Page 18 of Merry Fake Bride

My heart beats sluggishly in my chest and the darkness surrounding me is relatively comfortable.

It’s tempting to sink back to sleep, but something in my mind prevents me.

I shouldn’t be sleeping right now.

Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?

Slowly opening my eyes, a low light stabs into my eyes so I immediately close them again and bite back a groan.

On my second attempt, the hospital room that greets me loses my attention the second I notice the man sitting in the chair beside my bed.

My initial instinct is panic, but as it’s about to rise, I recognize him and that panic falters inside my chest.

It’s him.

The man from the bar.

‘Steve’.

He sits with his head down and his eyes on the phone in his hand, his thumb rapidly darting across the screen while he types.

What the fuck?

Why is he here?

Howis he here?

He doesn’t look like a doctor, and I’m pretty sure they don’t sit by their patients’ bedsides texting.

Maybe I died and this is some kind of strange dream or in-between place.

He’s handsome enough to be in my dreams, that’s for sure, and seeing him in this light, without the fog and lights and darkness of that bar, he’s even more handsome than I remember.

He looks like he stepped right out of a modeling magazine with tawny, golden skin and short, jet-black hair that trails down into soft, faint sideburns.

Just below, the sharpest jaw I have ever seen tenses slightly as he types, then his dark brows pinch together and an adorable swirling curl forms just above his nose.

His thicker lower lip pulls into his mouth, and my core warms suddenly at the memory of how soft his mouth felt against mine.

His charcoal suit strains slightly as he moves, subtly hiding the thick muscle I know I felt at the bar.

Steve is a stunningly handsome man, and I take in every detail from his thick neck, broad shoulders, and elegant fingers, down to his lightly bouncing knee where his other hand flexes against his thigh.

Then he glances at me and his dark brown, almond-shaped eyes widen the second he realizes I’m awake.

“Devon! You’re awake!”

Steve immediately abandons his phone on the bed next to me and half rises in his chair until he’s over me, but he quickly thinks better of it and sinks back down with a small, soft smile. “I’m so glad.”

“Devon?” I repeat softly, struggling to find my words while staring into those dark eyes.

It’s like staring into an abyss, but rather than fearing the fall, I welcome it.

“Sorry, I got your name from your wallet in your pocket. I wasn’t looking to be creepy or anything, but the doctor needed to know who you were so he could get your file. I hope you don’t mind.”

His warm smile reminds me of a puppy gazing up at me, and it’s hard not to smile back.

“It’s fine,” I croak, blinking softly.