Page 134 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Scott!” Deb yelled from across the room.

Whoops. Patient in Bay Two. Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough.

“I sure hope you’re close to bleeding out,” I told the faceless patient behind the curtain as I approached Bay Two. “You’ve interrupted my performance, gotten me scolded by Deb—”

The chink of the curtain hooks rang out into the space as I yanked it back, and I immediately stopped speaking.

Well, I’ll be damned. She’s cute. Shoulder-length, half-curl-rumpled hair, sexy smoky eyes with glowing green irises, and a body that could kill. She also had a fucking mess on her forehead, a blood-soaked rag and both of her hands pushing into it, but that was just a surface detail.

“You know what?” I asked her rhetorically. “Strike all of that. Don’t you even worry about interrupting me.”

She rolled her eyes and sank back onto the bed. “I wasn’t worried about you at all. The gushing, bleeding wound in my forehead? That concerns me.”

I smiled at her candor and sarcasm and then nudged at her hands with my forearm. “I’m concerned too. Truly. So move your hands.”

She narrowed her eyes, and I laughed. “I’m concerned. I promise.” I made an X over my heart with one hand and grabbed some gloves from the tray beside the bed with the other. “This is my job.”

“According to your argument with Deb, performing is your job—”

“No, no,” I interrupted as I popped the second glove into place. “You can’t actually use my argument with Deb as evidence. That’s just routine. It’s mundane, actually.”

“Listen, Doctor…?”

“Shepard. Scott Shepard. You can call me Scott.”

“Listen, Dr. Shepard…”

I laughed at her obvious disinterest.

“Can you just treat my injury?”

“Of course. If you just move your hands.”

“It’s fucking bleeding! I’m holding pressure. Everyone says to hold pressure.”

“That’s true. Until you get to the hospital. Where the doctor—” I pointed to myself “—that’s me—needs to actually look at the cut to assess and treat it.”

“But what if what it needs is pressure?”

“I’ll apply some.”

“Promise?” she asked, big, mischievous eyes turning doey right before my own. Wow. That’s talent. Usually, my conversational opponents didn’t have as much expression control as I did. I was impressed.

“Promise.”

“Ow,” she muttered as she pulled her hand with the blood-soaked cloth away. “Fucking ball sac.”

I shook my head, amusement making my cheeks feel heavy. “And here I thought I was looking at a forehead.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled. Again, I found myself smiling at her.

Grabbing some cleaning solution and a swab, I cleaned up the area until the actual laceration was visible. Four, maybe five, stitches, tops.

“Oh, this isn’t bad at all.”

“Says the person not bleeding.” She held up the rag in her hand as evidence, the corner of her mouth curling up in protest. “Look at this.”

I shrugged. “Head wounds bleed a lot.”