Made for You by Melissa Marr

Pediatrics; it takes a bit of extra awesomeness to work with sick kids.
    After she finishes the rest of her check, she says, “Nate can’t stay here.”
    It startles me a little that she knows his name, but he did say that his brother had been here a few times. It sucks that any kid has been sick often enough that the nurses know his family members. It also improves my opinion of Linda that she takes the time to learn that information.
    “Boyfriends aren’t—”
    “Friends,” I interrupt, a little too loudly. “He’s my friend .”
    Nate rolls me back into his arms and trails his hand up my spine before he opens his eyes and blinks at me. He clears his throat before asking, “What time is it?”
    Linda takes her gloves off and drops them into the wastebasket. “Almost midnight.”
    “Shit, Aaron—”
    “Is fine.” She softens a little more. “He’s asleep. Andy played checkers with him and read a little. He knows you’re here if he needs you. He’s fine.”
    “Andy’s his nurse tonight?” Nate asks.
    He’s still holding me, and it feels a lot less comfortable now that we’re both awake and talking to my nurse. She’s watching us with blatant curiosity, and it makes me decide to pull away from Nate. We might not be in Jessup right now, but nurses are as likely to gossip as anyone else—or, worse yet, tell my parents. The last thing Nate needs is a “talking to” from my father.
    “A friend of ours died today,” I say, drawing both of their gazes to me. “Nate and I were just sad and . . . we fell asleep. She was in an accident, and now . . .”
    “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” She reaches out to touch me, and I flinch away before she can.
    “Gloves!” I blurt. “The doctor said gloves so no one risks getting sick or . . . I mean, I’m not sick, but what if one of my cuts bled or . . . what if you had a cold you didn’t know about . . . or something.”
    Neither Nate nor Linda points out that I’m babbling. Linda nods and repeats, “I’m sorry.” I’m not sure if she’s apologizing for reaching out without gloves or for what I said about Micki’s death.
    For a moment, no one speaks, but then Linda gently says, “Nate still can’t stay in here.” She looks at him and adds, “Stop by the desk so I know you’ve left Miss Tilling’s room. Boyfriend or not, you can’t sleep in her bed.”
    And then she turns and leaves the room. She doesn’t latch the door behind her or even close it the whole way. I wonder if he feels as awkward as I do.
    “I guess your reputation made it all the way to Durham,” I tease to hide my discomfort.
    “Or they know that you’re the daughter of Elizabeth Cooper-Tilling,” he says in a less-joking tone. “I can’t imagine Reverend Tilling or your father would approve of me sleeping with you . . . even if it was only sleep.”
    I cringe at the thought of my parents knowing that Nate slept here. “I’m sorry. If they find out, I can explain it.”
    Even though they’re pretty hands-off on the parenting, I’m expected to follow the rules—those implied and those stated. I don’t always. I’ve been to more than a few of the same parties Nate attends, and I slept with Robert with no intention of marrying him. I’ve always been careful not to get a reputation though, and I’ve never dated anyone who didn’t go to church. I don’t draw attention to myself, not academically or socially. Taking up with Nathaniel Bouchet would raise a lot of brows and lower a lot of voices.
    He’s said nothing, so I take a deep breath. “Still friends?”
    He frowns before he pulls me closer. “Even if I was sure they would know I slept here, I’d still have stayed.” His lips graze my temple, and he whispers, “You’re worth the trouble, Eva.”
    I can’t speak.
    He stays holding me for a moment longer, and then he releases me and stands. As he moves away from me, I’m once more grateful for the darkened room. Hopefully, it hides the way