Moore To Love (14 page)

COLLECT YOUR THOUGHTS AND CALM
your tits. Be cool, Leni.

“How did you know where I live?” It’s the first thing I blurt out. Totally
not
cool, but really. How’d he find me?

Lane approaches me and clears his throat. “Hi, to you, too,” he jokes, extending the beautiful arrangement of daisies. “These are for you, by the way.”

I accept his kind gesture and bring the flowers to my nose, inhaling their mild but pretty scent. “Lovely. That’s very sweet of you and thank you so much, but—”

Before I can ask him the same mundane question again, he interrupts by taking something out of his pocket. “You left this at the hospital.”

My phone.
Stupid me. I hadn’t even realized it was missing. With all the fuss while I was being discharged and then the train wreck that is my family, I never even noticed. I take it from his hand with a smile. “Wow, what a dumbass I am. Thank you; you saved me a lot of trouble. I really appreciate it.” Suddenly, I don’t care that he came here to return my phone, or how he got my address. I’m just overjoyed that he’s here.
Here
. In
my
apartment. With flowers for
me
.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll put these in a vase. Want a beer, coffee, some left over chicken soup?” I’m rambling in true Leni fashion because even though I’m supposed to be sitting still, I can’t. My brain is on overdrive and my pits are sweating something fierce.
Lady Mitchum, don’t fail me now.

“No, I’m okay. I can’t stay long, and you should be resting.” Lane squirms uncomfortably on the couch as I fill my favorite antique crystal vase with the daisies. It dawns on me that I’ve always been the one to purchase the flowers to fill this vase. This is a first. A very lovely, unexpected first that I want to savor forever and ever and ever.

Giddiness overwhelms me as I return to the living room and place the flowers on the coffee table. I take a seat next to Lane and
exhale
. “I’ve been resting since I got home and then my family made it absolutely impossible to think straight, so while I’m sure my concussed head needs a break, I’m happy you came by. It’s a nice surprise.” Everyone’s always told me honesty is the best policy. I just hope my honesty—the kind a fool wears on their sleeve—doesn’t bite me on the ass. I’ve got plenty to chomp down on, so this could be a problem.

“I hope I didn’t kick anyone out?” Lane offers.

“Oh, no, that was all me. They have a tendency to overstay their welcome.” I lean back and tuck my feet underneath my bottom, directing my focus on the fine man beside me. Mr. Fancy Pants is in my house and I might get a case of the nervous Nellies because I simply don’t know what to do with myself. Instead of fidgeting or ogling him like a buffoon, I return to my original question. “So, how’d you get my address, super sleuth? Am I that easily accessible or are you seriously a spy?”

He flashes me those adorable dimples and runs a hand through his hair. “When I came to your room to say goodbye, you had already left. The nurse who was on shift while I was visiting you yesterday spotted your phone and assumed we were friends.”

“She assumed wisely,” I affirm. “Any guy who barely knows me and then stays by my side to make sure I’m okay after my clumsiness leaves me with a concussion is a friend in my book.”

Lane’s nervousness seeps through his masculine façade whenever I’m assertive. It’s cute. I take note of how his cheeks brighten underneath the coating of scruff as he stares at the gigantic smile he’s brought to my lips. “I was happy to help. I couldn’t leave Karaoke Girl lying there in a pile of leaves on the ground.”

The silly term makes me scrunch my nose. “Yeah, about that. I think we need to nix the nicknames.”

“Nicknames?
Plural
?”

I hide my eyes with my hands at what I’m about to confess. “I may be Karaoke Girl but
you’re
Mr. Fancy Pants.”

Lane chuckles and then looks down at his scrubs, then back up at me with raised brows. “Fancy Pants? Me?”

Regret for opening my big fat flapper scorches me from the inside out, but since I’ve already spilled the beans, I might as well follow through. “Remember how you said you, um . . . noticed me . . . on the track?”

“Yes.” He tilts his head.

How do I say this without coming off as a crush-crazed stalker? I can’t exactly tell him I’ve been wishing, hoping, and praying that he’d give me the time of day. Flippancy is a wonderful thing, but it’s not my forte. “Let’s just say, the first time I saw you, you had on these fancy trainers that the real deal runners usually sport. I was impressed and—” I will not dare admit that they were so gorgeously tight he left nothing to the imagination and I loved every second of it.

“And?” he prods when I take a second too long reminiscing the glorious sight.

“You just always look so . . . athletic and . . .
fancy
.”

Lane’s lips curl up at the ends as he leans back against the cushions. “Fancy?”

Realization sets in. I hope he doesn’t think I’m insinuating—“I meant it in a good,
manly
way. Promise. The pants are a good thing. All of them. I like all of your pants.”

My rambling scores me another throaty snicker. “Mr. Fancy Pants and Karaoke Girl. Would you look at that?”

