Page 43 of Decoding Morse

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Eric has no time for his mother. He’s local, and I’ve never met him, which is crazy since I’ve spent holidays and birthdays with her. When she was in the hospital having surgery, she had me call him. His assistant promised to get him a message, but he didn’t show up, didn’t send flowers, nothing. If we ever do meet, believe me, that man will get a piece of my mind.” As soon as I got my phone back, I needed to call Carol and find out what the hell was going on. “If that little shit is giving her grief?—”

Morse finally gave me his undivided attention, and whatever I’d planned to say vanished from my brain because he was smirking. “What will you do?”

I wanted to answer, but the curve of his lips had struck me positively stupid. Did he even know how hot he was?

Because daaaamn.

I had to tear my gaze away to think. What had we been talking about again? Oh yeah. Eric. “Probably a bad idea to voice my intentions in a public place. Premeditated isn’t really my jam.”

He leaned closer, and my heart raced. “No, but it’s mine. You let me know if you need help with the bastard. I got your back, Angel.”

His eyes sparkled in challenge, making butterflies start up a ballet in my stomach. Was he… flirting with me? This man was so freaking confusing I couldn’t tell.

The nurse called my name. I released his hand and stood, but Morse followed suit.

“I’ll be right back.”

“No. I made a promise,” he said. “You stay in my sight until we get back to the fire station, remember?”

Well, if that didn’t send a shiver of excitement straight between my thighs….

Then, the awful reality smacked me upside the head. What if I had to get undressed? I’d rather microneedle my face with IV-sized needles than allow him to see my stretch marks and flabby areas.

Opening my mouth to protest, the words tumbled to a halt in my throat. The set of his jaw promised an argument if I refused, and the last thing we needed was to cause a scene in the doctor’s office.

“Fine. Let’s do this.”

14

Morse

FOLLOWING AMELIA BACK to the examination room, I didn’t miss the flicker of panic that swept across her features when the nurse pulled her into an alcove and gestured at a scale. Amelia looked down at herself as if trying to decide which layers of clothing to remove but ultimately shook her head and let out a mirthless chuckle. Something about the sound told me I wanted nothing to do with this conversation, so I stayed back.

“I’m just here for my leg,” Amelia said. “We can do the weight thing at my annual checkup.”

The nurse eyed her clipboard before leveling a stern look at the uncooperative patient. “Your annual checkup is about three months past due, and we need to note any significant changes.”

“Well, there’ll be a significant increase today, that’s for sure. We rode his motorcycle.” Amelia hooked a thumb at me as if our mode of transportation wasn’t evident by our attire. Of course, how we got here wasn’t any of the nurse’s business. “I’m wearing layers. Several of them.”

The nurse looked her over. “We can subtract a few pounds for clothing.”

Amelia frowned but stepped onto the scale. The screen let up, and she groaned. “Oh. My. God.”

I snuck a peek at the screen as the nurse started reading the glowing digits aloud.

“Whoa!” Amelia jumped off the scale like it was quicksand. “There’s no need to announce it to the world. I can see that horrifying number perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Subtracting the weight of her gear, her weight seemed healthy to me, but when she glanced in my direction with a smile so forced she looked manic, it was clear she felt differently.

She was upset, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Did I smash the scale? Rip the clipboard out of the nurse’s hand so she couldn’t record the number?

The receptionist who’d checked Amelia in walked past and offered me a friendly smile, but my expression wiped it from her face. Or perhaps it was the fists balled at my sides. She quickly averted her eyes and headed back toward her desk, and I made a conscious effort to chill the fuck out.

The nurse led us into an examination room, where she asked a handful of questions before stepping out to get the doctor. Posture ramrod straight, Amelia perched on the foot of the examination table, staring at the door as though she wished she could bolt. Gone was the flirty glint in her eyes and the smile that had danced across her lips in the waiting room. Now, she looked defeated.

It fucking killed me.

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