Page 30 of Some Like It Hot

He rolled onto his side, then slid his arm under her again, giving her a pillow. She sighed, and it arrowed right to his heart.

Then he kissed her forehead. “No nightmares tonight,” he said softly, then closed his eyes and let the morphine take him into his dreams.

It was the nurse who woke him—how many hours later, he didn’t know, but the sun glazed the floor and his body was cramped and yes, a little cold.

He opened his eyes. A middle-aged woman, dark hair, kind expression, walked over to Larke’s side of the bed and said nothing as she looked for his pulse on the arm tucked under Larke. Good thing she found one, because he’d lost feeling in it.

Larke roused and lifted her head. “Oh. Sorry.”

“I just need his blood pressure,” the nurse said, but Larke acted like they’d been caught necking or something and nearly fell off the bed in an effort to untangle herself and get away.

He wanted to call her back, the space next to him hollow and chilly. But she walked over to the window, her hair mussed, her arms akimbo, jumpy as the nurse took his blood pressure, temperature, then made him lay back as she checked his stitches.

He pulled the blanket over himself, suddenly feeling frozen and painfully naked in his flimsy gown.

Larke mercifully looked away, toward the window, and he couldn’t help but follow her gaze.

The sky had blackened, the fire clearly rousing.

“I need to get back to the line,” he said, more of a mutter than intent, although, yeah. He felt a little weak, but get some real food in him, and—

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Larke turned back and her expression spoke the nurse’s words. “You might get discharged later today, but the doctor needs to take a look at you first.”

Larke smiled, just a little triumph.

“Breakfast will be by in an hour or so.” The nurse patted his leg and left.

Silence descended between them as he looked over at Larke.

Then she laughed, just a burble of giggles, and he hadn’t a clue what to do with that.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your expression. Clearly you don’t like being poked and prodded…”

That wasn’t quite the problem, but he shook his head as if in agreement. “Just give me my clothes. Let’s get out of here.”

She stopped laughing. “No.”

“I will get out of this bed in all my hospital gown glory, honey. Or you can save us both that moment when you get a good view of—”

“Fine! I don’t want to see any…unauthorized parts.” She walked over to a bag hanging in the closet, took it out, opened it, and made a face. “You can’t put these back on. They’re filthy.”

“Check my PG bag. I have clean clothes there—at least underclothes, socks, and a shirt.”

She grabbed his backpack and opened it on the foot of the bed, rifling through it.

“There’s a blue compression bag—”

She found it and tossed it to him.

“Toothpaste and the brush?”

She handed him a plastic bag.

“Now, take this stupid thing out of me.” He held out his arm and the IV line.

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