Dom feints right, tries to slip past Mas. The whole bed jerks. The IV line tugs. The pump bleats. I hiss and grab for the tubing, but then remember that hottie told me not to touch anything. The door bangs open. That sweet and spicy Latina storms in like a hurricane. Her gold hoops are swinging. Her hair is bouncing, and her sneakers squeak.
“Ay!” Her yell rings through the room. “Stop it. Estupido!”
Everyone freezes. She’s stomping across the room, stabbing at the alarm and killing it immediately. Her glare is deadly, and I’m sort of scared.
“Mas, she’s scaring me.”
“Shut up, Em!”
Her hands plant on her hips, that small waist pulses in and out with her hot breath that I want on me. Not directed at them. “Grown men acting like niños. In the ICU. Are you stupid or just selfish?”
Holli points at me. “He?—”
“Shh.” She slices a hand through the space like a blade. “No talking. You.”
A jab at Hollister.
“Wall. Now.”
“You.” A jab at Dom. “Other wall.”
“You.” A jab at Mas. “Hands off both boys. Help me fix this bed railing.”
They actually listen.
Holli backs up, jaw clenched. Dom peels away, nostrils flaring. Mas shifts to the far side and drops the rail so she can check the line I almost ripped out. Her fingers fly over the tubing. She scans the bag. She smooths the IV in my arm.
“Breathe,” she orders without looking at me. “In for four, out for six.”
I breathe because she said so. The ache backs off half a notch. She wheels on the three of them, pen in her fist like a knife.
“One more stunt like that and I’ll call security and have you kicked out. Bunch of bratty Bay Back boys. You scare my patient, you leave.”
Her eyes pin Dom.
“You understand?”
Dom nods once, jaw stone. Her stare burns into Hollister. “You?”
Holli grinds a yes through his teeth. She turns to Mas last, patting the side of his arm.
“You keep order, or I keep you out too. I am not playing. This is a hospital, not a bar for fighting.” She’s softer to him but doesn’t bend.
“We don’t fight in bars but outside them because?—”
“Nene, hush.” I clamp my mouth shut. Not because she told me to, but because I was done talking. Mas drops his gaze, nods.
“Papito?”
“No fighting. Got it.”
She steps back to me, checks the traction bar, checks my pulse, and adjusts a sensor on my finger, which she swears I touched. I grin at her like a sinner who just saw God.
“My angel. You’re so pretty when you get angry. Makes me love you more.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “Stop causing trouble. Now sip.”
She lifts the cup to my mouth. I obey. Her hand is steady. Mine is not. She looks over her shoulder without taking the straw away.
