I laugh. “I expect a large iced coffee and preferably a greasy breakfast burrito.”
She laughs as she grabs her bags and heads toward the door. “Naturally, only the breakfast of champions for my bestie,” she says over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
And with that, she grabs her purse and giant water bottle and heads for the door. I shuffle my feet in dramatic flair. Yup, I am definitely not ready for this shift.
As soon as she leaves, I spot Dr. Hall, the handsome thirty-eight-year-old ER physician with a reputation for flirting with the staff.
“Hi, Dr. Hall.”
“Hey, Liv. Glad you’re on tonight.” He throws me a wink.
Typically that little gesture would have perked me up, but even that doesn’t help my mood. “Thanks,” I blurted out. “I’ve got some updates, the labs are back on the patient in room eight, and the completed chart for review is queued first in line when you get a chance.”
I am met with kind but tired eyes, almost reflecting my own. “Great,” he mutters as he quickly goes to retrieve the chart.
I check on my other patients and quickly chart and update vital signs. Dr. Hall comes over and informs me that he printed out the discharge instruction for bay eight, and they can go. At least someone is getting out of here quickly tonight.
I gather all the instructions and check to see if she needs anything else before making my way over there. The drape is still closed, so I call out her name before I peek in.
Mrs. Shea replies, “Just a minute, dear. I am just pulling on my shirt.”
I waited patiently for her to finish and helped her to the waiting room. As I pass the discharge instructions to her, we see her husband pulling up in front of the entrance. As I watch her drive away, I can’t help but think about what the next patient will bring.
I let the ED tech know that the bay was empty so they could clean up the room and prepare it for the next patient. Our department is certainly busy, but thank goodness it’s efficient. I grab the following chart in cue and look at the chief complaint—ankle pain—related to a surfing injury.
“Well, that’s a total surprise,” I mutter as I make my way to the waiting room.
I open the door to the waiting room and call out, “Dax Johnson?”
No reply. I see two guys sitting in the chairs wearing board shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, chatting animatedly with each other. When they get up, I bet there will be sand all over the seats too. A quick scan of them shows one has a bruised and swollen ankle. That has to be him. But as my eyes wander up from the ankle in question, I notice the rest of him. I feel myself start to zone out a bit as they continue their conversation, and my eyes drift from his ankle, up to his legs and over his lean body. He must be the most attractive man I have ever seen. Around six foot four inches, toned, tan, and totally delicious. His long muscular legs are streaked with blond hair. His T-shirt is tight against his chest and shows off his narrow waist. His shorts sit low on his hips, just low enough that I catch the shadow of a V pointing straight to where I’m tryingnotto look.
I realize both are still oblivious to my announcement and the fact that I’ve been so blatantly staring at them now. I look away as cheeks begin to heat. I notice a couple of patients smirking at my lack of subtlety. I give myself a mental slap and call the name again.
“Dax Johnson?” My voice comes out an octave too high, and I pray they overlooked that too. I see the pair halt their conversation, and one raises his arm.
“That’s me, coming.” His deep voice pierces right through me and sends a wave of butterflies straight into my stomach. He tries to get up but stumbles almost immediately, trying to avoid putting weight on his ankle.
I go to grab a wheelchair just in case he needs it. When I return, I see he’s made his way across the waiting room—holding on to his friend’s arm for support. It’s then I notice his arms. Thick muscular arms with every nurse's dream of pipe veins running up his forearms. If a forearm porn show were a thing, he would be the star. I lift my vision to his face and catch him staring at me with amusement.
Was I that obvious? My face immediately flushed with embarrassment, and it became about a hundred degrees too hot in the room. My blood seems to have been rerouted and is collecting in my now scorching face. Taking a deep breath, I try to regain an ounce of professionalism and look up. I instantly met with the most exquisite pair of penetrating blue eyes. Wow, is there anything wrong with him? Oh yeah, his ankle. He stares at me with such intensity that I feel he can almost read my thoughts as his gaze also shoots to his ankle. I immediately looked away in embarrassment because he knew what I was thinking.
“Do you need a wheelchair?” I state in the most squeaky-sounding voice I have ever heard myself make to further my humiliation.
He looks at the wheelchair and then back at me. A smile was displayed on his face. As if he couldn’t make me feel any giddier, a dimple appears on his left cheek, and I feel a slight warmth spread between my legs.
I try to move forward but feel my feet locked in place. It’s like my shoes are cemented to the waiting room floor. Damn, could I be any more pathetic?
I clear my throat and try again, “Do you need a wheelchair?”
He shakes his head, and I feel his unwavering stare, but I do not make eye contact this time. “No thanks, I can walk,” he says while grabbing on to his friend’s arm for support.
I go to put the wheelchair back and hit the button for the automatic door.
He begins to walk, and I hear him say, “This might take me a minute.”
I reply over my shoulder without turning my head, “That’s fine. You can take your time with me. I mean, umm, no need to rush.” I immediately rush around the corner and smack my forehead. Someone just shoot me now and end my word vomit. “We don’t have far to go,” I add. “Just around the corner.”
We make it to the empty bay, and I notice that his friend hasn’t returned with him. I grab a hospital gown from the cabinet and hand it to him. As he reaches out for the gown, his fingers brush my palm. The touch is soft but electric. The zap immediately shoots through my hand into my body, making me tingle all over. Jerking my hand away and wondering if he felt that too, I took a step back to close the curtain to give him privacy. But let’s be honest: I just needed some space to pull myself together.
