Moore To Love (11 page)

“Where am I?” I ask, looking around the room. It’s a hospital room, and I’m wearing a green cotton gown—with my bare ass exposed—laid up in a hospital bed. The harsh reality startles me and I jerk upright to take in my surroundings.

“Whoa! Relax. You might pass out again.” I didn’t know I had company until he spoke and now that he has, I wish I would collapse unconscious again.

“Oh, hi,” I whisper, wishing I could disappear into thin air. “What are you—why did you—” I don’t even know where to begin. My words are a muttered mess and my brain literally hurts.

Mr. Fancy Pants approaches me with a gleaming smile. And dimples. The dude has not one, but
two
insanely adorable indents in his scruff peppered cheeks. “I’m Lane. It’s nice to actually
meet
you.” His voice is soft and gravely. Exactly as I imagined it would be. You know, like when I daydreamed about him whispering sweet nothings in my ear. And
Lane.
Isn’t that something. Leni and Lane sounds so cute in comparison to Leni and Mr. Fancy Pants.

“Hi, Lane.” I finally drag my thoughts out of La La Land and back to the gorgeous specimen who saved me from the evil tree and who allowed me to—
oh my God, I puked on his shoes.
“Crap! I am so, so sorry I hurled on you.” I bring my hand up to my eyes to hide my embarrassment.

Lane laughs—a deep, throaty chuckle that sends tingles to my garden—and shakes his head. “No worries. I had to get a new pair soon anyway.”

“Yeah, you probably wore them out with all that running you do, eh?”
Eh? What, am I Canadian? And way to point out the obvious. Stalker much?

“No more than you.” He smiles again, staring a bit too long at the spot above my left brow that won’t stop throbbing.

I should ask him what he’s looking at, but my mind can’t detach itself from what he just said. “You’ve seen
me
running?” I ask, squeaking like a shy little mouse.

His face lights up with recognition and a glint of humor in his green eyes. “Of course I see you. In fact, you’ve got quite a reputation, you know?”

“Huh? I do?” Now I
really
know I did a number on my head because I must be confusing his words.

He pulls the chair beside my bed closer to me, sitting and making himself comfortable. “Yeah, the other runners call you Karaoke Girl.”

Other
runners? Is there some secret club? And Karaoke Girl? What in the ever loving—?

Sensing my confusion, he answers, “You sing out loud to your music. It’s cute.”

“
What?
” Okay, I’m dreaming, right? Or I’m dead.
That’s it!
When I hit that tree I died and went to heaven and now God is allowing me to live out every single one of my fantasies because he cursed me with the chubby gene and I deserve everlasting happiness in the afterlife.

He leans back in the chair, flashing another bright, warm smile. “Why do you look so shocked? We find it rather entertaining.”

“
We
?” I was once starved for attention. Now that it seems all eyes are on me, I take it back.

“The regulars.” He sniffs as if I should know what he’s talking about. When I shake my head in misunderstanding, he continues, “
We’ve
been rounding that track for the last few years and what started out as a
hello
every now and then turned into a sort of, I don’t know, common ground, I guess.”

Understandable. I get that comradery vibe in the park, too. Funny, though, since I never actually thought to talk to one of the
regulars
and
I never witnessed Lane speaking to one, either.

“But I always see you alone.”
Except of course that one time, with that one chick that I’d rather not bring to your attention since you haven’t brought her around again and I’m secretly hoping you broke up, if she was indeed your girlfriend. And now she’s moved on and you’re all sad and you’re here and you saved me and . . . will you marry me?

My thoughts trail off but Lane goes on. “Nah, not true.” He shrugs his muscular shoulders. “You and I just never seem to be on the same timetable, but after we pass each other I usually catch up with Ronnie or Saul. Other times it’s Jenny and Karen.”

“Huh,” I muse. “There’s a whole world of you people out there that I never knew about.”

“Don’t be crazy. You know who they are, too. Ronnie’s that guy with the four dogs. Saul is the red-headed dude with the dark shades. And Jenny and Karen are the twins. Karen usually has her jogger stroller. The little guy in there is her son, Liam. And Jenny—” He huffs before he can finish his thought, his voice lingering on her name. I bet she’s the girl I saw him with that time.

Instead of allowing him to reflect on this
Jenny
, I cut him off. “Well, I still feel like an outsider to your secret runner’s society. I don’t know jack about all of these
regulars
, but they all seem to know me, is that right?”

“They sure do!” His thick chest rises and falls with silent laughter.

“Hey! So, I’m some comedy act to all of you?” Madeline Moore, the perpetual butt of the joke.

Lane notices my embarrassment and reaches over to rest his hand on my arm. I almost pass out again from the gentle gesture. “Not at all. Like I said, it’s cute. And you have a really sweet voice.”

Humina, humina, humina.
My mouth falls open at his sweet words. I’m momentarily speechless. Thank God for head injuries—blame it on the brain.

