"Quit looking at me like that," Dylan whispered ferociously.

"Like what?" Charlie asked. He knew exactly what she meant; he just wanted to hear her say it.

Dylan sighed and leaned back from her office desk, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He still remembered the way it had felt, wrapped around his fingers the night before. He liked the way the dark, voluminous waves framed her face but couldn't help imagining how things might be different the next time if she kept it secured in a ponytail. He could wrap it around his fist, steering the movements of her head. He imagined her kneeling down between his legs, that scowling, curvaceous mouth wrapped around his…

"You're doing it again," Dylan hissed.

He imagined her bent beneath him. He imagined watching the perspiration roll down the exquisite, shuddering shoulders, her ponytail fisted in his hand as he positioned himself behind her…

"Charlie!"

Charlie started in his chair. Like most furniture at the hospital, the seat was several sizes too small for him; the legs seemed ready to buckle beneath his weight at any moment, and letting his doctor scare the hell out of him wasn't improving his chances of staying upright.

Dylan seemed to have buckled legs on her mind as well. "Mr. Wild," she overcorrected herself, "I would appreciate it if you…if I could keep your attention for more than a minute to talk about your progress at our facility."

"'Mr. Wild,'" Charlie repeated, easing back and crossing his arms. "See, I'm not sure I like that."

Dylan lowered her eyes pointedly. "You don't?"

God dammit. He didn't need to look down to know that he had managed to pop a raging erection while entertaining his ponytail fantasies about Dylan. He decided to own it, like he owned most things about himself. He kept his arms crossed and grinned at her.

"Would you like to take a moment to adjust?" she offered.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner," he counteroffered instead. "A real one this time. Not that the Tin Horseshoe isn't quaint, but why don't you and I plan something more metropolitan for this weekend? Dallas. Fort Worth. Austin. You name the restaurant, and my name'll get us in."

He liked the way her eyes flirted with looking at his package and the way she had to master herself each time. He liked the way Dylan Rose did anything. He even liked the way she tapped her pen rapidly in his presence, like tiny machine gun fire she had no control over. She crossed and then re-crossed her legs. Charlie edged his own legs open a bit wider.

"You've been doing good," she blurted. She clenched her eyes shut. "Well. You've been doing well."

"So why don't I get a gold star?" Charlie inquired.

He didn't know what it was about a star that triggered her, but Dylan rose abruptly from behind her chair. She leaned forward, and Charlie's eyes dropped immediately to her cleavage.

"Charlie, if you're doing everything I've told you to do with the expectation of earning a date, then as your doctor, I feel it's my duty to tell you you're shit out of luck!" Dylan snapped. She cut a quick glance to the closed door, like she thought there might be listening ears on the other side.

You need to get laid. He was smart enough not to speak the thought. "I make my own luck," he said aloud. "And I don't wait around for someone else's rules to align with what I want."

"You need to start getting serious about this," Dylan continued. "This is your career on the line. You know that. I need you to push yourself harder for something other than a date."

"Don't tell me I don't know how to push myself, Doc," Charlie said coldly.

"You certainly know how to push," Dylan countered.

"You would know."

Her face colored. She glanced down quickly, her thick lashes kissing her cheeks as if she could wish her blush away. So, she wasn't as far out of his reach as she wanted herself to be.

Now it was Charlie's turn to glance over at the door. What were the chances of someone walking in on them in the next five, ten, fifteen minutes? How much could he get away with in that amount of time?

He thought he could get away with just enough.

"Charlie." Dylan said his name again. A warning. "We need to talk about the very real possibility that your—"

"Charlie Wild! Charlie Wild!"

Someone ran down the hallway shouting his name. Charlie was used to hearing his name chanted and repeated, but it felt out of place in Lockhart Bend. He looked at Dylan to confirm he hadn't imagined it before rising out of his chair and following her to the door. They both poked their heads out into the hall.

"Nicholas!" A Critical Care nurse shouted after her charge. "Nicholas, no running in the halls! Mr. Wild is right here!"

