Page 53 of The Valentine's Bet

Well, there’s something else to think about.

I set Amy down on the bench, not missing the way her cheeks are flushed. It’s probably just embarrassment, but my heart beats a little harder as her warmth is gone. I take a seat beside her and start ripping off my skates. Brittany returns with our shoes and I drop off the bench, putting a sneaker on Amy’s good foot.

“I’ll have to carry this one.” I hold up the other shoe. I slip into my own shoes when my phone goes off with the alert. “The Uber is here. Let’s go.”

She huffs. “I don’t need to go to the ER.”

“Yeah, you do. If it’s about the money, don’t worry about it. I’ll pay.” I reach down and swoop her up into my arms again.

“Wow, you must work out a lot...” Her blue eyes meet mine as her cheeks once again fill with a crimson hue.

“You’re tiny,” I say, not letting the comment hit my ego.

“What happened?” Weston asks as soon as he makes it to us.

“She fell,” I answer, ignoring the look he’s giving me. “Keep an eye on my sister.”

He salutes me. “Sir, yes, sir.”

I roll my eyes but let it go. I have more important things to worry about—like getting Amy to the hospital to make sure she didn’t break something. I’m pretty sure it’s just a bad sprain, but the silent tears are still flowing as I place her into the backseat of the Uber. I slide in beside her.

“You’re coming with me?”

I make a weird face at her. “Uh, yeah. I’m not leaving you in this condition.” She goes quiet. I remove my scarf and hand it to her. “If you have any more hot chocolate that needs to be wiped up, you can use this.”

“I’m good, thanks,” she says timidly, her eyes shifting to the window.

And that’s how she stays the entire ride.

And during the two-hour wait in the ER waiting room.

And as we’re sitting here, in the exam room, waiting on the doctor.

I can’t freaking stand it.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask, looking up at her wearily. It’s late—really late. “You haven’t said anything since we got in the car.”

Amy looks over at me. “I don’t know ... I’m just ... embarrassed.” Her voice nearly breaks at the admission.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I say softly, reaching out and squeezing her hand. She leans back against the hospital bed, shutting her eyes. And for some reason, I don’t let go of her hand. I just sit in the incredibly uncomfortable chair like I’m frozen. And for some reason, Ifeelfrozen. Her skin is so soft and warm, and the way her chocolate waves are a mess is ...pretty.Sheis pretty.

And I’m worried about her.

The knock on the door cuts any chance of conversation short and in walks the doctor, a smile on his face. “Well, the good news is, your ankle isn’t broken.”

Amy lets out an audible sigh of relief.

“The bad news is, it’s a moderate sprain. You took a bad spill, Miss Gibson. You need to stay off that ankle for a while.” He peers at the two of us through his thick plastic glasses, his hair shimmering white beneath the lights. “I’ve gone ahead and ordered you a prescription for pain management. I’m also going to put you in a boot. We’ll get you taken care of and out of here.”

“Thank you,” Amy says, sighing.

Within twenty minutes, we’re walking out—well, Amy is limping out, using my arm as support. And I am suddenlyveryaware of her body leaning against me. I flag down a cab and help her in. She scoots her way to the middle of the backseat and gives the driver her address. I sit next to her, leaning back against the headrest.

“I amsotired,” she mumbles, her eyes closing as she leans her head against my shoulder.

I swallow hard, taking in the freckles that have peeked through her worn-off makeup. I bet she’s stunning without makeup.

I force my eyes away and run my hand through my hair.

---