Page 253 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Ohh. You’re—”

“Scott Shepard,” I finished for her, looping through the skin once, and then again.

Her eyes narrowed, but she smirked at the same time. The skin I was working on shifted slightly, but she showed no signs of discomfort. “Right. Dr. Scott Shepard.”

“That’s me,” I agreed with a smile. “And you are?”

She rolled her eyes. “The lady with the head wound.”

“You know it says your name in your chart, right? All I have to do is look at it.” I’d given it a glance to assure myself that she had no allergies or serious medical history just before giving her the dose of numbing agent, but now, a more thorough perusal seemed pertinent.

“Yeah, but what fun is that, Dr. Shepard?”

“Fine,” I agreed. “What should I call you, then?”

“How about Bleeding Woman Thanks to Horrible Sex with a Guy with a Fancy Name?”

I laughed a little before clearing my throat and wincing. “Well, it’s a little long. But I guess I can work with it. I would love to know how someone gets a head lac from horrible sex. It sounds like a really nice story.”

“Sorry. It’s an awful story that I’ll never relive. Not even for your amusement.”

“Geez. Fine. It’s like you want me to sew this up and leave you alone or something.”

She smiled, and it consumed her entire face. So much so, I thought the corners of her mouth might loop all the way around to form a circle. “That would be nice.”

I laughed again, completely smitten.

Jesus. I hadn’t had this much fun talking to a woman in a long time. Hell, I hadn’t even spoken this much to a woman in a long time. Usually, we exchanged several heys and then went straight to making out. Not entirely flawed when your goals were what mine were—a night of fun and fucking—but not exactly mentally stimulating either.

“Well, you’re in luck,” I told her as I tied the last stitch and clipped off the excess. “You’re all set.”

I, however, wasn’t feeling that lucky at all. I didn’t want to be done working on her yet. Too bad I hadn’t thought to stretch it out a little bit. Her conversation was too engaging to leave brainpower for scheming.

“Great!” she chirped, sitting up in a hurry and swinging her legs around and off the side of the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I urged with a hand to her shoulder. “Take it easy, Sex Victim. I’ve got to sign off on your chart, and you have to get discharged.”

“But if you sign off on my chart, you’ll see my name,” she said. It could have sounded weird, but with the way she said it, it just sounded flirtatious. Enchanted by her cool, witty demeanor and the sweet swell of her breasts, I was more than willing to go with it.

“I won’t look at your name,” I promised easily.

Because I wouldn’t.

At least, not until she was already gone. And, depending on how off my moral compass was at the time, I might even look at her phone number too.

Chances are good I’ll be dialing those digits in the near future.

Truth was, that fucker very rarely, if ever, pointed true north.

There were two things I was certain of before I opened my eyes. One, I should have put my phone on silent, and two, my face felt like someone had tried to give me a facelift without anesthesia—or so I’d imagine.

I had no idea what time it was, but from the way the sun’s rays were trying to set my bedroom on fire, I knew it was at least after nine. Which, considering the events that took place last night, was still too fucking early to rise and shine.

When a garbage truck outside my SoHo apartment started serenading me with its trash-crunching powers, I groaned audibly and opened my eyes for the first time.

The world didn’t look any more beautiful or optimistic despite daylight’s glorious rays. If anything, the harsh sunlight made me want to go back to sleep. I was maybe thirty seconds away from accomplishing the heavenly task when my phone started chirping again. Oh my God, who is calling me right now?

I hadn’t even started my day, but already, I wasn’t a fan.