Charlie stepped out into the hallway and waved to his tiny, overexcited friend. Nicholas rushed back to him; Charlie lowered himself down gingerly to one knee and held out his arms. He knew a hug when he saw one coming. Nicholas threw himself against Charlie's chest. Charlie wrapped his arms around the little boy gingerly and boomed a laugh.

"Whoa! Slow down, dude! What's up?" he asked.

"The games arrived!" Nicholas exclaimed excitedly. "Can I show you? Can I show you what they brought?"

"What games?" Dylan stood back with the Critical Care nurse, watching the scene unfold with an incredulous look on her face. "What who brought?"

Nicholas gave an ecstatic giggle. He turned to look at Dylan, before glancing away shyly. "She's pretty," he whispered into Charlie's ear.

"Tell me about it," Charlie said. He raised his eyes to Dylan and noted her exasperated smile.

“Come now!” Nicholas said quickly. He grabbed Charlie's enormous hand in his and yanked with all his might. Charlie rose slowly and followed him away from the office toward the Critical Care wing. The two women trailed behind them.

At first, Charlie wasn't a hundred percent certain that Nicholas had led him to the right wing. He had only been by the Critical Care once before, and Lockhart Bend's facility was fairly big despite the diminutive town that housed it.

Now, he barely recognized the ward. Boys and girls and wheelchair-bound elderly gathered around the pile of boxes stacked in the hall, the electronics companies’ names emblazoned across the cardboard. A couple boxes had been opened from impatience, and nurses and patients swapped game controllers back and forth between them. Charlie realized ordering the wireless systems had been a good idea. Many of the patients, regardless of age, were hooked to oxygen tubes, IVs, and feeders, and additional cords would have only gotten in the way.

Nicholas detached from Charlie when a few of his fellow patients called over to him. He ran to join them as they ripped into a game system box.

"What…is all this?" Dylan gasped.

"The TVs and game systems arrived early this morning," Nicholas' nurse said in wonder. "And so did a crew to install them, though they've only gotten one up and running so far."

Charlie turned, grinning, to gauge Dylan's response to all this. Her mouth hung open, and she blinked so rapidly he couldn't decide whether she was caught in a state of disbelief or disapproval. It was a cute look, in either case.

"You like it? I purchased one for every room." He gestured to where Nicholas sat with his buddies on a single bed, their identical bald heads all crowded over the instruction manual for the console. "Nicholas told me that out of everything he's been through since he got diagnosed, he found boredom at the hospital to be the worst. I figured I'd bring a little entertainment into everyone's lives. It's what a guy like me is good for, right?"

"This is wonderful." Dylan's eyes shimmered faintly, but she didn't cry. She gazed at the tableau of laughing boys and girls. "I've never seen them so…you got one for every room? Are you serious?"

"Just for this ward."

"For the entire ward?"

Charlie shrugged. "For once, I wanted to do the responsible thing and hold back. Do a trial run. I figured you of all people would approve of my restraint."

"Imagine you. Responsible." Dylan gave a laugh at the word, but it wasn't cruel. It was genuine, and the purity of the sound made Charlie feel encouraged.

"Admit it." He leaned sideways to murmur into Dylan's ear. "You kind of want to kiss me right now."

"Oh, I definitely do."

Her whispered answer took him by surprise. He had teased her with the full expectation of having his efforts thrown back in his face. Now, his teasing seemed that much more weighted in hindsight.

Because Dylan wasn't teasing back.

She wouldn't look at him. Not right away. Once she had put some distance between herself and her words, her shoulders rose in a deep breath, and she tipped her head back. Their eyes met. Charlie found himself helplessly drawn in. He wanted to slide a hand across the fragile bones of her exposed neck from behind. He wanted to master the jut of that stubborn chin; he wanted to watch her eyes flutter shut as she gave over to the guidance of his hand. His arm was already half-raised by the time the pair of lips he watched parted themselves to speak.

"How did you pay for this?" Her green eyes searched his. "Out of your own pocket?"

"Er," Charlie said. "About that…"