Page 41 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
“That’s not necessary.”
“Better safe than sorry. Don’t worry; this is quick and painless.”
I grunted as I leaned back on the cushion. A few minutes later, something beeped above my forehead.
“Your temp’s thirty-nine degrees.”
My eyes popped open in alarm, and then I realized she meant Celsius. “You almost gave me a stroke,” I grumbled.
“It’s not my fault you guys don’t follow the international scale,” she murmured. “I’ll use a pulse oximeter on your right pointer finger. There’s no needles or anything. Okay?”
“Fine.” I let my eyelids fall shut because it took too much effort to keep them open.
“Put your right hand on your chest—there. I’ll move your finger now, alright? You’ll feel a slight squeeze.”
I nodded, and then she gently lifted my pointer finger and clamped something around it.
“Ninety-six.”
“Which means?”
“It’s within the normal range. Anything lower than ninety means you need to go to the ER.”
“I told you . . . fever.”
“It’s a high one. Could be the flu. You need lots of liquids and rest.”
“I have meetings.” What time were they—three and six p.m.? Or was it three-thirty and five? My mind felt like it was stuck in a heavy haze.
“You’re hardly conscious. Cancel them.”
“Fuck.” I felt sleep tugging at my brain, but I said, “Where’s my phone? Need to inform clients.”
“Why don’t you ask your assistant to contact them?”
“No assistant.”
“I’ll do it.”
“No—” I attempted to sit up and only managed to slightly lift my head off the sofa.
“We can waste time arguing about this, or you could save your energy and let me do it.”
Even I knew when to fold. “Don’t use text speak. And no emojis.”
“Noted, Professor. I appreciate your faith in my judgment,” she said. “Promise I won’t flirt with your clients, either.”
I gave her my passcode. “Everything’s in my calendar. The numbers are?—”
“I’ve got it, Gabe. Go to sleep.”
The last thought I had was how I’d just put my career in the hands of Tala’s little sister.
Then everything blanked out.
luna
Luna
