Page 22 of We Were Something
“I’m heading back up to the fourth floor if you want to walk with me,” I offer.
Ishouldbe heading to my office to finish all that dreaded paperwork, but I can’t help but hope to stretch out this time with her even if I know nothing can come from it.
Paige nods, a smile widening on her face. “I’d love to.”
I pick up the bag from the edge of the table then gesture in the direction of the doors Paige just walked out of.
“I’m sure Ivy appreciates you visiting,” I tell her as we cross the courtyard and walk through the hospital entrance. “It’s difficult to be in long-term care, regardless of age, but particularly for children.”
“Well, I’ve known Ivy since she was born. Her brothers and I have been close since we were kids, so…swinging by to gossip with her and”—she waves at the purse she has slung over her shoulder—“bringing her a movie and some new makeup to mess around with seems like the least I can do.”
I nod, pressing my finger against the elevator call button, thankful to finally have an answer as to how the two of them know each other.
“Iwonderedwho I should thank for the fact that she seems to have a different color eyeshadow every time I come by her room.”
Paige laughs, a brilliant little noise that echoes through the lobby of the hospital as it simultaneously wraps itself around my chest.
“Anything I can do to keep the doctors of Roth Memorial entertained,” she teases.
The elevator doors open and I extend my hand, directing her to step on first.
“Such a gentleman.” She presses the button for the fourth floor then leans back against the opposite wall. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised considering how you managed to get me home the other night after my disastrous moment.”
She pauses, and I notice a shift in her demeanor and expression, a bit of her confidence disappearing as she brings up the events of Saturday evening.
“I was blackout drunk. What exactly happened?”
I watch the numbers above the door as they indicate our ascent, doing my damnedest not to smile as I recall the ridiculous interactions we had as I attempted to keep her safe and get her home.
“You don’t remember?” I ask, and when I glance over, I see her shaking her head.
“Nothing between throwing up on your shoes and waking up in my bed the next morning with a hangover that could kill a horse, though the entire evening is somewhat of a blur.”
The doors open at the fourth floor and we both step out and head in the direction of Ivy’s room, maintaining a leisurely walking pace, which I’m grateful for since the past few minutes have passed far too quickly.
“Well, you apologized a bunch as we cleaned off my shoes in the men’s restroom, where you told me about the time you barged in to confront a boy you had gone to the movies with who lied to his friends about you two having sex.”
Paige snorts. “Fucking Nate Babson.”
“And then we avoided the masses by taking a shortcut through the rose garden and out to the parking lot, where we got into my car and you gave me very poor directions to your house that had me driving halfway to LAX before I realized you weren’t going to be any help.”
She giggles again. “How did you actually get me home?”
“I called Ben.”
Paige stops walking, shock covering her face. “You called Ben Calloway and asked him for my address?”
I nod.
“Didn’t he wonder what was going on?”
“I’m sure he did, but I told him I’d explain it later, and that was enough for him.”
Paige gives me a faux-irritated look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “Clearly, I’ll need to properly chastise that man. For all he knows, you were dragging me off to commit murder.”
At that, I let out my own snort.
“Well if that isn’t serial killer strategy at its best—calling a friend to tell him I’m with you then taking you home to murder you at your own house.”
