Page 43 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

Rally football stands. I slept there for a few days when I was looking

for a place to stay. Sleeping on the cold bleachers, there were twenty-

two rows of seats, but forty-four stairs to get to the top where I would

reside at night.

I count a hundred and thirty-three minutes until a nurse comes to

shake me from my stupor of consciousness, my mind miles away

while my eyes trace the discolorations in the tiles.

“Sir, your friend is awake. She’s asking for you.”

I perk up, coming to my feet, only to feel my knees wobble slightly.

“Is she okay?”

She smiles softly. “Yeah, she’s okay. We had to go in and surgically

remove some fragments, and she had to get stitches. But she’s fine.

Whatever fell on her was obviously rusted, so we cleaned the wound

and gave her a tetanus shot. She should be okay now.”

“Thank you,” I gust, thankful and frightened at the same time. “I can

go see her?”

“Yeah, right this way.”

I hurry behind her quick steps, coming through the emergency bay to

find the first room occupied by a cute blonde woman in a blue

hospital gown. Leah looks up from her lap, her eyelids heavy, and

rings are drawn under her gray irises. She’s exhausted still, and

although I don’t want to make it worse, she waves me in all the same.

The nurse dismisses herself, and I sit up on the side of the bed to get

a better look at the wound. It’s dressed in tape and a large white

bandage, but when I try to move to sit down in the chair nearby, her

soft hand brushes my wrist. She urges me to stay, so I do, watching

her eyes stroke over every detail of me.

“When did you find me?”

“About two hours ago,” I breathe.

I hear her gulp, her throat dry by the sounds of it. “Thank you for

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