Page 17 of Honey Heat
Bonus? No more IV in his arm, and those sticky pads from the heart monitor were gone, too.
Which meant Ethan could get out of bed. Technically, the doctor hadn’t told him to stay put, so if he was caught, Ethan was throwing himself on that technicality.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slipped off, cold tile biting into his feet. Christ! Central air and floor tile were a brutal combination. Ethan steadied himself, gave it a second, then pushed up and away from the bed, legs shaking a little but holding up.
And your ass is hanging out of your gown.
Since no one was in the room, that was the last thing Ethan cared about.
Even though he had his balance, he still used the bed, then the empty food cart, and finally the back of a chair to make his way over to Dr. Martinez’s desk. Just before he got there, he stopped and shot a glance over his shoulder, checking if anyone was about to walk in. He had no clue where the doctor or Lucio were or how much time he had before one of them caught him and dragged him back to bed.
The conversation Ethan needed to have was private. The last thing he needed was Lucio overhearing.
Finally making it to the desk—damn the floor was cold!—he eased down into the doctor’s chair, a thick, comfortable thing that made him itch to give it a spin.
“Focus,” he muttered, though he allowed himself one little whirl that he instantly regretted. “Shit.” He clamped his hands to his skull, gritting his teeth. “Next time, genius, wait for the painkillers to wear off.”
Jesus. Martinez’s desk was a disaster. For a guy who used a tablet all the time, you’d think he’d be less…paper-dependent. There was a leaning tower of files on one side and, next to the keyboard, a blue mug dotted with tiny yellow stethoscopes, half filled with coffee.
There, tucked between a deli sandwich and a stapler, sat a landline phone. Ethan eyed the sandwich, his stomach grumbling, but he forced his attention away from the food.
He reached for the phone then hesitated, eyeing his bandaged hands. Crap. How was he supposed to use the dang thing when he couldn’t even pick it up?
Screw it. With a quick flick of his wrist, he knocked the receiver off the cradle then jabbed at the buttons with his elbow. Of course, that just mashed them all at once.
Maybe something else. There was a pen by the monitor. He dragged it over and worked the tip into his bandages, stabbing his finger in the process.
He hung up the phone with his elbow and punched in Stewart’s number, tapping along with his new Bic finger.
Ethan tried to pick up the phone, but it slipped through his bandaged hands and clattered back onto the desk. So he bent over and pressed his ear to the receiver. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, someone finally answered.
“I don’t need a personal loan or a new bank account, and I especially don’t need a penis enlargement pump… unless it’s free.”
“Stewart!” Ethan practically yelled, knowing Stewart was about to hang up. “It’s me, Ethan!”
“What’s your last name?” Stewart demanded, voice as suspicious as ever.
“McCade. Why are you asking me that?”
“What color are my eyes?” There was a pause. “If you get it wrong, this phone call is over.”
Ethan held back a sigh. Stewart was being weirder than usual. “Which eye?”
“Just answer, or this call is done, imposter.”
What the…? “One’s light gray. The other one’s brown.”
“Hmm. Lucky guess, mister. One final question to prove you’re my best friend.”
Ethan braced himself. It was Stewart, so there was no telling what he might ask. “Fire away.”
“Who really ate that slice of apple pie?”
“You did! Don’t you even try to pin that on me,” Ethan snapped, already gearing up for the argument. “Wyatt still thinks it was me, but there was a plate with crumbs on it right by your bed!”
“That wasn’t apple pie!” Stewart shot back. “Those crumbs were from a donut I had!”
Ethan blew out a breath, forcing himself to calm down, or they would argue about it for hours. “Now do you believe it’s me?”
