“I know the guys got you for me. And I have to say, they’ve stepped up their game. You’re fucking sexy as hell.”
She blinked in horror. “You think I’m a hooker?” Her eyes hardened in a straight line, and I thought the cobalt shade might have fired amber a few times.
“Aren’t you?” I looked her up and down again. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and as hard as my dick was, she must have realized I thought so.
She glared at me. “No. I’m your surgeon.” Her hands were on her hips.
“So no blow job?”
“Oh my God! No, no blow job.”
I covered myself back up, but my current situation pitched
a tent under the sheet.
“That’s a shame. Those pretty little lips would—”
She put her hand up. “Stop. Stop right there. I am your doctor, not a rent-a-whore.”
I chuckled. “Don’t see why you couldn’t be both.”
She inhaled slowly, and I could see the color deepen in her cheeks. I had pissed her off royally. “I can put you in the hands of one of our other doctors.” She picked up the clipboard. “I am a trained surgeon. I don’t have to put up with shit like this, even if you do play for some team.” She turned for the door.
“Some team?”
“Yeah, apparently, I’m the only one in this hospital who doesn’t know who you are or what it is you do for a living that involves playing with a ball. Although after that stunt, I’m starting to get a better picture of what kind of man you are.”
This was a first. “You don’t know who I am? You’ve never heard of Wes Blakefield? You expect me to believe that?”
“Seeing you on the operating table was the first time I’d laid eyes on you, Mr. Blakefield. And this is the last time.” Her hand was on the door.
“Wait, Doc. Wait.” I don’t know what made me do it. Hell, I could have let her walk out pissed and fired up. But I didn’t want to. She hadn’t even looked at my hand. And she was the most fucking beautiful woman I’d seen.
She breathed heavily. “What?”
“Aren’t you even going to look at my hand before you leave? If you’re the one who performed the surgery, I’d like you to take a look. They told me you were the best.”
I could see her debating whether it was worth it to give me another chance. She paused in front of the door.
“I’ll check it this once, and then I’m handing you off to Dr. Evans. And you should know he’s very old and has a really huge mustache,” she huffed.
I laughed. “That’s fair.”
She rolled her eyes. “And he has bad breath.” As if that jab would put me in my place.
I watched as she gently pulled back the bandage and looked at my hand. It was set in a foam mold so that my fingers were aligned an equal distance apart. She tilted her head from side to side, examining each finger. A curl of hair slipped from behind her ear.
“I think for a post-surgery hand, it looks exactly like it should.” She stood back, holding the clipboard tightly to her chest.
“That’s good news.”
“It is. I’ll let Dr. Evans know what to look for during your recovery. And I understand your team trainers want to be involved.”
“They always are.”
I didn’t want her to hand me over to some old, decaying bastard. I wanted her to be my doctor. I wanted her leaning over my body. Her inspecting my skin. Her advice on how to recover.
“Look, Doc, I’m sorry about earlier. That was out of line. I shouldn’t have assumed you were a stripper.”