“Oh. Right. I’ll just sit here, then.”
We stayed like that for the longest time, my head on his shoulder, both of us spouting nonsensical words as we drifted in and out of an exhausted but completely contented haze.
7
One and a half hours later,we left the hospital at 5 am on a high, snorting at dumb jokes and laughing at things like seeing a squirrel in a tree. Not to mention that we spent three hours in a hospital in the middle of the night for the doctor to take four seconds looking at my foot before telling me it was a sprain, which caused us to break out into more fits of laughter. The wheezy, breathless kind that I could only assume was what flying felt like. We weaved toward his truck in what probably looked like a drunken haze.
“You still owe me the lift,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist as he led me toward his truck. I was still limping slightly, but his extra concern was probably overkill, although I found it hard to care at the moment.
“Next time, for sure,” I lied.
“Hey. You can’t say that unless therewillbe a next time.”
“Guess I’ll always owe you one.”
“Such a tease.”
He opened the door and helped me inside. The little shut-eye we’d gotten in the waiting room before the nurse called us back had breathed new life into us. We had officially caught our second wind. That and the fact that I was back in my own clothes again after seeing the doctor.
Duke started the truck and turned to me. “Breakfast?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “I know you probably lied about when you could take your test.”
I laughed. “I knew nothing about you. I needed to have an out.”
“How long does your test really go?”
“Until five,” I said, a reluctant smile peeking through.
“Okay, little liar, you want to grab some breakfast?”
Our end was near. There was some anxiety on my part, which meant we hadn’t been as diligent with our no-strings rule. There was a part of me that felt very much attached to Duke.
“You sure you’re not sick of me yet?” My voice sounded a bit too vulnerable. I almost hoped he would tell me yes and we could rip this night off like a Bandaid. As it was, lingering would definitely cost me.
He rolled his head to the side to look at me, holding my gaze longer than necessary.
“I’m not sick of you.”
There was a look of sadness that crossed his face before it was gone. Which couldn’t be right. I wouldn’t let it be right. We had made a deal at the beginning of this…whatever this twelve-hour passage of time was.
“Hey. No strings. No weirdness,” I said, repeating a version of our mantra for the night.
He held his fist out to mine to which I gave him back the knuckles.
“The fist bump. Do people still do this?” I asked.
“We do.”
When he realized I still hadn’t answered his question, he leaned across the bench seat, whispering sexy things like, “Bacon. Eggs.” At my smile, he came even closer, sending a puff of warm heat down my neck. “Pancakes.”
And so, after a night of crazy, interesting, thought-provoking, maddening excitement and fun…he bought me breakfast. Which resulted in both of us yawning over the table, eating pancakes and waffles drenched in syrup, trying not to get delirious again but getting so anyway. Laughing at things not funny and telling stories that didn’t make sense. A perfect way to close out the night. The end of our time rushing in on us. We traded social media handles, but not phone numbers because we were only casual acquaintances who spent a fun evening together. Texting and phone calls could lead to attachment. And no matter how much it hurt to say it, I wasn’t getting attached.
My heart pounded for some unknown reason as he pulled up to the Chick-fil-A where my car was parked. I tried to chalk up our time as exactly what Duke had said it would be…something off the wall and spontaneous. It had truly been a night for the books, which meant that ending this was good. If I stayed…I couldn’t deny this pull to him, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—get wrapped up in it. I had plans, and I was leaving.
It just wasn’t the right time in my life for a Duke.
I resolved to remember that line so I could relay it to Mira. As a lover of the books with bare-chested Englishmen on the covers, I couldn’t help but think she’d appreciate the joke.
We sat in the idling truck for a few long moments, trying to make it seem normal that neither of us was moving. Finally, he broke the silence.