Lane and I spend an awkward moment in silence, evaluating each other’s faces as if really seeing each other for the first time. I take note of the barely noticeable curve to his nose and the small scar underneath his right eye.
Beautiful imperfections.
His five o’clock shadow is scruffier than usual, but it’s sexy and colorful, bits of auburn and deep orange intertwined with the same ashy blonde on top of his head. His eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen and taken notice of lots of eyes in my line of work. The deep jade hue doesn’t even compare to that of any I’ve seen on a woman. This man is perfection. And I’m only looking at what’s above the neck. I can only imagine what the rest of the package is like underneath that heather grey, sweat-damp, body-hugging—

“Madeline Moore?” A man wearing a white lab coat waltzes into my room and steals every ounce of goo-goo goodness out of my moment with Lane.

Lane snaps out of the haze we were both under and zips out of the chair. He starts to excuse himself, using my full name. “Madeline,” it sounds like honey dripping off his tongue. “I should go. The doctor probably has some—”

“No!” I blurt out, every molecule in my body urging me to make him stay put. “Please, stay?” It’s a desperate plea. I, myself, recognize the pitiful despair lacing my tone. The doctor arches a brow, indicating he recognizes it, too. And Lane—handsome, caring, fancy-pants-wearing Lane—he narrows his gaze and looks deep into my eyes, letting me know he senses it too.

In this moment he can either run for the hills to avoid whatever strange twist of fate allowed this to happen
or
—God willing—he can throw Karaoke Girl a bone.

Lane tilts his head and I’m certain he’s about to crush my dreams, but when he opens that sexy mouth of his, he says, “Sure. I’d be happy to. I’ll just wait out in the hallway while the doctor updates you. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be—uh—
obviously
I’ll be right here.”
Duh, Leni.

“Yeah. I think you’re stuck here for a bit.” He laughs again, this time focusing on the ground. Would ya look at that? Mr. Fancy Pa—I mean, Lane is nervous!

I grin brightly and nod in the direction of the door, so as to not put my foot in my mouth the way I usually do when I’m around the opposite, very gorgeous, sex. Lane bows his head in agreement and strides out the door, leaving me to gush like a giddy school girl to the only one left to listen. This poor doctor has no idea what he’s in for.

AFTER THE DOCTOR DOES A
thorough examination and gives me a full report, I give myself a reality check.
Yeah right.
If I weren’t so nervous I’d scramble my brain further, I’d be jumping up and down and fist-pumping to my heart’s content.

Unfortunately, according to doctor’s orders, I have to take it easy for at least a week. My injuries earned me an overnight stay at Mount Sinai so they can run a brain scan and make sure there’s no internal bleeding.
Good times.
It could be worse, though. I could be here alone. Instead, I have a handsome man who came to my rescue waiting out in the hallway for the all clear.

“All clear,” I yell, praying he’s still out there and wasn’t just pitying me before.

When Lane appears in the doorway in a pair of green scrubs that compliment his eyes, my heart thumps uncontrollably in my chest. Thank God I’m not hooked up to some heart rate monitor. It’d be a dead giveaway.

“You changed?” My bottom lip involuntarily winds up trapped between my teeth.

“I did,” he answers, sauntering back into the room. Sitting at the foot of my bed, he runs his fingers through his unkempt hair. “I was a sweaty mess and, you know, the vomit wasn’t a really good look for me.”

Oy vey. Why me?
Flirting and vomit don’t usually go hand in hand.
“I really am sorry about that. I’ll give you the money for a new pair of sneakers and to launder your puke splattered clothes.”

“Don’t be silly, Madeline. I’m just glad I was there to help. They’ll take good care of you here.”

“Please, call me Leni, and how would you know? You have an in?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m a geriatrics nurse here.”

“Really?”

“Yup. How do you think I scored this awesome get up?” His hand scans the length of his body.

I’m totally impressed. This man is full of surprises. “I thought you just flashed your prize winning dimples and the scrubs fairy magically appeared.”

Lane’s head tips back when he laughs, his Adam’s apple vibrating in his thick neck. “What is it about women and men with dimples? I don’t get it.”

“Well, being you have quite the killer pair, you should be used to it by now.”

He shakes his head, dismissing my compliment, and then focuses on the bandage over my eye again. “So, you gonna live?”

I reach to touch the sore spot and flinch. “Looks that way, but I probably won’t be at the track for a while. I was told to
take it easy
for a bit.”

It could be the state of my muddled membranes but I swear I see a hint of disappointment dance across Lane’s face.

“Gonna miss me?” I joke, a boldness overtaking me that I never knew I possessed.

“Maybe.” With a tilt of his head and a tight smirk, my knees go weak.
Thank you bed for keeping me horizontally safe.

I’ve never been good at the flirting thing, but I’ll be damned if I’m about to end this here and wait for another run in with a tree to get us together. I opt for honesty, rather than blundering with a try at seduction. “Can I ask you something, Lane?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“How come you never spoke to me before?” I’m not sure I want his answer—or some lame excuse—but it’s too late. Cat’s outta the bag.

Lane shifts on the bed, looks down, and fingers a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. I’ve learned the art of body language over the years and this is the second time this should-be-cocky-and-confident man has given way to his nerves. “I guess—I don’t know, you were in your zone and I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, you’re kind of intimidating.”