One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(22)

Which is why Lynsey did me a huge favor by bolting on me that morning. If I’m still thinking about her after one night, imagine how bad I’d have it after several. It’s best that I stay far the fuck away from her. I’m not interested in long-term attachments of any kind. In my experience, you get attached to things, and you get hurt.

Sheila thrusts the new patient chart into my hand, and I freeze when my eyes come across the name: Lynsey Jones.

My brows furrow.

It can’t possibly be her. I’m not fucking magical, so I couldn’t conjure her here with my own damn thoughts.

I glance at the date of birth, hoping it’s some elderly patient or a small child, but the patient is twenty-seven. My stomach sinks.

“Fuck,” I grumble under my breath, and Sheila frowns at me. I shake my head, refusing to make this a thing. It’s not a thing unless I make it a thing. I’m an ER doctor. She’s a patient. Nothing more.

Time to churn and burn. That’s my motto as a doctor these days, and having an unforgettable one-night stand land in my ER isn’t going to change that.

Reviewing the nurse’s notes, I see that she was at a restaurant where she had an allergic reaction, cut herself with a steak knife, and then twisted her ankle when she tried to run to the bathroom to administer her EpiPen. The allergic reaction is under control, but her finger likely needs stitches, and her ankle may need an X-ray. What the hell was she in the middle of to cause such a domino effect of epic proportions?

Exhaling heavily, I open the sliding glass door to her patient room. She lies on the bed, her arm connected to the IV and covering her face. Sitting next to her is the cheery redhead that I spoke to after discharging the bawl-baby football player. She eyes me with great fascination and her giant smile says she is about to burst or she needs to pee.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Richardson.” I infuse my tone with formality, because I have no idea who this redhead is to Lynsey, and I don’t want to out our connection.

Lynsey doesn’t move. In fact, her body goes so still that I’d think she was passed out if it wasn’t for her heart-rate monitor increasing to a speed that has nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with me.

Slowly, she pulls her arm down and blinks at me. “Um…hi.”

I fight to keep the amusement off my face. She’s a damn mess. Her makeup is smudged all over, she has dark circles under her eyes, her skin is seriously blotchy, and she’s holding a bloody, gauze-covered finger to her chest. Glancing at her giant ankle, a bit of sympathy overtakes me. It couldn’t get much worse for her.

Until I entered the room, that is.

Her friend elbows Lynsey in a secretive way but accidentally causes Lynsey’s gauze-wrapped hand to hit her chin. Lynsey flinches and shoots daggers at her friend, hissing, “Cool it, you spaz!”

The redhead smiles nervously.

I focus on the chart and use my most professional doctor voice. “You’ve had quite a night.”

“Um…yeah,” Lynsey replies flatly.

“You administered your EpiPen already?” I peruse the chart to see her allergy is to shellfish.

“Yes.”

“Any swelling in your throat? Problem breathing?”

She shakes her head after each question.

“How’s your pain?” I sit on the exam chair, wheeling to the side of her bed next to her friend.

“It’s fine,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Fine?” her friend chirps from beside me. “Doctor, she’s in total agony. She needs drugs. Stat. That’s a good medical term, right? Seriously, though, she needs them not just for the physical pain she’s in but also for the emotional pain. Her Tinder date completely abandoned her during her hour of need as a stretcher wheeled her out of a crowded restaurant. This is the most horrifying date of her—”

“Kate!” Lynsey snaps, cutting her friend off and covering her face in clear mortification. “Would you shut the hell up?”

Her friend purses her lips and fights back a smile. “Sorry.”

I turn to Lynsey’s friend. “Kate?”

Kate blinks big doe eyes. “Yes, Doctor?”

I frown because she says doctor a bit too enthusiastically. “Do you think you could give me a moment alone with the patient?”

“Anything you say, Doctor.” She smiles and rises from her seat, backing away while facing us like she’s departing the queen. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me, Lyns.”

She exits, and I turn to hit Lynsey with a serious look. “How is your pain?”

Her chin trembles. “Pretty shitty.”

“You know, if you wanted to see me again, you could have just visited the cafeteria.” I narrow my eyes on her injuries. “This is pretty dramatic, even for you.”

“Glad to see your narcissism is still fully intact, Dr. Dick,” she grumbles under her breath. “It’d be a shame if you debunked my theory that you were hatched from a pod.”

I press my lips together, trying not to smile as I wheel to her ankle and set the chart by her bare leg. How she manages to still have sexy legs in a hospital gown is beyond me. Steeling myself, I shove away the images of her legs wrapped around me so I can get through this exam.

I inspect her ankle, glancing at her every time she winces. “I don’t think it’s broken, just a sprain. Rest it as much as you can for a few days and ice it three to four times a day. I’ll have the nurse show you how to wrap it for support before you leave.”