Goddammit.
Lace was determined to make it to the bathroom and not puke all over herself this time.
Swiftly, she got to her feet, grabbed her IV pole, and was beelining it for the bathroom, when…
Honk. Honk.
Shit.
Now wasnotthe time.
Vincent.
Unable to say a word for fear of spewing all over Cenzo the Clown—or whatever he’d decided to call himself—Lace ignored the smile he was beaming her way, scooted past him, and practically ran for the facilities.
She just made it, slamming the door and dropping to the porcelain before bringing up the bagel she’d eaten for breakfast.
That sucked.
Lace was finally able to sit back on her heels and sigh.
Why?Why?
This was sooo not what she’d signed up for at this stage of her life. Her thirties were supposed to be for funsies; traveling the world, having lots of sex, finding the man of her dreams, starting a family. She felt as if she were being completely cheated out of all that.
Not that listening to the older women in the room talking about themselves and their situations, had Lace thinking thatanyonedeserved this shit.
One sixty-something lady was the owner of a local daycare center, and was constantly having to worry about catching something from the kids that would put her in serious jeopardy. Another gray-haired grandmother was caring not only for disabled daughter, but also her husband who was in the early stages of dementia. A third hoot-of-a-woman ran her own architectural landscape and design company, which required her to be on jobsites doing physical labor with her crews, daily. Something she was meeting with humor and good graces, but Lace could see the toll it was taking.
No matter how you looked at this shit, it sucked.
And now, as defeated as she was feeling, Vincent was waiting for her.
Lace was going to have to use the travel toothbrush and toothpaste she always carried to chemo to make herself fresh as a daisy, but all she felt like doing was curling up into a ball and throwing a sobbing, pity-party.
Taking a deep breath and determining that she was finished puking for now, Lace pushed herself to standing, flushed the toilet, then washed up, splashing water on her face before she brushed her teeth.
Grimacing at her wan visage in the mirror, she squared her shoulders, rearranged the scrubs cap she always wore when she was here, and faced the door.
She could do this.
Lace grabbed her IV pole, unlocked the door, and stepped out to…
Vincent.
Pacing the hallway, where he’d obviously been waiting for her as if he had nothing else in the world better to do.
For the record, maybe he didn’t. Because Lace knew nothing about the man, other than he had stellar bloodlines.Oh.And genetic good looks.Andbroad shoulders that even his ridiculous outfits couldn’t disguise.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice much more solemn than the playful one he’d used with her the previous week. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”
Great.He was going to treat her with kid gloves now that he knew about her cancer.
“I’m good,” she told him, trying not to shuffle her feet as she walked past him and back toward her chair. “Par for the course, and all.” Lace hoped the words came off as breezy.
“Don’t they…?”
Clearly, he was discomfited.