“You landed me in these spacious accommodations with your wicked slice,” he reminded her. “In my books, that’s a debt you have to pay.”
“If every other patient can wear the stylish apparel we so thoughtfully provide, so can you. And if you’re worried about your hiney showing, stay in bed.”
“Hiney? My, my,” he said dryly, “your professional vocabulary is amazing.”
“That’s what continuing education is for.”
“Whatever you call my hiney, buns, or posterior, there’s the matter of you being responsible for my VIP care. As a VIP, I want my own shorts and T-shirt, not a flimsy, see-through, doesn’t-close-in-the-back hospital gown.”
No question about it—the “I” definitely meant irritating.
“But you don’t sleep in anything except your boxers,” she blurted out.
“At home, I don’t. Does this…” he waved his arms in an all-encompassing motion“…even remotely look like home?”
Sensing the futility in arguing—apparently he’d decided that if cajolery wouldn’t get what he wanted, arrogance and his rank would—she heaved a sigh. “OK, fine. I presume you also want a change of clothes for tomorrow and your toothbrush?”
“Yeah. Don’t forget my electric razor either.” He dug in his trouser pocket and tossed a keyring at her before he sank gingerly into the bed. “Thanks. I’d be grateful if you’d bring them within the hour.”
She caught it in mid-air, irritated by his demand. She couldn’t possibly meet his hour deadline even if she’d wanted to because she was due to pick up Jeremy from the hospital’s day care. Chafing under his order, she chose not to warn him she’d be late. Better to ask forgiveness after the fact than to beg permission beforehand.
“I’d also like a pizza,” he informed her.
“Our cafeteria has good food. The patients all agree.”
He eyed her loftily. “If I can’t sleep in a real bed, then I want to eat real food. Sausage, Canadian bacon and mushrooms.”
She ground her teeth. “Pizza it is. Anything else for our most illustrious personage?”
With that detail apparently settled to his satisfaction and apparently not put off by her disrespect, he closed his eyes. “No, but if I think of something, I’ll call you. You do still have a cellphone?”
“Yes, I do. Who doesn’t these days?”
“I’d like the number, please.”
She didn’t want to give it to him, but she really didn’t have a choice. A notepad wasn’t in sight and she didn’t have a pen, so she recited the seven digits from memory.
He listened intently before satisfaction showed on his face. “Same as before.”
His comment caught her off-guard. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
“I’m happy for you,” she said tartly, but a new set of questions suddenly popped into her head. If he’d wanted her out of his life so badly, why had he remembered her number? Knowing that he’d never acted on the information at his fingertips only made the intervening months of silence more painful to think about.
The sudden pressure in her chest demanded she escape before he saw this new hurt he’d caused without even trying. Immediately, she pivoted on one foot and headed for the door.
“Sabrina?” he called.
Reluctantly, she paused. “Yeah?” Sounding hoarse, she hoped he’d attribute it to grumpiness.
“For what it’s worth, it’s good to see you again.”
She’d spent the last year shoring up her defenses against his anger and rejection, but had built nothing to protect herself against unexpected kindness. Not trusting herself to speak over the sudden lump in her throat, she simply fled.
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