James:How serious was this? You know there are forms to fill out for something likethis?
I slipped my phone into my bag and wiped my nose with a tissue. I couldn’t think about more incident reports right now. I’d already been grilled for half an hour by the car park manager.
“Okay, Andrea, look straight ahead for me.”
The paramedic angled a small torch at my pupils.
Straight ahead was hot lift guy.
Surely, he had somewhere else to be? The gym, by the looks of him. He probably worked there. Why was he still hanging around?
I stared at a point just to his left, trying to make my vision blur so I didn’t have to look at him.
“Are you feeling disoriented? Your eye alignment looks a little off.” The medic clicked off the light and looked at me like he was troubleshooting a malfunctioning toddler.
So much for subtlety.
I uncrossed my eyes, and the room swam back into view.
Hot lift guy was leaning against a filing cabinet, arms folded. There was a faint crease between his brows that had been there since the elevator had tried to kill us an hour earlier.
I tried to focus on the torchlight, but my eyes drifted back to him.
Shit. He was definitely looking in my direction. This was doing nothing for my blood pressure. The shoulders didn’t help. The sweatpants didn’t either.
I yanked my gaze back to the paramedic. Safer to look at the man with the clipboard than the one with the chest.
“Pupils equal and reactive.” The medic clicked the torch off. “Good. Now, a few quick questions, then we’ll be done.”
“Okay,” I said, smiling like I was fine. I definitely wasn’t.
Chesty McSweatpants stood like he meant to leave.
“Any chance you’re pregnant?” said the medic.
“I’ll just go outs—”
“No, thank you, sir,” the medic said. “It’s better if you stay.”
What? Why was itbetter?
“Actually—”
He silenced me with a raised hand.
Why did I always feel this need to please medical professionals, as if they were grading me on some secretpatient scorecard, rather than scanning for actual neurological damage? I gulped and shut up.
“So,” he continued. “Pregnant?”
“Not at all,” I said quickly, like I was being asked if I was a drunk driver. “Negative chance.”
“I really ought to give you two some space—”
The medic kept his eyes on me and held up a finger. Chesty didn’t move.
“Last period?”
“Um … pretty recently?”
