Yeah Boy & Doll Face

I said goodbye to Mike and cut the line: the nurse had called for my attention before turning to converse with the other nurse who had wheeled the girl into one of the emergency rooms. Every now and then, one of the two would glance in my direction, then back at the other, so I approached them slowly under the pretext of finishing the medical forms I had started.
I heard a snippet of their conversation before they went silent on noticing me.

“Couple of stitches on the rear right hand side of the skull.”

“Dissolvable?”

“Yeah, behind the ear. He’s checking for signs of - “

They both looked at me.

“I, uh, finished the forms.” I said, clutching them hesitantly. The redhead glared at me stonily, but the other woman smiled and took them from me. “Is she gonna be OK?”

“She’ll be fine. It’s just a small cut on the back of her head. The doctor’s checking for concussion because it looks like the result of a blunt force trauma.” she explained; the word trauma sounded terrifying, and my face must have portrayed it as she gave me a comforting look. “Do you happen to know how it happened?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Well, it was my birthday last night, and we were all at a party, so I don’t...quite know.” I confessed, feeling the idiot. She must have seen a sincerity the redhead didn’t, because she came around the desk and motioned for me to follow.

“Well, you know what, honey? Not all boyfriends show this level of care and commitment - you look worried out of your mind. Do you want a coffee from the vending machine?” she offered. I shook my head, attempting a smile. “Alright, your call. She must be conscious by now, if not completely coherent. Do you wanna see her?”

Oh, god, now I really am in dynamite shite.

She didn’t seem to see my hesitation though (or chose not to), and ushered me down the hallway. “C’mon, don’t be shy! She’s right through there.” The nurse continued, opening the door.

I stepped over the threshold, half expecting to have my imposter ass thrown out immediately. Instead, I was met with a timid
“Hey.”
A single, soft note; like someone had tapped a solitary ivory key, no accentuating afflictions or drawl, no outrage or anger. No questions asked or answers demanded.
Just “Hey”.

“Hey.” I replied gently. Gazing at her intently, I saw her face almost posed a silent question. I wasn’t sure what she was asking, but I just nodded slightly, like as if she’d asked if I was OK.
She nodded too, ignoring the doctor still prodding her scalp, and patted the seat of where she was perched on the hospital bed next to her. I ventured closer and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a nervous distance.

“I’m going to prescribe you some antibiotics and painkillers to prevent infection.” the doctor said before looking at me. “I assume you’re driving - Ms Fakhri won’t be completely steady on her feet just yet.”
I nodded automatically, avoiding eye contact with her. “Right, excuse me then.” he said, leaving the room.

“Hey, boyfriend.” she said, her tone slightly teasing. I looked up at her and felt myself go red.

“I can explain.” I mumbled, watching her crack a smile.

“I’d love to hear it.” she chuckled; I laughed too, feeling the pressure ease up.

“I’d love to tell you.” I replied. The doctor re-entered the room, clipboard and pen in hand.

“These are the medicines you’ll need to get,” he said, tearing off a green slip and handing it to me. “I’ll expect to see you back within the next few days to check the progress on the wound’s healing and that it’s not infected. You could visit your GP too, if you’re more comfortable.”

“Right. Thanks.” I said, awkward and stilted. She suppressed a vout of giggles by clasping her hand over her mouth next to me.

“That’s all, then. Take it easy for a few days, ma’am.” the doctor added, smiling at the two of us.

“Thank you.” she chirped, hopping off the bed and tottering uneasily for a few steps; the doctor made to help her, but I was already by her side, grasping her arm. She looked up at me and quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“Take care of her.” the doctor said, holding the door open for us.

“I will.” I assured.

*

After helping her into the car, I got into the driver’s seat, trying to ignore her gaze on my face.

“So,” I said, placing my hands on the steering wheel and looking straight ahead.

“So,” she repeated, a smile in her voice. “Wanna remind me what our first date was?”

“Yes. But I think we should get some coffee first - reactivate the brain cells, y’know?” I replied. Reactivate the what? Fucking dork.

“I know what you mean. I’m Yasmin, by the way.” she said.

“Vic.” I replied, giving her an embarrassed smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

*

“Are you a regular philanthropist, then?” she asked, clasping her gingerbread latte.

“Depends. Are you a regular hospitalised invalid?” I said, picking up my cappuccino. She smiled like she knew a secret as we seated ourselves windowside, Starbucks: view to San Diego, CA’s passing weekend metropolis life.
I smiled back, feeling unnaturally calm, if not collected.
“We woke up - or rather, I woke up in the Long View Hotel. You were, uh, knocked out, so naturally, I freaked out and took you to the hospital.” I explained. “How we got to the hotel is actually a mystery to me, This isn’t even my car - it’s my brother’s. We were at my birthday party last night, as far as I can remember.”

Yasmin chuckled and sipped her drink, wincing as I guess it burnt her tongue. I pressed my lips together as I watched her purse her lips and blow slowly to cool it down.

“I may be able to offer an explanation for that.” she said. I redirected my attention to maintain eye contact, unable to come up with a viable explanation for why looking at her mouth made me feel like a creep. I mean, it’s a mouth - what could her mouth possibly-
“I believe you were pretty drunk last night, and justifiably so. I just happened to attract some unwanted attention, and you noticed, so you swept in and backed me up. It was all very heroic...I just suppose someone hit me from behind, so you offered to take me home.”

“So, I didn’t hurt you, then? Like, it’s not my fault?” I concluded. She shook her head slightly, smiling. “And, last night, I mean...I didn’t, you - we, I mean…”

“You mean, if we fucked?” she said with delightful blatancy. I smirked.

“Are you asking or offering?”

“Are you accepting or rejecting?”
I raised an eyebrow and we both looked at each other steadily.

“I might have, if you were asking. I might do, if you’re offering.”

“Shame I wasn’t, then.” she replied pertly.

“I see we have a live wire.”

“What’s life without a little fire?”

“A poet and doesn’t she know it.” I commented. She laughed; I smiled. “Am I allowed to ask how you attracted unwanted attention?”

“I work at 66.”
I looked at her blankly. “The club you had your party at.” she clarified.

“Oh. Alright. Bartending?”

“Dancing.” She smiled broadly at my stunned silence.

“Oh.” I said. “Is it fun?”

“It pays. Don’t know if I’d call it fun.” she said.

“I had you down for a good girl.”

“I had you down for a bad boy.”

“Any particular reason?”

“The way you were throwing that liquor down last night, maybe? Anyone who wants to get that wasted has something they want to forget.”
I let that sink in.

“That’s very observant of you.” I replied.

“Thank you.” she said graciously. “And I don’t think we did.”
I thought what a shame, but said

“OK. Well, do you live nearby? I’ll drive you home.”

“You know what? You’ve been the perfect gentleman - and thanks for all your help - but I think I’ll forsake the last ride, if you’ll excuse the pun.” I shook my head, adamant I had been the opposite.

“I insist. How could I sleep easy not knowing if you got home OK?” She smiled in amusement and seemed happy to humour me.

“I’ve been enough trouble.”

“Maybe I like the trouble.”

“Well…” she hesitated. “OK. If you don’t mind.”

“I most definitely do. But give me your number, and maybe I’ll forgive you.” I said before I could think the words through.
She tilted her head to a side, clasping her hand over her mouth to stop another giggle bout. I looked at her, unsure of her reaction. She explained herself a moment later, regaining her composure and stealing the napkin on my side of the table, pulling a pen out of her bag and noting down the digits in small, loopy handwriting.
Plucking it from her fingers, I smile victoriously.

“Cool.” I said.

“Cool.”