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I see my jeans over hanging over the arm of a chair in the corner. I quickly scoot to the edge of the bed, standing up carefully and pushing my IV bag and my as across the floor to get to my cell in the pocket of the jeans.

I flip through my cell looking for Shay's newest cell number; I seriously doubt this one is even in service considering he changes his number about every two weeks or so to lose track of the groupies he gives it out to.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Tommy," I say quietly, keeping a close eye out on the door. "Okay, so exactly happened man…"

"Well…I'm not even sure, the only thing I know, we were about to go into eat at that restaurant and the next thing I know you're blacking out."

"Jax was there right?" I can't quite decipher from my thoughts and what actually happened.

"Yeah…" he replies, "He left two minutes before Jude walked in."

"Really?" I ask, more than a little enthusiastically.

"Yup."

"So how'd she find out?"

"I called her…"

"What time did she get here?"

"Like 7 something…" he said, hesitantly. "Why do you care?"

"No reason," I reply quickly.

"Yeah right man," he laughs.

"What?"

"I know you guys got a little somethin', somethin' going on. I think the paparazzi might have gotten the right idea this time."

"What?" I repeat, dumbly.

"Stop acting like you don't know what I'm talking about. You better tell that girl before tooty fruity gets to her first."

"Tooty fruity Why tooty fruity? Never mind, you know Jude and me have a special relationship. Simply platonic."

"Ah, whatever man. Don't try to lie to me dawg. You remember you almost killed me for dating her when we we're sixteen."

"You were a horny little 16-year old though."

"So. So was she."

"No she wasn't. She was innocent—not at all ready for a little wannabe pimp."

"What?" he laughs, incredulously.

"You heard me: 'wannabe pimp'."

"What about you? If she was too innocent for me, she was definitely too innocent for you to be trying to rap to a sixteen year old…" he snickers.

"What? She told you about that?" I gasp, disbelievingly.

He erupts into laughter. "She didn't tell me anything. What you want to tell me something?"

"Um. No," I say, switching the phone from my left hand to my right hand.

"Right…you ought to be ashamed of yourself…dirty old bast-"

"Hey now! I didn't touch her while she was sixteen…" I'm lying and going to hell.

"Right. So you're saying you touched her when she was seventeen and up right?"

Not exactly…

"Pshh no. Man. Our relationship is platonic." Forty-five percent of the time it is anyway.

"Right…"

I happen to glance up and see shuffling outside my door in the hallway. "Um, I'll talk to you later man, Jude's coming back."

"Aiight, Jax said he'd stop back and see you in the morning…"

"Okay. Talk to you later," I rush, trying to wobble back over to the bed before she comes in.

There's a knock at the door and a redheaded nurse enters wearing blue drawstring pants and a t-shirt with the hospital's logo on it. "Hi," she speaks softly, like she's talking to an infant. "I'm Erika. I'm going to be on call tonight," she says, extending her hand out to me.

"Hello," I reply, looking her over briefly. She's what you would describe as cute or adorable. She's a petite, with freckles sprinkled across her face, no older than 30 something.

"Well I hear that you had a little fainting spell?" she says, as she checks my blood pressure.

"Yup…" I say. I probably look a little on the pathetic side, laying up in the bed, with some serious bed hair.

"And a mild-concussion…" she nods, looking at me with a 'poor you' expression.

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunate indeed." She nods, again, giving me a reassuring smile. "So I hear you used to be in a boy band? Boyz! Attacks?"

"Who'd you hear that from," I ask curiously.

"Oh your friend," she answers. She tells me about how Jude was pulling out old pictures at the nurses' headquarters.

"You have to be kidding me," I roll my eyes, laughing good-naturedly.

She holds up her right hand and crosses her fingers. "Promise. It was so cute though. She was so worried about you. She was almost frantic when she first came in."

"Really now…" I muse.

"Oh yes," she nods, placing a thermometer in my ear.

"That's very, interesting…" I put in, just as Jude walks in with a whole slew of food.

"What's interesting?" she asks, placing the contents on her arm on the coffee table by the sofa.

"My temperature is exactly 37 degrees…"

Erika chuckles softly. "Actually it's 98.6 degrees…" I look at her weirdly.

"Fahrenheit," she adds, patting my arm. "Now I just need to get a few blood samples for further testing. Are either of you squeamish?"

"No, I'm good," I smile, a look passing between the two of us. You know that kind of flirty look that you usually use when you see some sexy person sitting across the room. Yeah, that kind of look.

Jude slurps loudly on her straw, interrupting the moment. "I'm good too."

"Okay I need you to take these pills and I'll be out of your hair for the rest of the night."

"Do you have to?" I ask, smiling my most charming smile.

"Well no," she smiles, blushing profusely.

I look past her as she's drawing my blood and I see Jude pretending to gag.

Ah. She's jealous. I smile sweetly at her. "What'd you bring me Jude?"

She rolls her eyes and crosses the room and hands me a sub sandwich. "Meatball."

"I love you."

"Right…" she laughs, rolling her eyes.

"I do," I sigh, waiting for Erika to finish up. She hands me a cup of some huge ass horse-like pills.

"Thank you sweetheart," I smile.

"No problem…you know its my job," she shrugs, modestly, wheeling her cart towards the door. "If you need anything else just push the red call button on your bed."

"Okay."

I glance over in Jude's direction. She's staring at me, curiously.

"What?'

She shrugs.

"You think she's cute?" she asks, suddenly.

"Yeah gotta love red-heads." I smile, unwrapping my sandwich.

"Do you really," she asks, looking at me with her eyebrow raised.

"Yup."

"I always thought you preferred blondes," she mutters.

"Well," I sigh, pretending to think about for a while. "Well yeah I like blondes too."

"You like everyone Tommy," she rolls her eyes; dabbing at the mustard she just spilt on her shirt. "Damn." She whispers, heading for the bathroom.

"Not everyone…" I call out defensively.

"Most everyone…" she says, closing the door a little.

"Not really." I murmur.