Look at that, I do. In fact, in my mind’s eye I stare at that blend of perfection a little too intensely. I want nothing more than to explore this adorable, almost-comfortable flirtation we have going on here, but I hold back at the risk of coming on too strong, too soon. Before yesterday, Lane was just a stranger. Today, we’re friends. I’ll take whatever small victory I can and run with it for a while before I give away the whole cow to someone who might not even want the milk.

I fidget under Lane’s watchful gaze, and then put myself in check. “Well, you’re here and that’s great, but I still don’t know how you were able to find me.”

“Oh, yeah, that. Um . . . well, I had your phone and no way to contact you since it has a security passcode. So I pulled a few hospital staff strings and got hold of your chart. Does that make me a creep?” The innocence in his eyes is heartwarming. The more time I spend with Lane, the more I believe he has no freakin’ clue how good looking he is.

“Creep? Absolutely not. I say it shows dedication. Dedication well appreciated, too. I’d be lost without my phone for too long and you saved me a trip back to the ER which, no offense, I know
you’re
there, but I really don’t want to visit again any time soon.”

“None taken. That place is a zoo most of the time. I don’t blame you.”

We share a mutual laugh and a few sidesplitting jokes about the wackos occupying the emergency room triage.

For the next thirty minutes or so Lane and I chat about my recovery. Not only is he the total package looks-wise, but the guy’s a total brainiac. He could’ve been a surgeon, but he decided to go his own route when his grandfather had a stroke and they bonded while he literally nursed him back to health. I cry tears for a man I never knew when Lane describes how he held on for dear life to the old man’s hand as he took his final breath.

Every time Lane opens his mouth something refreshing and inspiring comes out of it. I must admit, I initially judged the “Lane Book” by its cover—as in, I never imagined a man as hot as he is could also be so kind and friendly. Maybe the moon’s out of whack or something because lately, every stud I run into is as nice on the inside as they are on the outside.
The tide’s changing, Leni. Get yourself caught in its delicious undertow.

Sounds good to me, but suddenly the only wave rolling my way is a nasty case of nausea. I jump up from my seat right in the middle of my discussion with Lane and beeline it to the bathroom without so much as a warning.

“Shit! Leni?” I hear him call from behind me.

Out of fear that he’ll follow me inside and witness another episode of the Upchucking Wonder, I slam the door and lock it before becoming one with the toilet. My stomach empties violently, the front of my head pounding with every lurch. When the queasiness finally subsides after what feels like hours of retching, I rest my face against the cold tile floor and then there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Leni, I know you swore off the ER for all of eternity, but I’d be happy to take you to make sure everything checks out okay.”

Sweet, wonderful, caring Lane. The sound of his voice soothes my otherwise unsettled insides. The doctor warned me that I could experience more vomiting if I didn’t rest, but I had no idea entertaining a few visitors and lounging around in LuLaRoes wasn’t considered resting.

With a mere second to take stock of the now-emptied state of my stomach, I feel as if the worst is over. “No. Thank you, though. I feel much better. Let me wash up and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay. Do you have any ginger ale in your fridge?”

“Yes.”
Thank you, Mom.
She always makes sure I have a bottle lying around like she did when I was a kid.

“Do you mind if I go into your cabinets and pour you a glass?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay. Take your time. I promise not to snoop around.”

I bite my lip and giggle, brushing a few matted clumps of hair from my clammy face. I should be worried this man will be the death of me, but he’s already breathed new life into me just by being in the right place at the right time.

After I freshen up and join Lane on the other side of Pukesville, he orders me to bed and starts tidying up the apartment.

“You don’t have to do that.” I reach for the glass he’s unnecessarily washing in my sink and my fingers brush the back of his hand. Our eyes lock and we share a silent moment of unspoken desire. At least that’s what I’m calling it, because one single millisecond of my skin stroking his has me in a tizzy.

“I’ve got it. Really.” He finishes soaping up and rinsing the glass, our moment gone as quickly as it came.

Once the glass is cleaned and dried, he wipes his hands on the dish towel that’s hung over the faucet and then turns to face me. If there was one way to describe the aura in my kitchen right now it would be that awkward first date/first kiss scenario that everyone in the dating world from sea to shining sea has experienced at least once.

I gulp away my insecurities, begging my nerves to take a hike. I’m dying to ask Lane to hang out again—not necessarily a
date,
but just more time together—before I lose my chance and my grip on my non-existent balls. I take a deep breath and close my eyes—dramatic much?—and open my mouth to get on with it.

“Leni.” He beats me to it, shutting me up with those delectable dimples. “I know this will sound weird, but . . . other than your trip to the bathroom, I had a lot of fun tonight.”

Hallelujah.
We’re on the same page of this crazy book. “I know exactly what you mean and I was actually going to ask if you’d like to hang out again some time.”

Lane’s features relax and his tight posture slackens. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me, too.” If a heart could take flight, mine would sprout wings and fly right the fuck out of my chest.

“Can I have your number?” It escapes from his mouth in a breathy murmur.
Why on God’s green Earth is this man shy around
me
?