“Singing,” he offered hesitantly and went to take a swig of whisky.
“Put the bottle down right now,” Hel demanded.
His hand instantly dropped back down, and fear tinged his gaze. “Sorry.”
“Hand it over.” She held her hand out to him and watched him debate for a moment before he held the bottle out to her. Snatching it out of his hand, her fingers brushed his, and an electric shock tingled up her arm.
Internally, she rolled her eyes at her own stupidity while keeping her face a mask.
“How much have you had to drink.” Hel examined the bottle in her hand. It was half empty.
“A bit.” His green eyes were hazy and bloodshot. He had drunk far more than ‘a bit’.
“Is this your first bottle?” she questioned.
“Yes.” He bobbed his head, his movements uncoordinated.
“Don’t lie.” She glared harder at him.
Hearing movement, she glanced over her shoulder to see Barney and his colleague peering in the door.
Barney stage whispered, “Don’t annoy Hel. Her temper is as fiery as her hair.”
Hel rolled her eyes at Barney but managed to refrain from commenting—or chucking something at him.
“This is my second bottle. I started drinking after you left my house last night,” Frost admitted.
Hel groaned. Barney was not the most discreet man in the world, and she was sure that bit of gossip would be spreading around the emergency department by the time she finished her shift. Actually, it was unlikely to take that long.
“Go and check him in. I’ll be finished in here in a couple of minutes.”
She waited until both ambos were gone before continuing her conversation with the hulking hockey player.
“Why?” she addressed Frost, who now looked embarrassed.
“Um.” His eyes blinked slowly, and for a moment, Hel thought he passed out. But then they opened again. “You think I’m a has-been loser.”
Hel opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again and said, “What now? What gave you that idea?” She was truly baffled.
The man had a Wikipedia page. He had a million fan pages, and they called themselves Frosty’s Females. He had a website dedicated to what colour t-shirt he wore each day and whether it complemented his eyes. That one made her a little embarrassed to have found, as she had gone a long way down the rabbit hole on Google when she looked up Frost.
“You think I’m a loser, just like Patricia, who told me I was a has-been. The look you gave me as you left yesterday told me that.” Frost crossed his arms.
She thought he was trying to glare at her, but in his drunk state, it was hard to tell as his features all just went a bit squiffy.
“What look?” Hel cast her mind back to leaving his house. As she left, she had been annoyed with Clara for nagging her about Frost. But she hadn’t—oh, hang on—she remembered the look she gave her phone.
Frost wrinkled his nose up and glared at her down it. “This look.”
Yeah, that looked like the type of expression she would give her friends when they were being annoying.
“That wasn’t directed at you.” Hel shrugged helplessly, she hoped he would believe her. “Clara was being annoying, and…” she hesitated, choosing her next words carefully, “teasing me about something. That expression was solely for her.”
“You don’t think I’m a loser?” Frost began to perk up.
“How could I? Look at everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Well. I just, yeah, sorry. I, well. My leg hurt, and I hated that you thought I was washed up. And well…” Frost hung his head.
