Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(30)

I pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I told them I was fine. It’s just a cut. I don’t need all of this. Some gauze and a few Band-Aids will fix it.”

I snipped through the pressure packing on his hand to reveal one hell of a deep gash. “You’re going to need stitches, Detective. A simple Band-Aid isn’t going to fix this.”

He stared me down for what felt like an eternity. Damn those dark eyes were gorgeous. “That bad, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He tried to stifle his curse. “Do what you need to do then, Doc.” He rested back on the bed with a bit of defeat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you like that out there.”

“It’s okay.” I hated that Sarah was monitoring our word exchange as if she were taking notes. “Thanks for making the camera guys go away.”

His eyes fixed on mine. “I owed you that. Look, I’m really sorry about last ni—”

I shook my head for him to stop and almost lunged to cover his mouth. Fortunately, he halted mid sentence.

“Excuse me, sir. We need to get you logged in. Name?” Sarah interrupted, her voice dripping with sweetness. Had I not known she was already married, I would have said she was attempting to flirt with him.

“Adam…” He cleared his throat. When I looked up at his face, he was watching me intently. “Adam Trent.”

Sarah tapped a few keys. “Date of birth?”

My mind registered him saying, “July twenty-fourth.” The year caused me to do quick math.

Damn… thirty-two-years-old. Perfect age where he might consider settling down with one woman, if he wasn’t already.

I tossed some of his bloodied wrapping into the biohazard bin. Why can’t I ever meet guys like this? There were a few single males floating around the building but the selection of good-looking ones that didn’t have girlfriends or boyfriends was very slim. Todd, one of our male nurses, was cute but he was also very gay and the newest selection of interns—well, let’s just say that butterflies failed to fly in their presence. Trying to fish in the hospital pond was a lost cause.

I notice he had a formidable two-inch scar on his forearm. By the looks of it, this wasn’t his first tangle with a sharp object.

“Mr. Trent, it appears you’re a repeat customer,” Sarah stated, confirming my suspicions.

Our eyes locked again as I lifted his wounded left hand, cradling it between my body and arm to reposition him.

He sucked in a quick breath and I immediately readjusted, worried that I’d hurt him somehow.

“Sorry, but I need to see how deep it is.” I tried to be gentle. “I know it hurts.”

Adam shook his head and flexed his fingers, almost brushing over my breast. “Burns a little. It’s like a hell of a paper slice.”

Typical man, trying to be tough. “Yeah, I can see that. How’d this happen?”

“Was chasing a runner. Followed him up over a fence and landed on a pile of old junk. Put my hand right through an old window and down over a piece of corrugated sheet metal. Happened so quick.”

I hoped my prodding didn’t hurt. “This is deep but nothing that a few sutures won’t fix. Are you cut or injured anywhere else?”

His hand was caked with dried blood, but I couldn’t help myself. I did a quick assessment of his fingers, searching for the telltale gold band or indentation that alerts all women to keep their distance.

No ring, thank God. Maybe there’s hope for some single woman after all. Doesn’t look like he wears a ring, either. The skin on his finger is smooth, unblemished, but that’s not proof he’s single. Surely he has a wife or at the very least, a steady girlfriend.

He probably has a kid with some girl that lets him visit every other weekend. Some long-legged bimbo he used to date. Yep. A man this fine—someone’s surely claimed their rights to him by now. I bet his ex-wife and current girlfriend fight over him. I could probably beat a few of them if I had a stick. No, a baseball bat. God, listen to me. I’m ready to start beating down other women for this one. What the hell is wrong with me?

He let out a small growl. “No. Only my hand.”

I had to recall my last question. Oh, any other injuries…

“And your current address?” Sarah’s glance locked on mine briefly, confirming my guess that she was doing more than entering him into the hospital’s system.

I was shocked to hear him say, “Drexel Hill.”

“Doctor Novak, don’t you live in Drexel Hill, too?” Sarah asked, but the sneaky bitch knew exactly where I lived. So did the wounded Adam Trent.

“Detective Trent,” I started to say.

“Adam,” he corrected me, tilting his head to silently say, “come on—we’ve already met once.”

“Sir, has your family been notified that you’ve been injured?” I asked. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like a foolish ass. Sarah smirked while taking his blood pressure.

Is he staring at my chest?

“There’s no one to notify,” he said when he met my eyes again.

I nodded once, feeling extremely relieved for some reason.

I glanced outside his exam room, wondering where the other officers had wandered off to. “I presume you’ll have someone to drive you home.”