“Hey, you can’t book an appointment for me.” I grab for his mobile, only for him to turn away from me. “I haven’t given the clinic permission for you to do that.”
He ignores me. I would roll my eyes if I could, but that would hurt.
“Hey, Alyssa.” His voice goes soft, like he’s seducing her, and I barely keep from rolling my eyes.
I would give him a hard time about it when he gets off the phone, but I’m suddenly not in the mood to tease him.
He tells her everything that’s going on and asks if she can fit me into her schedule in the next day or two. He then ends the call. “You have an appointment Wednesday morning at eleven a.m.”
By the timeMama drops me off at home with my prescription for two different eye drops, my mind is churning over everything that has happened since I woke up this morning. The news that P&T will be closed for the week while the water leak is dealt with. The diagnosis of uveitis.
The possibility the eye inflammation is linked to the chronic pain.
The possibility it has nothing to do with that, and something else is attacking my body.
And on top of all that, the eye drops have to be applied hourly.
Lord, I really hate life right now.
I grab a glass of water and swallow down two ibuprofen tablets. My body is screaming from the drive home from Portland, and I don’t have the energy to do much. And that includes applying the eyedrops. But I don’t have a choice in that department if I want my eye to get better.
So, I suck it up and head for the bathroom. A stream of colorful cusses spill from my mouth as I attempt to apply the hateful medications—drop-by-missed-drop—to my eyes. I try to remind myself they’ll make things better, but my inner cheerleader has called it a day.
After the torturous session is thankfully finished, I heat up the leftover jambalaya in the fridge and curl up in front of the TV. I keep on my sunglasses and search for something I’m in the mood to watch.
What I want is to get back to the romance I was reading, but that isn’t an option right now. Not until my eye feels better.
I pull upGame of Thrones, which I’m currently rewatching, and try to eat my dinner even though I’m not all that hungry.
I’ve been half paying attention to the show for the past hour, squirming to get comfy, my food half-finished, when my phone pings on the coffee table with a text.
Garrett: I’m downstairs. Is now a good time?
33
ZARA
I stare at my phone.Maybe the reason Garrett is outside my apartment building is because he’s here for a stress-relieving kiss. If there’s ever a time I could use one, now would be it.
My body and mind have been tied into one gigantic messy knot, and I don’t know how to untangle it.
Under normal circumstances, one of Garrett’s kisses would be enough to pick away at bits of the unruly knot. But I’m not exactly kissable with how utterly delightful my eye looks.
On the other hand, after the day I’ve had, I really want to see my best friend.
Me: Yes. I’ll buzz you up. Apartment door unlocked.
I unlock the door and carry my half-eaten dinner to the kitchen.
I cover the food and return it to the fridge. I’ll eat it tomorrow. My appetite should be back to normal by then. It’s been off for a few days, but that’s not surprising with everything going on.
The apartment door clicks open, and Garrett is standing in front of me in the kitchen before I can tell him I’m in here. The corner of hismouth lifts in an ovary-exploding smirk. “Sexy librarian spy. I need to add one to my book.”
It takes me a second to figure out what he’s getting at. Oh, right. The sunglasses. “Sexy librarian spies are always a win for any book. I highly recommend them.”
He shortens the distance between us and cradles my hips in his hands. His long, strong fingers curve along the swell of my ass, leaving my skin under the lounge pants humming from the near contact. “Are you gonna remove your sunglasses so I can kiss you?” An adorable divot creases between his eyes. “Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”
“I was watching TV and my eyes are sensitive to the light.”
