Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ruby
I hate needles. The minute the medic showed up with the longest needle I’ve ever seen—seriously, it looked like it could fell a moose—and stabbed Griffin in the thigh, my entire body went into sleep mode. Instant lights-out. Very dignified.
Now I’m propped up, sipping water through a bendy straw like an overgrown toddler, while Griffin sits shoulder-to-shoulder with me under a crinkly Mylar blanket to keep us from freezing. We look like baked potatoes cooling on a ski slope.
The medic returns and I flinch so hard, I nearly spew water all over him. He lifts both hands, palms out. “No needles. Promise. How are you two feeling?”
“Better, thanks,” Griffin says.
“Stupid,” I say, because what’s pride at this point? I tried to console my temporary business partner and instead collapsed like a fainting Victorian maiden.
The medic smiles. “If I had a dollar for every significant other who passed out on me, I’d be a wealthy man.”
I wait for Griffin to correct the assumption. When he doesn’t, I don’t bother either. The thought of course is preposterous. Griffin and I couldn’t be more different if we were separate species.
The medic turns to Griffin. “You seem stable, but we can take you to Frisco General if you’d like. We always recommend a proper checkup after anaphylaxis.”
“Thanks,” Griffin says, rising slowly. “Not my first rodeo. I’ll take it easy tonight.”
Apparently, I’m not being offered a ride to any hospital.
Griffin looks down at me with something akin to concern. Or it could just be the lingering effects of near-death and a thigh full of epinephrine. He extends a hand and helps me up. We return the blanket, thank the medic, and head to the parking lot.
“I could use a drink,” he says quietly. “How about you?”