Page 60 of Writing On The Wall

“I’m not leaving you alone. You’re exhausted, and you might need something during the night. Honestly, I don’t have much confidence in your coordination, and I’m not willing to risk letting you hurt yourself further.”

“I’m not a sleepwalking drunk. I plan to get in bed and stay there. Because I’ll besleeping.”

“Perfect. You won’t even notice me.”

“Ethan, I don’t need you to stay here. I’ll be fine on my own.” I yank open a drawer, pulling out my very unsexy pajamas. Maybe they’ll deter him.

“MaybeIneedyou,hmm?” he proposes with a cocky smile. “It’s the strangest thing, but I’m suddenly terribly afraid of the dark. Just developed this evening.”

This man. First, I can’t seem to do anything right. Now he’s like a barnacle that won’t let go of my rusty side. “Whatever. I’m changing in the bathroom, then I’m going to crash.” I point a finger at him. “You better not snore.”

I leave the room and perform my nightly routine, feeling like I could pass out right here with my face in the sink. I reach for the hem of my scrub top, letting out a hiss when the movement pulls at the stitches on my side.

I take a deep breath, trying again. The sting is just as bad.

No, no, no, no, no.This cannot be happening! I take a deepbreath, exhaling with a noisy flutter of my lips. Am I really going to ask a man to help me take off my top? Completely platonically, of course—no sexy vibes here. My granny muumuu will make sure of that.

I swallow my pride—or flush it down the toilet. Either way, I’m seconds away from collapsing, and I refuse to sleep in scrubs, so I trudge back to my room, finding Ethan in a fresh shirt and—Lord, help me—gray sweatpants.

“You came prepared for a sleepover?” I muse.

“I keep a gym bag in my car.” He shrugs and frowns at my top. “Youdon’tlook prepared for a sleepover.”

Kill me now.

“About that…” I glance to the side, rolling my lips then mumble under my breath, “I need help.”

“What was that?” Ethan leans a little closer, tilting an ear toward me with a cocky smile.

“I’ll only say it again if you swear to uphold rule number three.”

“Cross my heart.”

“I can’t get out of my shirt.”

His eyebrows raise like I’ve just handed him the best ammunition ever.

“Rule numberthree,” I enunciate with narrowed eyes.

He nods obediently, rubbing his hands then blowing on them. “Right. How are we doing this?”

My eyes widen as they track the eager movements of his hands. “Down boy.”

He clears his throat, standing straight with his arms crossed behind his back. “Sorry. Awaiting orders, ma’am,” he drawls and nods again.

His serious face has a bubble of laughter erupting from me, making me wince at the sting on my side. Ethan’s hands shoot out, then he hesitates, looking so unsure of what to do.

“You okay?” he grits his teeth on my behalf.

“Yeah,” I breathe, holding my side with one hand. “Lift slowly from the hem.Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

“You’re killing me,” he groans, reaching for the bottom of the scrub top.

“Ethan.”

“What? A beautiful woman just asked me to take off her shirt—my brain understands the no-groping part, but my hands can’t compute.”

I scoff. “Nevermind. I’ll just sleep in this.” I begin to turn, but he gently catches my arm.

---