oops, huh?” Cutie pointed at Jamie’s scraped leg and throbbing ankle. “Looks bad.”
“Rollerblading injury,” Dr. Marshall snapped. No mistaking the disapproval in those words.
“Did you fall?” Cutie leaned forward, hands on knees. Tawny eyes met Jamie’s.
The man had dreamy peepers. “N-no, more of a collision.”
“You ran into someone?”
“Sh—sheesh, no. Someone ran into me.”
Dr. Marshall cleared his throat and looked away. “We’ve got to get going, get him to the ER for X-rays.”
The rescuers bounced Jamie up, resettling him in the two-person carry, and resumed their shuffling progress toward the parking lot.
Cutie tagged along, rolling next to the rescue team. “Hope you’ll be okay.”
Jamie tried, but an authentic grin wasn’t possible. “Sure.”
Flashing another stunning smile, Cutie executed a one-eighty and bladed off. Jamie attempted to enjoy the view of Cutie’s spandex-clad ass, but pain got in the way. He closed his eyes. Well, now he’d met Cute Rollerblade Guy. Only had to sacrifice an ankle to do it.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter Two
At the ER, Remy resigned himself to being at work. He pulled up under the awning. “I’ll be right back.” He opened his door and climbed out.
Jamie rolled his head and gazed at him, face pale and sweating. “Where…?”
“Getting a wheelchair and some help.”
Struggling up in the seat, Jamie groaned. “I can hop.”
“No way. Stay put, and I’ll be back in ten seconds with a wheelchair.” Remy stalked through the automatic doors of the Emergency Room, freed a wheelchair from the snarl of transports in the foyer, and rolled it to the passenger side of the car. Jamie had the door open and one foot on the pavement. Stubborn idiot. Did he want to break something else?
“Hold up.” Remy set the brakes on the wheelchair. “You’ll make it worse if you fall.”
Jamie grimaced, damp golden curls stuck to his forehead. “I’m holding.”
“Right.” God, Jamie was model-handsome. Remy could go for him, if they’d met another way. And if the guy wasn’t a patient. And wasn’t the victim of Remy’s carelessness in the park. “Let’s get you into the chair.”
“’Kay.”
Squeezing between the car door and Jamie, Remy bent and wrapped an arm around Jamie’s side. Warm body, firm muscles. Sweaty but a lingering trace of clove. Distracting. Very distracting. “Put your arm over my shoulders, then use your right leg to stand. Okay?”
Jamie nodded, lips pressed together.
“Here we go.” Remy straightened, pulling the other man upright.
“Son of a nutcracker,” Jamie said.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Maybe the guy did have a head injury. “Now pivot and drop into the wheelchair.”
Jamie did as instructed. He white-knuckled the armrests and leaned his head back.
“I’m going to lift your feet onto the footrests now.” With care, Remy settled each skate-bearing foot on the metal platforms. The skates clattered and slid.
Jamie gasped. “Can’t you take the rollerblades off?”
“Not till we’re ready for X-rays. It keeps the swelling down.”
“It doesn’t keep the pain down.”
“I’ll get that taken care of shortly.” Remy stood and moved behind the wheelchair. In his capacity as an ER doctor, Remy had dealt with a fair number of sports injuries, including rollerblade mishaps. “Trust me, I’m—”
“A doctor, I know.” Face pale and sweaty, Jamie tilted his head back and looked at Remy upside down.
Those eyes. Arresting blue and full of pain. Remy resisted the urge to smooth Jamie’s hair off his forehead. Mind on business, Marshall.
Remy freed the brakes and backed the chair away from the car, then closed the door. Carefully he swung the wheelchair around and steered toward the ER. The glass doors slid open, and a puff of rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner met them in the foyer. Work. He’d know that smell anywhere. And to think he’d planned to avoid it for ten
“Rollerblading injury,” Dr. Marshall snapped. No mistaking the disapproval in those words.
“Did you fall?” Cutie leaned forward, hands on knees. Tawny eyes met Jamie’s.
The man had dreamy peepers. “N-no, more of a collision.”
“You ran into someone?”
“Sh—sheesh, no. Someone ran into me.”
Dr. Marshall cleared his throat and looked away. “We’ve got to get going, get him to the ER for X-rays.”
The rescuers bounced Jamie up, resettling him in the two-person carry, and resumed their shuffling progress toward the parking lot.
Cutie tagged along, rolling next to the rescue team. “Hope you’ll be okay.”
Jamie tried, but an authentic grin wasn’t possible. “Sure.”
Flashing another stunning smile, Cutie executed a one-eighty and bladed off. Jamie attempted to enjoy the view of Cutie’s spandex-clad ass, but pain got in the way. He closed his eyes. Well, now he’d met Cute Rollerblade Guy. Only had to sacrifice an ankle to do it.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter Two
At the ER, Remy resigned himself to being at work. He pulled up under the awning. “I’ll be right back.” He opened his door and climbed out.
Jamie rolled his head and gazed at him, face pale and sweating. “Where…?”
“Getting a wheelchair and some help.”
Struggling up in the seat, Jamie groaned. “I can hop.”
“No way. Stay put, and I’ll be back in ten seconds with a wheelchair.” Remy stalked through the automatic doors of the Emergency Room, freed a wheelchair from the snarl of transports in the foyer, and rolled it to the passenger side of the car. Jamie had the door open and one foot on the pavement. Stubborn idiot. Did he want to break something else?
“Hold up.” Remy set the brakes on the wheelchair. “You’ll make it worse if you fall.”
Jamie grimaced, damp golden curls stuck to his forehead. “I’m holding.”
“Right.” God, Jamie was model-handsome. Remy could go for him, if they’d met another way. And if the guy wasn’t a patient. And wasn’t the victim of Remy’s carelessness in the park. “Let’s get you into the chair.”
“’Kay.”
Squeezing between the car door and Jamie, Remy bent and wrapped an arm around Jamie’s side. Warm body, firm muscles. Sweaty but a lingering trace of clove. Distracting. Very distracting. “Put your arm over my shoulders, then use your right leg to stand. Okay?”
Jamie nodded, lips pressed together.
“Here we go.” Remy straightened, pulling the other man upright.
“Son of a nutcracker,” Jamie said.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Maybe the guy did have a head injury. “Now pivot and drop into the wheelchair.”
Jamie did as instructed. He white-knuckled the armrests and leaned his head back.
“I’m going to lift your feet onto the footrests now.” With care, Remy settled each skate-bearing foot on the metal platforms. The skates clattered and slid.
Jamie gasped. “Can’t you take the rollerblades off?”
“Not till we’re ready for X-rays. It keeps the swelling down.”
“It doesn’t keep the pain down.”
“I’ll get that taken care of shortly.” Remy stood and moved behind the wheelchair. In his capacity as an ER doctor, Remy had dealt with a fair number of sports injuries, including rollerblade mishaps. “Trust me, I’m—”
“A doctor, I know.” Face pale and sweaty, Jamie tilted his head back and looked at Remy upside down.
Those eyes. Arresting blue and full of pain. Remy resisted the urge to smooth Jamie’s hair off his forehead. Mind on business, Marshall.
Remy freed the brakes and backed the chair away from the car, then closed the door. Carefully he swung the wheelchair around and steered toward the ER. The glass doors slid open, and a puff of rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner met them in the foyer. Work. He’d know that smell anywhere. And to think he’d planned to avoid it for ten
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