Crazy in Love - Lane Hart Page 0,9
to remember the seven digits. They just seem to go on repeat in my brain.
“See you soon,” the EMT says with a grin after he successfully enters the digits into his phone.
“Can’t wait,” I reply.
“Come on, sir,” the older tech says to my professor when he tugs on his elbow. “Or should I go get you a wheelchair?”
“I don’t need a damn wheelchair,” Professor Daughton says when I start to follow them. But then I realize Hottie McHero never told me his name.
“Wait, I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,” I turn around and shout at the EMT, who is walking around the driver side of the ambulance.
“Bailey,” he answers with a wink.
Bailey.
Our neighbors once had a dog named Bailey, who bit me every single time I walked through the yard. After he had taken a chomp out of a neighborhood kid’s face, animal control made them put him down. I’m sure this Bailey is much sweeter. He has to be, right?
Shaking off those negative thoughts, I hustle to catch up with the professor and older tech as they step through the automatic doors of the emergency room. Professor Daughton must have finally realized this trip is gonna cost him an arm and a leg because his posture is now tense. At the check-in desk, he answers the insurance lady in short, terse words. Finally, they take him to one of the cubicles with a privacy curtain and a bed, and the nurse tells him to strip down and put on the cotton gown.
“I’ll just wait, um, out here,” I say before stepping back out to give him time to change. Watching the nurses scurry around the center workstation, I don’t really know why I’m still here since anything more I say or do will only hurt my failing grade even more. I guess it’s because I need to at least offer to pay for this whole visit. Oh, and apologize again for almost killing him.
“All clear,” Professor Daughton says loud enough for me to hear through the curtain. And I definitely didn’t try to imagine what he would look like stripping out of his dress shirt and slacks. Or whether or not he wears boxers or briefs. Nope, definitely not imagining his package that I’ve spent more time watching than the man’s face this semester. I can’t help it. It’s not like I usually look at men’s junk or anything, but the professor is so…prominent in khakis stretched across his groin that I don’t have to even imagine his length or girth, except to wonder if he’s a grower or a shower.
When I step back through the curtain, Professor Daughton is sitting sideways on the bed in the blue and white pattern gown with the thin white sheet pulled over his lap. The same lap I was just thinking naughty thoughts about. My cheeks blaze with heat at the reminder of my sex deprived brain taking a detour where it should never go. He’s my professor. And I’m his student. So what if he’s achingly beautiful with sparkling sapphire eyes that seem to scorch into mine, taking my breath away. I nearly made him take his very last breath because of my super clumsiness. He could’ve actually died if that woman hadn’t been there with the needle that saved him.
My dad’s the only person I’ve ever lost, and his death was devastating. I didn’t handle it well because I was still a naïve little girl who didn’t understand that bad things can happen to good people. My dad was the best, and he died way too young. He was taken from my mother and me, leaving us completely devastated. She still is after all these years.
To think of never seeing the man before me again standing in front of a classroom of students and holding them captivated by his every word, not just because he’s gorgeous but because he’s so passionate about journalism, is almost too overwhelming. I’ve sat in the library and read or watched most of Professor Daughton’s news reports. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to use his career to just make a name for himself. He wants to share the injustices of the world with the public to try and invoke change, to make it a better place. And in an instant I almost caused his demise, ending all the good deeds he’s capable of.
“Reagan,” he says, drawing my eyes, which are filling up with tears, to his with that one word. My name