Chapter 24 Misunderstandings and Meals
Olivia: POV
I waved goodbye to Victoria and Rachel in the parking lot, both of them wearing these insufferable smirks.
"Have fun playing nurse," Victoria called, giving me an exaggerated wink that made me want to disappear into the asphalt. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"That leaves a lot of options open," I muttered under my breath, earning a soft chuckle from Blake beside me.
"I'll drive," Rachel offered, keys already in hand.
"No, it's fine," I said quickly, fishing my own keys from my purse. "I've got this. Blake's back is injured, not his ego. He'll survive being chauffeured by me."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "So thoughtful. I'm touched."
"Don't be," I replied, unlocking my car. "I just don't trust you behind the wheel with that back. Consider it self-preservation."
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced at the GPS on my phone. "Which hospital should we go to?"
"Pacific Medical Center," Blake replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "My doctor's there. I'll text him we're coming."
The drive was mostly quiet, punctuated only by Blake's occasional directions and sharp inhales whenever we hit a bump. I kept glancing at him, guilt gnawing at me. If he hadn't caught me when I fell...
"Stop that," Blake said suddenly.
"Stop what?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"Looking at me like I'm about to shatter into pieces. I tweaked my back, not severed my spine."
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I wasn't—"
"You were," he countered. "And it's not your fault, so stop with the guilty puppy eyes."
"Fine," I huffed. "Next time I'll just hit the ground face-first."
"That's the spirit," Blake said with a smirk, wincing immediately after as we drove over a pothole.
Pacific Medical Center was surprisingly empty. The massive complex seemed almost deserted as we walked through the pristine hallways. Blake moved slowly, his gait stiff but determined.
After checking in at reception, we were shown to an examination room where Dr. Marshall, a balding man in his sixties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, was waiting for us.
"Blake Westwood," he said, looking up from his tablet. "Twice in one month. Should I start reserving this room permanently for you?"
Blake grimaced. "Just a minor setback, Doc."
Dr. Marshall turned to me, his expression softening. "And you must be Blake's girlfriend. "
My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth to correct him, but Blake cut in. "She was with me when it happened."
The doctor gestured for Blake to sit on the examination table. "So, what exactly did you do this time?"
Blake was a bit at a loss for words, "I..."
Dr. Marshall examined Blake's back with practiced movements. "The muscle spasm here is because you overexerted. The good news is you haven't undone the healing progress."
He looked at me, his expression serious. "Miss..."
"Parker," I supplied. "Olivia Parker."
"Miss Parker, I need you both to understand something important," he continued. "Blake's back is still healing. You two need to take things slow for a while."
I frowned, not understanding his implication until he continued.
"What I'm saying is that you should be mindful about your... physical activities." He cleared his throat. "For your long-term happiness together, some temporary restraint would be advisable."
My face flamed as his meaning dawned on me. "Oh! No, we're not—"
Blake's hand closed around mine, stopping my protest. "We understand, Doc. We'll be more careful."
I stared at Blake in disbelief, but he just gave my hand a warning squeeze.
Dr. Marshall prescribed muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories, then gave Blake some stretching exercises to do. As we walked out the door, the doctor called after us, "Young people these days, always in such a rush."
Once outside, I rounded on Blake. "Why didn't you correct him?"
Blake shrugged, then winced at the movement. "If I told him I hurt myself trying to be a hero, he'd lecture me for an hour. I've learned it's easier to let him assume things."
"So I'm your fictional girlfriend now?" I asked, incredulous.
"Only for medical purposes," he replied with that infuriating half-smile. "Besides, if I told him the truth—that I injured myself saving a beautiful woman from falling off a horse—he'd think I was showing off."
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the compliment. "I'm starving. Have you eaten?"
"Are you asking me to dinner, Parker?" Blake's eyes lit up with amusement.
"I'm asking if I need to drop you at a drive-thru before taking you home," I clarified, though my stomach was growling too.
"There's a great Italian place nearby," Blake suggested. "My treat, since you were kind enough to chauffeur me."
Twenty minutes later, we were seated at a cozy corner table in Bella Notte, a small family-owned restaurant with checkered tablecloths and candles in empty wine bottles. After ordering, Blake attempted to reach for his water glass and made a show of wincing dramatically.
"I think I might need some help," he said, his expression so pathetically exaggerated that I nearly laughed.
"Seriously?" I raised an eyebrow. "Your back hurts, not your arms."
"But bending forward to drink..." he trailed off, looking at me with puppy dog eyes.
I sighed heavily, picking up his water glass and holding it to his lips. "You're enjoying this way too much."
I really thought he was messing with me.
When our food arrived, Blake continued his helpless act. "I can't possibly bend over to eat this pasta..."
"Oh my God," I muttered, picking up his fork and twirling some spaghetti around it. "You're like a child. Here comes the airplane!" I moved the fork in a swooping motion toward his mouth.
"Very funny," Blake deadpanned, but opened his mouth anyway.
As I fed him another bite, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "You know, you're kind of like my son right now."
Blake nearly choked, grabbing the fork from my hand. "I think I'm feeling better suddenly," he said, sitting up straight. "Miraculous recovery."
I grinned, victorious. "Thought that might work."
The rest of dinner passed with surprisingly easy conversation. When Blake mentioned the mysterious woman he was interested in again, I found myself offering advice despite the strange twist in my stomach.
"If you're pursuing someone, you should pay attention to what she likes," I said, trying to sound casual. "Learn about her interests, remember small details about her."
Blake reached across the table and gently pinched my cheek. "You always know best."
I blushed, feeling confused by his gesture and my reaction to it. "I'm happy to support your romantic pursuits, but you should probably reduce how much time we spend together. No woman likes her boyfriend being so close with another female friend."
Blake studied me, his expression suddenly serious. "Do you think friends can become lovers, Olivia?"