I sat forward, forgetting how exhausted I was. I suddenly had a new burst of energy.
“Hey, Doc.”
She walked toward me, and I noticed her hair was down today. It was layered in long strands over her shoulders. She was more beautiful than she was yesterday.
“How’s your hand feeling?” She bent to take a look at the incision.
“Hurts like hell.” I tried to catch a glimpse of her eyes, but she was studying my fingers.
“Well, it’s not swollen much.” She twisted her lips together. “But I’m not happy with this finger.” She pointed to my index finger.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s the most swollen.” She jotted something on her clipboard before placing it on the table. She retrieved the stethoscope from her neck and adjusted the ends in her ears. “Let me take a listen.”
I had had more physicals than I could count. The trainers for the Wranglers were constantly checking my heart rate. Checking for hydration and iron count. Physical therapists examined every muscle on my body. But I’d never in all those exams reacted like this. My heart started to pound as she leaned over and placed the cold disc on my chest. She moved it down my rib cage, and I could feel the heat of her fingers. I wanted to grab her and pull her on top of me—she smelled like sweet shampoo and vanilla. But I only had one good hand, and she’d already made it clear what she’d do if I tried anything again.
She moved the stethoscope to my right shoulder and slid it along my bicep. I could hear my veins hammer from my pulse as her fingertips explored my skin. She traced over the tattoo covering my right arm.
She stepped back, wrapping the stethoscope around her neck again. “Your circulation is fine. And you have a strong heartbeat. I’m not worried about blood flow.”
“Oh, you never have to worry about that.” I waggled my eyebrows.
“I’m talking about your broken hand.” She glared at me.
“Come on, Doc. Just a little joke. Thought I’d break the tension from yesterday.”
“Mmmhmm.” She scribbled more notes. “As far as I’m concerned, yesterday never happened.”
“It was funny. Don’t you laugh?”
Her eyes hardened. “I’m a surgeon. Your surgeon. And if you want to get back to football, then I suggest you take this more seriously and stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I’d never wanted to fuck a woman so badly. I didn’t know if it was her attitude or her body, but I had a primal need for her I’d never felt before.
I wanted to kiss her smartass lips until they were red and swollen. I wanted to rip that doctor’s coat off and bend her over this bed. I knew I could have her screaming my name. She’d already seen my dick, and the way she reacted to it, I knew she was impressed. All women were.
“Mr. Blakefield?”
I looked into her eyes, dragging my stare from her tits. “What?”
“Do you agree with the pain management plan?”
“What?” She must have been talking while I was planning how to get her uptight ass into my bed.
“Do you have someone you want to bring in for this? Someone who is going to help you at home?”
I laughed. “I don’t need any help at home, Doc.”
“Aren’t you right-handed?”
“Yeah,” I scoffed.
“Then you haven’t really thought through what it’s going to be like not being able to use your hand for eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks!” I almost jumped out of the bed.
“You have a fracture and I had to surgically realign two of your bones. This is easily an eight-week recovery.”