Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Then they called my name. I stood up quickly, which was a mistake. The waiting room spun in a drunken circle.
Diego sprang up, steadying me. But the last thing I wanted right now was him touching me. Not when things were so awkward between us. And not when my skin felt so heated and flushed and gross.
I took two steps, and then my leg buckled. Why was it so hard to walk? I’d had no trouble walking around campus this morning. Well, I’d had less trouble than I did now. Diego pulled my arm around his shoulder and slung his around my waist, and I leaned heavily on him. There wasn’t much other choice.
We followed the nurse into an exam room, and he lifted me up and set me at the edge of the exam table.
Then he stepped away, clearly intending to go to the door. But I slumped to the side, and he jumped back, supporting me again. What the hell was wrong with me? It was like I was drunk or something. And being drunk around Diego hadn’t ended very well the last time. Though it had felt great at the time.
“Your boyfriend can stay,” the nurse said as she brought over a blood pressure cuff. Wait, my what now? She fastened the cuff tightly on my upper arm, and said in a loud stage whisper, “He’s so handsome!”
Oh god.
Every time I thought this day couldn’t get any worse, it did. I was careful not to look up at Diego, but since I was currently slumped against his chest, it was embarrassing anyway.
After that, things happened quickly. The nurse proclaimed that I had a fever, and that was why I was so loopy. Was loopy a medical term?
The doctor came in and asked some routine questions. “Any cuts or scrapes recently?” he asked, pulling on gloves. “Open wounds that might have gotten infected?”
I shook my head.
“She’s limping,” Diego said.
The doctor made me lie back on the exam table and asked which leg hurt. He touched my right one, and nothing happened. Then he touched my left leg, and I screamed.
“That’s the one,” the doctor said. “Can I roll up your pants on that side?”
I stared dazedly at the ceiling while the doctor examined my leg, every touch painful. Diego stood by my side, holding my hand, and kept up a steady stream of stories about how the other residents of the Baylor House had eventually started listening to him as he whipped the place into shape. I couldn’t focus very well, but somehow, it was nice to hear his calm, steady voice.
“When did you get this cut?” A male voice cut in. Oh yeah, it was the doctor.
“What cut?”
“On your calf.”
Diego sucked in a sharp breath, wincing. Maybe it was good I couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “The other day.”
The doctor waited. “You don’t know, or you do?”
“I was babysitting. He was so cute.”
“She means the baby,” Diego said.
“And… I went out on the front porch, and there was this old metal porch swing, and when I sat down, I felt a sting.”
“I see. Was your leg uncovered at the time?”
“No, I was wearing pants.”
“But your pants were rolled up from helping give the baby a bath.” Diego swore under his breath, and I looked up to see his guilt-stricken expression. Why? He hadn’t made the porch swing old and rusty.
Oh. But he was the reason I’d gotten upset and gone out there in the first place.
Then, there were just phrases floating in the air.
An infection… a shot… antibiotics… bedrest… elevate the leg…
Then I was in a car. How had I gotten here? Where had the clinic gone?
Diego had his hands on the wheel. “How are you doing? I have your medicine.”
“Thanks.” I leaned my head against the window but then sat up straighter. “Did the doctor say I have cellulite?” That seemed rude.
“Cellulitis,” Diego corrected, sounding a little amused. “A skin infection.”
Oh. That sounded less insulting.
“Mia, about that night we babysat—” The rest of his sentence was lost as I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I was in my bed, the door to my room was open, and Aaron sat at my desk. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi. When did you get here?” I blinked blearily. “Wait, when did I get here?”
“Diego carried you in.”
Oh. That was weird. Except I’d been in his arms before. At the party. During the scavenger hunt. A new thought occurred. “I need to take the medicine.”
“You already did.” He gestured toward a glass of water and a prescription bottle on the desk.
“Oh.” I wondered what else I’d done while I was out of it. It was a bit much to hope I’d done my homework.
“How do you feel?”
I squinted, trying to take stock. “A little better?”
“Do you think you could eat something?”