Possessive Doctor

1

Amber

My leg aches, a bone-deep pain in the middle of my right thigh. I lean on the cane as I limp forward toward the automatic doors. My father leans out the window of his shiny black truck. “See you when it’s done,” he says, and drives off.

I don’t look back. I can hear his truck as the engine growls away. The only thing he loves more than a big truck with a loud engine is making money.

The doors glide open. I let out a little breath as the cool air hits me in the face. It’s summer in Texas, which means it’s hotter than balls, and I don’t even have any. The air conditioning is a nice relief as I hobble my way into the waiting room.

A nice woman behind the desk smiles at me. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Amber Gibbins here to see, uh, Dr. Lofthouse?”

She nods a little and types on her computer. “Great. You’re all set, just grab a seat and we’ll call you back shortly.”

“Okay, thanks.” I hobble over to a chair and sit with a sigh. I straighten my right leg and massage the muscle gently, even though that doesn’t do much. Walking with a cane at twenty-four is pretty bad, but it beats being bedridden for weeks with an enormous cast from my ankle to my crotch. The day it came off, I spent like two hours in the bathtub shaving every single inch of my right leg.

I look around for a magazine or something to read but just settle for my phone instead. I’m scrolling through Facebook, barely paying attention to anything, when I hear my name. I look up, expecting a nice but bland young woman in scrubs, and instead find an insanely attractive man staring back at me with fierce blue eyes.

He smiles a little bit and walks over as I start to try to get to my feet.

“Easy,” he says softly, putting his hands on me. I shiver for a second and let him take some of my weight.

“Sorry,” I say. “Still getting used to it.”

“No worries. It’s what we do here.” He gets me standing. “Do you need help walking? I can get a chair.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m fine. Just slow.”

He smiles. “I’ve got all day.”

I limp after him. I notice the receptionist is giving him this dreamy smile, even though she’s at least fifty years old. He grins at her and waves as we head into the back.

The building looks like any other doctor’s office at first. The short hallway has a few branching rooms and he takes me into one of them.

“Hop up there, I’ll do your vitals.”

I hesitate in front of the table. “Uh,” I say.

He laughs. “Sorry. Here.” He comes over and helps me up. Again, his strong hands touch my body and it sends a thrill through me. I know I shouldn’t feel like this, I mean, he’s just a physical therapist. It’s his job to touch people.

And yet he’s so handsome, so damn attractive, that I can’t help myself.

“So, Amber,” he says once I’m settled. “I’m Dr. Lofthouse. I’ll be your physiatrist.”

“Physiatrist?” I ask.

“Well, it’s like a physical therapist, but I went to medical school. So I’m technically a doctor as well.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s cool.” And I instantly feel like a total moron.

He smiles and looks at my chart. “Car accident?” he asks.

I nod. “Bad one.”

“Sorry to hear.” He mumbles to himself. I hear a few words I recognize, like compound break and femur but some of it just sounds like made up Latin.

“Well,” he says finally. “Vitals time.”

He gets up, takes my blood pressure, listens to my heart and my lungs, takes my temperature. “Don’t nurses usually do this?” I ask.

“Usually. But we’re a little short staffed today.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

“Is it? I don’t know. I like to be hands-on. Helps the practice run smoothly if I know what’s happening.”

“You’re the… head?”

“Founder and head of the practice, yep.” He makes a few notes on my chart and types it all into the computer. “So, let’s talk pain. How bad?”

“Bad,” I say.

“Constant?”

“Yes, pretty much. Worse in the morning. The worst when I stand.”

“Right,” he says to himself. “Okay. Taking anything for it?”

“They gave me a prescription but I’m trying not to take it.”

“Good for you, but it’s okay if you do. Just don’t start to rely on it.”

“That’s what I want to avoid.”

He nods and makes a few more notes. “Okay then. Want to get to work?”

“Sounds good.”

He helps me down. “So what do you do?” he asks.

“Nothing right now,” I say. “I went to school for business management. I’m going to work for my father’s company.”

“Oh, that’s fun. What does he do?”

“Owns an oil business. Gibbins Oil.”

“Straightforward name. I like it.”

I laugh a little. “Yeah, well, my father’s really into family.”