Page 271 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Violations?” The vein in the center of my father’s forehead started to make its debut. “What is he talking about, Low?”

I sighed. “Calm down, Dad. It’s nothing to get worked up about.”

“It sounds like a big deal!” my father said on a near shout, and concern for what would happen next made my heart rate double. “Were you arrested?”

“Jesus, no,” I answered on a whisper. “You remember the stitches on my forehead?” I asked and he nodded.

“From the bicycle injury in Central Park?” he asked, and fucking Scott Shepard cleared his throat and chuckled softly to himself.

Yes, I did tell my dad a little bit of a lie about my head injury. Just a minor story about a crazy man on a bicycle who ran into me in Central Park that caused me to fall down and hit my head on a rock.

Just a tiny little white lie.

But seriously, who would tell their father the real story if they were in my shoes?

“Was he the man who was riding when you got injured, Low?” he questioned, and I internally groaned at his ironic choice in words.

The man who was riding? Good Lord, that sounded terrible. And a little too close to the actual scenario…

“No, sir,” Scott answered, and if the strain in his throat was any indication, he was one breath away from losing himself to laughter. “I was, in fact, not doing the riding when your daughter got injured.”

My father looked at me. “If he wasn’t the one riding, then how do you two know each other?”

Fucking fiddlesticks, I needed everyone to stop saying riding before I fainted from discomfort.

“He was my ER doctor, Dad,” I explained, and this time when he looked at Scott, his mouth was curved in appreciation.

“You took care of my Harlow after she got injured by that rider?”

“I sure did,” Scott answered helpfully, an amused smirk all but sewn on to his face. “I sutured her after the riding incident.”

“Who got hurt while riding, Scotty?” Nicole asked, her voice carrying a bit too nicely. Goddamn theater acoustics. I was torn between smacking Scott in the face or finding a way to dig a hole into the theater floor in order to migrate to China. Perhaps I can use my stiletto.

Apparently, as an outsider, it was hard to follow along with us as we talked in code.

“Harlow,” Scott answered and nodded toward me. “That’s how I met her. I had to suture her riding injury.”

I was going to kill him before Kinky Boots even started if he kept saying riding.

“How did she look afterward?” my father asked. “I bet she was a bit shaken up from that reckless rider.”

Scott grinned shamelessly, his cheeks coming to life with a rosy flush as he basked in my embarrassment. “She did look a little shaken up. Mostly just angry, though.”

“You were angry?” my father questioned and looked at me. “I really wish you would have gotten that rider’s name. I’d love to call him and give him a piece of my mind. No one should be that reckless.”

“I agree,” Scott piped up again. I wanted to smack him. “People should ride responsibly.”

“You’re right.” His mother nodded in agreement. “People should ride responsibly. Otherwise, they shouldn’t be allowed to ride at all.”

Now, although I was internally dying a slow death, given the circumstances that led to this very humiliation, it was hard not to agree with that. Barron the Bore should’ve had his riding rights revoked immediately after he rode my ass straight into the ER. Although, in Barron’s pathetic defense, a few days after his bed had sliced my head opened, he did send me an apology in the form of a nice bouquet of flowers. I appreciated the sentiment, but no contact with Barron for the next one thousand years was still the plan.

“So, you didn’t get the man’s name?” Scott questioned, childishly continuing this farce of a conversation for nothing more than his enjoyment, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Nope.”

“Really? I would’ve thought you would’ve at least gotten a name or phone number…something…”

“I didn’t,” I snapped.