Okay. Stop looking at the man’s butt. I glance up at the white-tiled ceiling. A man this perfect has to have skeletons in his closet. It’s the only explanation. Otherwise, I’ll need to start believing in knights slaying dragons and being able to pay off a credit card for good. Fairy tales. I glance back at Jack, who looks like he’s starring in his own rom-com. Perfectly cast as the muscle-bound, baby-faced lumberjack with a heart of gold.
Then I remember the next installment ofSolo February.A flash of the article runs through my brain.
I realize I spent a good part of my life waiting for a man to take care of things for me. I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. For example, I’ve had a leaky faucet for a while. Until last year, I always counted on my dad to come over and fix things like this. I couldn’t afford a plumber, so I thought I just had to live with it, until the Solo February Challenge. I looked up how to fix itonline, and went to the local hardware store, where I bought a washer and a wrench. Fifteen minutes after I’d gotten home, I’d fixed the darn thing. All by myself.
Lesson learned a bit late, but still learned: I don’t need someone to fix things for me. I can do it myself.
Yet here I am, letting Jack help me.
But I also kind oflikeJack helping me.
Argh.
I play a game of Twenty Questions with myself. Could I be at this ER by myself? Yes, of course. Do I want to be at this ER by myself? I glance at a red-headed man two seats down from me who’s periodically retching into a McDonald’s bag with some unknown illness. No, I definitely don’t want to be here alone.
And I remind myself, it’s not my fault that my sister bailed on me, and Jack just happened to be here. I didn’t ask for his help. He just… volunteered it. And I didn’t say no.
I watch as Jack talks with the nurse for a bit. He points to the back of the room, and she glances at me, and nods.
“Asha has a room for us,” Jack says when he returns to me. “She’s letting us skip the line.”
“How did you manage that?” I ask him, amazed.
“You’d be surprised what dropping off freshly baked scones in the ER once a month will get you.” He offers his hand. I put my hand in his and his big palm dwarfs mine. I wobble on one foot.
“I think it would be easier if I carried you.”
“Not easier for your back!”
Jack raises an eyebrow in challenge. “You can’t weigh much.” Oh, I can. And I do. “Would you mind…?”
“Wait, is this where you spike me on the ground like a football in revenge for turning you down for a date?”
Jack throws back his head and laughs. “No, I’m not going to spike you like a football.”
“No hard feelings for the other day?”
“Would I be here helping you if there were?” Could it be that Jack’s an… adult, too? Most men I’ve ever met were man-boys. Second-stage larvae who hold grudges.
“Okay, then.” He hands me the piece of cake to hold and sweeps me up in his arms, like I weigh nothing. I cling to his big brawny neck and notice he’s not even straining. Like not even a little bit. Veins in his forehead are not protruding. It’s unbelievably hot. I wish he was carrying me into his bedroom and not into an ER exam room.
“See? Isn’t this easier than limping around the waiting room? Asha says we can take exam room four. And Ian will be in to see us soon.”
Several people turn to watch Jack carry me across the ER. I feel like a princess, and Jack, my prince. And I have to remind myself that I don’t need a prince. I really don’t. Even if it does feel nice.
“Are you okay? Ankle okay?” Jack dotes on me as he swings me gently through the automatic doors to the large, bustling treatment center beyond the waiting room.
“How’s your back?” I ask him, worried.
“Back’s fine. You’re not heavy, Sora.”
“Liar.” With the amount of bacon I’ve consumed since the first of February, I know I have gained weight. But it’s a Solo and Scale-Free February for me.
We find exam room four, and he takes me through the curtain. He lays me like Snow White down on the exam bed. Fora second, our noses are so close that they’re almost touching. His big brown eyes find mine, concerned, sweet, and gentle. Damn, those fine eyes. Those fine, fine eyes. They’re big and beautiful, just like his triceps. His lips part, and for a second, I wonder what it would feel like to have that beardstache rubbing up against my face. Razor burn would be a thousand percent worth it. Could he kiss me, right here? Would I transform from a bacon-loving, bitter singleton to a pretty, pretty princess? His eyes flick down to my lips. That’s it. That’s it. Right there…
Then he meets my gaze again. He laughs a little, sheepish. “I kind of need my neck back.”
And that’s when I realize that I’ve got one hand around the back of his neck in a death grip. For all practical purposes, I’m still holding him hostage, inches from my face. Damn. I’ve only been without men for a little while, and already I’ve turned into a sex-starved maniac. I balance the plastic-wrapped plate of chocolate cake on my thighs.
