“You’ve said that already,” he says with a smile on his beautiful face, and I need him to really stop it.
“Umm, did you realize that consuming a lot of alcohol isn’t a good idea? It will make your inflammation worse. Are you drinking a lot at home?”
“I don’t drink at home.”
Sure, he doesn’t.
He bends forward in his seat and now his face is embarrassingly close to my crotch, so I slowly back away and return to my seat.
“Ok, well if I were you I’d get this checked out again,” I say flustered. “Maybe they didn’t get your dose right, or maybe you should try a different pain reliever. There are medications they can prescribe to make you more comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” he scoffs.
“Yes, comfortable.”
“I haven’t been able to sleep for a week. I’m way past ever being comfortable again.”
My medical residency training kicks in. First, he’s in a great deal of pain and second, he’s here tonight self-medicating, so I ask the obvious question.
“Do you have access to medical care? Do you have health insurance?”
“You think I’m broke?” he responds incredulously.
“I didn’t say that.”
Why does everything I say come out sound ass backward around this man?
“What I meant was that plenty of working people in this country don’t have major health coverage, and you did say that you were in between gigs.”
“Are you offering to examine me for free?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you do house calls?”
I ignore his blatant come-ons. He’s a playful guy. I know he isn’t serious.
“I’m a pediatrician, not an internist, but I could definitely find some resources for you.”
“Resources,” he parrots my words. “This is unbelievable.”
“What is?”
“You.”
His eyes flicker with emotion. Maybe I’ve humiliated him? I don’t know. I’m just trying to help.
“Because I’m offering you some help? There’s no need to be embarrassed about it,” I assure him. “This is my job. It’s what I do.”
“Don’t you get it?” he says with ferocity while slamming his good fist on the table. “You can’t make my bones heal by next week. I can’t be helped.”
Wait, what just happened?
“Um, are we still talking about your shoulder?”
Nine
JETT
I’m not supposedto be here tonight.
Although I’m on the team’s injured reserved list, I should still be at the offensive team meeting at Gibson’s house, or at home going over my playbook, or between the warm legs of a Nighthawks cleat chaser. What I shouldn’t be doing is sitting in the corner of some neighborhood bar and drowning my sorrows after breaking a bone in one of the most anticipated showdowns of the season.
