Oh, she didn’t want anyone else to know of her phobia. Why couldn’t she just tell herself everything was going to be fine and then believe it? Everything was going to be fine. People did not die from having blood drawn. She knew that logically. But logic had nothing to do with what was happening inside her body.
“McKenzie?”
Her gaze lifted to Lance’s.
“You should go to dinner with me sometime.”
“No.” She might be distracted, but she wasn’t that distracted.
“You have other plans?”
“I do.”
“I haven’t said which day I wanted to take you to dinner. Maybe I wanted to take you out over the holidays.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go to dinner with you. Not now or over the holidays.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s my line,” she told him, watching George with growing dread.
The phlebotomist swiped an alcohol pad across her left antecubital space. “Relax your arm.”
Yeah, right.
Lance moved closer. “McKenzie, you have to relax your arm or he can’t stick you.”
Exactly. That’s why her arm wasn’t relaxed.
Lance took her right hand and gave it a squeeze. “Look at me, McKenzie.”
She did. She locked her gaze with his and forced her brain to stay focused on him rather than George. That really shouldn’t have been a problem except George held the needle he was lowering toward her arm.
She wanted to pull away but she just gripped Lance’s hand all the tighter.
She wanted to run, but she kept her butt pasted into her chair. Somehow.
“Keep your eyes on me, McKenzie.”
Her eyes were on him, locked into a stare with him. It wasn’t helping. All she could think about was George and his blasted needle.
She was going to pass out.
Lance lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her clenched fingers.
McKenzie frowned. “What was that for?”
“You’ve had a rough evening.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Sure, I should have. You deserve accolades for everything you’ve done.”
“That’s ridiculous. I just did my job.”
“You’re going to feel a stick,” George warned, and she did.
Sweat drenched her skin.