My top is peeled up a few inches.
“What in the hell happened here?” They both simultaneously let out a sympathetic hiss of breath.
“We had a paintball day at work. Even my back isn’t as bad as this.” Josh’s fingers stroke the skin and I sweat even more. “Poor Shortcake,” he says in my ear. There’s no sarcasm.
“Have you eaten out at any restaurants?”
I wrack my brains. “Thai takeout for dinner. Not today. Yesterday maybe.”
When the man frowns it’s so familiar. “Food poisoning is a possibility.”
“Could be a virus,” Josh argues. “The time frame is a little long.”
“If you’re so capable of diagnosing her, why even call me?”
They begin bickering about my symptoms. To my ears, they sound like guys talking about sports, and the city’s current viruses are the teams. I watch them through slitted eyes. I didn’t even know doctors would do house calls, especially at two thirty-nine in the morning. He’s midthirties, tall, dark haired, blue eyed.
He’s clearly thrown a jacket over his pajamas.
“You’re good-looking,” I tell the doctor. My lost filter should be a secondary diagnosis.
“Wow, she must really be delirious,” Josh says acridly, wrapping his arm across my collarbones. The squeeze renders me immobile.
“Funny, he’s usually called the good-looking one.” The doctor says it wryly as he searches in a kit bag at the foot of the bed. “Oh, calm down, Josh.”
“You’re his BROTHER,” I say in childlike wonder when the rusted cogs in my brain clunk into place.
“I thought he was an experiment gone wrong.”
They look at each other and Josh’s brother laughs. “She’s so cute.”
“She’s . . .” I feel Josh shake his head. He adjusts me a little against his chest, and my fevered brain interprets it as a snuggle.
“I’m pathetic. He tells me constantly. What’s your name?”
“I’m Patrick.”
“Patrick Templeman. Holy shit. You’re the actual Dr. Templeman.”
I’m still sitting in Josh’s lap, my head in the curve of his neck, probably covering him in sweat. I try to struggle off but I’m held tight.
“I am indeed Dr. Templeman. One of them, anyway.” The amusement fades from his face and he coughs
and begins to turn away. I catch his sleeve to try to see how much of Josh is in his features. He stills obediently, but his eyes flick to Josh, who is tense as a brick wall behind me.
“Sorry, yes. Josh is better looking.” There’s a pause before both brothers laugh. Patrick isn’t remotely offended and Josh’s arm relaxes.
“Can you tell me embarrassing things about him?”
“When you’re feeling better, you bet. Keep her fluids up, Josh. She’s small enough that she’ll dehydrate.”
“I know.” Together they coax me to swallow a sour medicine. I am laid flat against the bed and the two leave the room, shutting the door, but their voices still reach me.
“You would have been good at this,” Patrick says, rattling in his medical kit. “You’ve done all the right things for her.” Josh sighs heavily. I’m sure he’s just crossed his arms.
“Don’t get defensive. So, next hard topic. Were you going to give me an RSVP? Ever?”
“I was going to.” He’s lying.
“Well, you can give me one now. And don’t pretend you don’t know the date; I know for a fact Mom
gave you the invite in person. We didn’t want it to go ‘missing’ like the engagement party invite.” Josh, you little weasel.
Patrick is thinking the same thing. “RSVP right now. Mindy needs to know. For such minor details as catering. Seating.”
“I’m busy at the moment,” Josh tries, but Patrick cuts him off.
“Imagine how it’ll look if you don’t turn up.”
Josh says nothing and Patrick perseveres. “I know it’s going to be hard.”
“You expect me to walk in there like nothing happened?”
Patrick is confused. “But you’d bring Lucy, wouldn’t you?”
I ponder this in the dark. Why on earth would it be hard for Joshua to attend his own brother’s wedding?
“She’s not my girlfriend. We work together.” Josh sounds irritated. I wish that didn’t give me such a punch in the gut, but it does.