed up at 2 AM for a booty call." Sylas rolls his eyes. "How convenient that his complicated feelings always seem to simplify after midnight."
"It's not always like that," I protest weakly. "Sometimes he stays over. He held me all night last week."
"And left before sunrise so nobody would see him doingthe walk of shame from the 'gay guy's apartment." Sylas makes air quotes with his fingers. "Which, by the way, is not a thing. He's a fucking coward."
"Why do you let him treat you like this?" Sylas suddenly demands, his playful tone dropping altogether. "I'm not kidding, Ethan. Help me understand, because I'm losing my mind watching this."
The question hits me like a slap. My first instinct is to deflect with a joke, but something in Sylas's expression stops me.
"He's a textbook narcissist, you know that, right?" His voice is gentle but firm. "Everything has to revolve around his feelings, his timeline, his comfort level. When has he ever asked what you need?"
"You don't get it," I say finally, my voice quieter than I intended. "Before Ryan, do you know how many guys showed actual interest in me? Zero. Literally zero."
"That's not true?—"
"It is true!" The words come out sharper than I meant them to. "You've always had guys lining up around the block. Even now, you've got Blake on speed dial whenever you're in the mood. I've never had that. Never."
Sylas stares at me, his expression softening slightly. "So you're settling for someone who treats you like a dirty secret because you think that's all you deserve?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." He sits beside me on the bed, our shoulders touching. "Ethan, I love you, but the bar is so low it's practically in hell."
"He might be ashamed of me," I admit, the words burning my throat, "but at least he wants me. That's more than I can say for anyone else." I sigh, leaning against thecounter. "What if... what if no one else ever looks at me that way?"
And there it is, the truth I've been hiding even from myself.
"Remember last year when I asked Jason Wilson from Biochem for coffee?" I say, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve.
Sylas groans. "God, how could I forget? You were a mess for weeks."
"He looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head," I continue, the memory still making my cheeks burn. "Like the concept of someone wanting to date me was completely absurd. Then he told everyone in the lab group about the 'weird gay guy' who hit on him."
"That guy was a complete asshole," Sylas says firmly.
My shoulders lift in a noncommittal shrug. "No, he was honest. Ryan was the first guy who..." my voice catches, "who ever looked at me like I was worth looking at. Who actually wanted me back."
"So you're settling for scraps because some straight douchebag bruised your ego?" Sylas delivers the brutal truth in the gentlest possible voice.
"It wasn't just him," I admit quietly. "It's been my whole life. I was always too skinny, too pale, too nerdy. Ryan might hide me, but at least he sees me."
Sylas's face softens completely. "Oh, honey." He pulls me into a tight hug. "The Cowardly Liar is not some amazing male specimen. He's a mediocre white boy with alright cheekbones and the emotional capacity of a walnut."
I snort-laugh against his shoulder, the knot in my chest loosening slightly.
"You're a catch, Ethan Barrett," Sylas continues, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "You're smart, you're kind, youcan explain the difference between systolic and diastolic without sounding like a textbook, and your ass is phenomenal in those green scrub pants."
"Stop," I laugh, wiping my eyes.
"I will not. Do you know how many guys in the theatre department have asked me if you're single? Three. Three future Broadway stars want your juicy nursing student buns, hon."
"Really?" I can't help the hopeful note in my voice.
