His brows raise. “A bunk bed?”
“You’ll have a roommate,” I answer.
His brows lower into a deep line. I observe his gaze move toward the hallway, or more specifically, toward the other doors we passed. All of them house one person each. Some of them had their doors slightly ajar. I suppose he saw enough.
Stanley appears to read the situation quickly. He’s also quite easy to read himself. I see it all in his gray eyes, how recognition flashes.
“Everyone else gets a room on their own,” he says. “Except me and my roomie.”
I nod. His mouth curves, but his jaw clenches as well.
“And why’s that, doc?”
“It was recommended by Damon and Kayla,” I explain. “They’re familiar with you, and I trust their judgment.”
Stanley’s jaw relaxes, only by a margin, but it’s enough to tell me that he agrees with me. We can both trust them to make this call.
Though it’s not what I originally planned, my investors made reasonable points as to why Stanley would benefit from having this specific roommate. They could make each other comfortable since they know one another rather well.
“Your roommate will arrive shortly,” I say. “You’ll complete intake together tomorrow.”
“Is he hot?” Stanley asks.
“That’s not relevant.”
“Well, it should be, doc.”
“It isn’t, and I don’t have time to argue.”
Stanley puts his lips together in a pout. “Don’t I get a mint on the pillow, at least?”
“You’ll find snacks on Deck One, mess hall. Nutritionally selected.”
“That doesn’t sound appealing at all,” he comments as he sits on the bottom bunk.
“You’ll have intake and baseline physicals at eight o’clock,” I say. “Please refrain from eating past midnight.”
“Unless it’s you, right?” he asks with a wink. “You on the menu?”
I jot down some notes on my tablet. “Not recommended since I’m not sustenance.”
He grins when I glance up. “We’ll see. Heard you go by Em?”
“I do. Most people develop anxiety under medical authority. Nicknames tend to undo it.”
He tilts his head, grin still intact. “Look at you, doc. Already psychoanalyzing me.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift my gaze to meet his. “You’re far too comfortable with proximity, and you rely on humor as a form of deflection.”
His low whistle cuts me off before I can list more of my observations. “You’re good, doc.”
“I’m trained, and call me Em.”
“Then call me Stan. Stanley’s for courtrooms or angry moms.”
It takes a while, but I try out the nickname. “Stan.”
“See?” he says, smiling. “We’re warming up to each other.”
