Page 65 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

I found Jack propped up in bed, surrounded by books and looking frustrated with his limited mobility. His face lit up when I entered, then immediately shifted to concern.

"You're out of breath."

"Had to take the back stairs," I explained, dropping my bag. "Coach Williams was in the lobby."

"Very covert." He reached for me, then winced. "Though maybe not worth a stealth mission just to watch me be useless."

"You're not useless." I sat carefully on the edge of his bed, mindful of his ribs. "You're healing. There's a difference." "Tell that to the team. The playoffs celebration is this weekend, and I can barely move."

"Good thing you have someone well-versed in Victorian medical practices to keep you company instead."

His smile turned soft. "Is that what we're calling this? Medical observation?"

"Purely professional."

"Obviously." His hand found mine. "That's why you're blushing."

"I'm not—"

A knock at the door sent me diving behind his bed, knocking over a stack of medical texts in the process.

"Jack?" It was Coach. "Need to discuss recovery timeline."

"Just a minute!" Jack called, then whispered to me, "Under the bed."

I army-crawled into the dusty space, trying not to sneeze as Jack awkwardly adjusted his position to look casual.

"Come in!"

Coach entered, and I had a ground-level view of his Preston Hockey sneakers. "How's the pain level today?"

"Manageable," Jack said, though I knew he'd been wincing all afternoon.

"Good, good. And the... academic support? Keeping up with studies despite everything?"

There was something knowing in his tone that made me hold my breath.

"Yes, sir. Lots of independent study."

"I'm sure." Coach's shoes moved closer to the bed. "Interesting choice of reading material."

I realized with horror that my Victorian Medical Practices notes were still visible on his desk, my distinctively color-coded handwriting obvious to anyone who looked.

"Research," Jack said quickly. "For history class."

"Mhmm." Coach shifted, and I saw him bend down. My heart stopped. But he just picked up one of the fallen books. "Well, keep up the... studying. And Jack?"

"Yes, Coach?"

"Tell Miss Chen that medical historians typically study anatomy from above the bed, not below it.

I closed my eyes in mortification. When Coach's footsteps faded, I crawled out, face burning.

"So much for secrecy," Jack laughed, then immediately regretted it. "Ow."

"Serves you right." But I was fighting a smile. "Think he'll tell anyone?"

"Nah. Coach is cool. Though he might make me do extra laps when I'm cleared, just for the drama of it all."

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