Page 126 of Date With Danger

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“No, you haven't.” She helps me to the door and then sticks her head out, checking both directions. “I’ll distract that nurse for you.”

I wait for her to get the nurse’s attention before sneaking the opposite way out of my room.

I tiptoe toward the hallway to the left, but Maddie shakes her head, nodding to the right.

Sneaking around is so fun. I’m practically a pro.

I pull my IV cart that I named Dave, and squeak down the hallway, reading names on the signs.

What’s Caleb's last name? Sexy Pants? I don’t see that on any signs.

Seymour? Close enough. I push open the door and am greeted by the bare backside of an eighty-year-old man.

Not Seymour! I do not want to see more!

“I told you that was the wrong one, Dave.” I retreat into the hall and keep reading.

Hastings. Harris.

Harris! That’s his name. Duh.

I creak open the door and there’s Caleb. Asleep in the hospital bed like an angel. His shirt is off and his chest is bandaged across the middle.

He’s beautiful.

I wheel Dave inside but he squeaks at me. “Shut up, Dave. I don’t need your opinion.”

Caleb shifts in the bed. “Amelia?”

“Hey, Agent Die Hard. Were you so desperate for attention you purposely put yourself in harm's way?”

He smiles, but it seems to take effort, he looks exhausted. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in your room being monitored twenty-four-seven.”

I scrunch my forehead. “I don’t remember the doctor saying anything like that.”

“Those were my recommendations.”

“Ah.” My knees go weak, which isn't ideal since I'm already lightheaded. “Then it’s a good thing I came to you so you can keep a very close eye on me. Besides, Dave was bored in my room.”

“Who’s Dave?”

I pat my IV guy.

His lips curl up. “Mine’s Janice.”

“We should set them up.” I slide Dave next to Janice. “There, now they won’t be focused on us.”

I perch on the edge of his bed, careful not to jostle him. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb snakes his good arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. “Like the luckiest guy in the world.”

I pull my legs up onto the bed, snuggling into him. “You’re just saying that because you got shot.”

“Maybe. But I’d do it again.”

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden.

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