sure enough, Asten is standing just outside the door. I should’ve gone for it, even if just for shock value. She looks at me like she doesn’t understand how I landed a guy like Moby. I’ve seen it before. Our friends didn’t believe it, but somehow their looks were never threatening and never made me feel inferior, probably because they thought Moby was the one who out-punted his coverage, but this girl clearly thinks Moby’s too good for me.
I’m the first to admit Moby is beautiful, and I’m rather plain, at least on the outside. I grew up in the mountains; people just didn’t care about fashion or looking like runway models. They were too busy skiing, snowmobiling, mountain climbing, rock climbing, or any other outdoor activity that having your hair and makeup done for was simply ridiculous. I didn’t grow up in an environment where anyone put any stock in appearance. I’m not ugly; I’m just not a Southern Belle dressed for the ball every time I leave my house. I realize I’m giving her the same once-over she gave me and reel my attitude back in. I’m not in competition with a twenty-something-year-old girl. He put a rock on my finger, and I’m confident he wants to keep it there.
“Goodnight, Asten.”
“’Night. I’ll take good care of him.”
Bitch.
* * *
N o . No. No. No. I wake feeling way too refreshed. Looking at my clock, I realize just how right I am. It’s almost eight in the morning. I should be walking out the door to go to the gym and make it to the hospital by the time visiting hours start at nine. God, I’ll never make it, and he’ll be there alone.
Thank God I called Cam last night. They left the hospital after being there several hours but before I had a chance to have any type of discussion with her about work. Luckily, I can do my job from anywhere in the world as long as I have my computer. I love being at Healing Wings but I don’t have to work in the building. She was very understanding, assuring me I didn’t have to call in daily, but to keep her posted about Moby’s progress. It’s weird working with a friend, not knowing how far to take the professional lines, so I always err on the side of caution. I swear she must have yawned a hundred times in the five minutes I was on the phone with her. When I finally asked her what was up with the yawning, she admitted she was tired. I didn’t have the energy to put much thought into it then but standing in the shower, now it seems odd.
Flying out the door in record time, my hair hanging in half dried waves down my back, I get to the gym around eight forty-five. Curtis sees me the moment I pull the door open.
“Hey, Piper!” he calls from across the room as he sets the weights he was working with down. Grabbing a towel, he approaches me, wiping the sweat from his face. He’s a good-looking man, but more importantly, has a heart of gold. “How’s Moby?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. The doctors haven’t given us a timeline, but they’re sure he’s not going to be back to work for a while.”
“Wow. What happened?”
“He had a stroke. He’s lost all function on his left side.” I voice the words cautiously. It’s as if by speaking the thoughts it brings them to life. The reality of the situation becomes more real with each person who knows.
“Seriously? How the hell did that happen? He’s so young!”
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours with no answer. “Can you reschedule his clients this week or maybe pick them up?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take what I can and get some of the others to help out, too. Tell him not to worry, we’ll get his regulars covered.”
My phone rings in my pocket. “I’m sorry, Curtis, hang on. It’s Moby’s mom.” I turn just slightly, so I’m not talking directly to his face. “Hi, Patty, what’s up?”
“Piper, where are you?”
“I’m at the gym to see if Curtis can help take on some
I’m the first to admit Moby is beautiful, and I’m rather plain, at least on the outside. I grew up in the mountains; people just didn’t care about fashion or looking like runway models. They were too busy skiing, snowmobiling, mountain climbing, rock climbing, or any other outdoor activity that having your hair and makeup done for was simply ridiculous. I didn’t grow up in an environment where anyone put any stock in appearance. I’m not ugly; I’m just not a Southern Belle dressed for the ball every time I leave my house. I realize I’m giving her the same once-over she gave me and reel my attitude back in. I’m not in competition with a twenty-something-year-old girl. He put a rock on my finger, and I’m confident he wants to keep it there.
“Goodnight, Asten.”
“’Night. I’ll take good care of him.”
Bitch.
* * *
N o . No. No. No. I wake feeling way too refreshed. Looking at my clock, I realize just how right I am. It’s almost eight in the morning. I should be walking out the door to go to the gym and make it to the hospital by the time visiting hours start at nine. God, I’ll never make it, and he’ll be there alone.
Thank God I called Cam last night. They left the hospital after being there several hours but before I had a chance to have any type of discussion with her about work. Luckily, I can do my job from anywhere in the world as long as I have my computer. I love being at Healing Wings but I don’t have to work in the building. She was very understanding, assuring me I didn’t have to call in daily, but to keep her posted about Moby’s progress. It’s weird working with a friend, not knowing how far to take the professional lines, so I always err on the side of caution. I swear she must have yawned a hundred times in the five minutes I was on the phone with her. When I finally asked her what was up with the yawning, she admitted she was tired. I didn’t have the energy to put much thought into it then but standing in the shower, now it seems odd.
Flying out the door in record time, my hair hanging in half dried waves down my back, I get to the gym around eight forty-five. Curtis sees me the moment I pull the door open.
“Hey, Piper!” he calls from across the room as he sets the weights he was working with down. Grabbing a towel, he approaches me, wiping the sweat from his face. He’s a good-looking man, but more importantly, has a heart of gold. “How’s Moby?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. The doctors haven’t given us a timeline, but they’re sure he’s not going to be back to work for a while.”
“Wow. What happened?”
“He had a stroke. He’s lost all function on his left side.” I voice the words cautiously. It’s as if by speaking the thoughts it brings them to life. The reality of the situation becomes more real with each person who knows.
“Seriously? How the hell did that happen? He’s so young!”
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours with no answer. “Can you reschedule his clients this week or maybe pick them up?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take what I can and get some of the others to help out, too. Tell him not to worry, we’ll get his regulars covered.”
My phone rings in my pocket. “I’m sorry, Curtis, hang on. It’s Moby’s mom.” I turn just slightly, so I’m not talking directly to his face. “Hi, Patty, what’s up?”
“Piper, where are you?”
“I’m at the gym to see if Curtis can help take on some
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