Page 41 of Wild

The doctor glanced up for a second. Mia's blue eyes were fixed on her, loaded with something close to curiosity.

Today had been less tense. Mia had made an effort to keep her distance without turning everything awkward; besides, she had a show tonight and needed to stay calm, and fights withErin threw her off too much to risk another one that'd leave her distracted the rest of the day.

"Pulse is perfect," the doctor announced, releasing her hand.

"No surprise there—I've spent a day and a half doing absolutely nothing. Just so you know, I've been bored out of my mind because of you."

"I'm sorry, but it's necessary—"

"Yeah, I know. It's fine." Mia shrugged. "I accept that I have to die of boredom to actually feel okay."

"Something like that. Go rehearse—they're waiting for you." Erin's tone was soft, almost the one she used when Mia wasn't feeling well, and for a moment the singer felt a small shiver run through her.

She held Erin's eyes for a beat before nodding and turning to climb onto the stage, and that look left the doctor completely off-balance—because it felt like Mia had seen straight through her, like she'd spoken with her eyes and said everything Erin wouldn't let her say out loud. Erin exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through her hair, unsettled. Mia was a complete enigma to her. She was convinced it was just ego—that Mia Wilder was frustrated she couldn't sleep with her, and that was why she looked at her that way, why she got bold when she couldn't control her mouth and angry when Erin pulled back. But then there were moments like this one, when Mia's expression was something else entirely—the real one, not the one she threw up as a shield against the world. When she looked at her like that, Erin doubted herself, and she was no longer sure that what Mia wanted from her was just to get her into bed.

"Wilder," she said suddenly.

Mia turned at the small staircase at the side of the stage.

"If you notice any symptoms—"

The singer let out a low, mocking huff, and Erin gave her a spontaneous smile that nearly made her trip.

After the sound check and a forty-minute break—during which the doctor took Mia's vitals again and ran through a battery of questions to make sure she was okay—the Boston concert began, and everything went off without a hitch. Mia performed with a raw, aggressive energy, as if she were pouring everything that burned inside her onto the stage, everything she couldn't get out any other way. The crowd was ecstatic, roaring along with her on every song.

Around the middle of the show, she started one of the ballads and turned toward the side of the stage where Erin stood. The doctor wasn't entirely sure whether Mia was actually looking at her or just working the performance—glancing to one side to seem more melancholy—but a current ran through her that stopped her cold for a few seconds, and she cursed herself, because she didn't understand her own body or mind, which wouldn't stop sending her contradictory signals she couldn't make sense of.

For the next few minutes, she couldn't look away. She wasn't watching her as a patient, or even as a performer; she was watching her as a person—just Mia, with her overwhelming energy and her hypnotic smiles and that magnetism that pulled everyone in. Everyone except her. Or so she told herself.

When the show ended, the singer came down from the side of the stage—sweaty, exhausted, and buzzing the way she always was after a concert.

"What did you think, Dooley?" she asked, still catching her breath as Erin pressed two fingers to her neck to find her pulse.

"You did well," Erin said quietly.

"Just well?" Mia was glowing, and her lashes fluttered as she blinked slowly a couple of times, trapping the air in Erin's lungs.

"Maybe it was spectacular. But I'm not entirely sure."

Mia laughed and swiped a palm across her face to push her hair back. The sweat had plastered damp strands across herforehead in a mess, and Erin had to fight the urge to reach over and tuck them back behind her ears. Her arm hung in the air, and the fingers at Mia's neck stayed there two seconds longer than they should have—the time it took the doctor to come back to herself—and Mia swallowed hard, because she'd caught all of it, and it drove her crazy. In moments like this she was sure Erin wanted her too, at least a little, and it frustrated her that she held back like this—that she insisted on denying what she felt, as if Mia wasn't enough for her.

"I think there are a lot of things that make you second-guess yourself, Dooley. Not just that."

Erin looked up, not quite understanding what she meant. There was no sarcasm in Mia's voice, no irony, no trace of anger—and that threw her, because she didn't know how to read it.

"I'm going to shower. See you tomorrow at the hotel."

Mia walked off without waiting for an answer, and Erin opened her mouth to tell her she wanted to check her pulse again in half an hour, once her heart rate had come down, but the singer moved fast and she didn't get the chance to say a word.

"I am drinking two glasses of whatever they've got the second I'm done here," Nell said as Erin passed. "You in, Doctor?"

"Maybe," Erin smiled, confirming once again that the whole crew—herself included—was riding a massive adrenaline high after every show.

She went to the medical room, gathered her things, and sat down to write up Mia's vitals alongside the rest of the day's notes. She drank some water and checked her phone, where she found a message from Barry explaining that he was on standby at a soccer game and bored without her, because his new partner was uptight. Erin laughed and texted back.

Erin Dooley

It's not like I was the life of the party either.