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Instead, I speak softer and then act seriously concerned when he can’t hear me. Oh dear, it’s worse than we thought.
These guys just keep coming.
By the time I get my thirty-minute lunch break, we’ve run out of chairs.
I escape while I can. After all, Dr. Missick needs lunch too. My intention is to go directly to the cafeteria, but my feet lead me astray. I take a turn around the lobby; then I poke around the side hallways, acting casual about the fact that I’m doing a thorough search for Cole. I don’t have anything I need to tell him. I guess I just ... miss him.Oh dear.Maybe I should put my own name down on Dr. Missick’s triage list.
Twenty-five-year-old female presenting with a case of lovesickness.
Proposed treatment plan? Unknown.
I don’t even end up finding Cole, which leaves me feeling like a deflated balloon for exactly how long it takes me to get back to the clinic to find the waiting room filled with hotel guests, and then I’m too distracted to care.
Dr. Missick and I bond like two enemy soldiers on the battlefield. At the start of the day, we were adversaries. I was his last resort when I showed up this morning, offering my services. He very nearly turned me away altogether. “You know what? I’ll manage fine on my own.”
But as the day wears on and it becomes an “usversusthem” situation, we learn to stick together.
Close to 4:00 p.m., he sends a patient out of his exam room and then calls me in. He’s sitting on his stool, shoulders slightly slumped as he disposes of his nylon gloves in the nearly overflowing trash can nearby.
“How many more?” he asks, not bothering to hide the fatigue in his tone.
“Three, if you count the guy who rolled his ankle at the lunch buffet.”
“Is it swollen?”
“No.” I lower my voice as I continue. “And between you and me, I saw him walking on it just fine to go raid the snack basket a few minutes ago.”
He nods, appreciating my candor. “Give him an ice pack and instructions to keep it elevated. If it’s not better by the morning, we can send him off for an x-ray. Who’s next?”
When I’m released from my post, I all but race back to the hotel room. I’m careening down the hall before I realize it and force myself to slow to a moseying walk. I hold my breath as I slide the key card over the door and then walk into the room, only to be disappointed when I find it’s empty. But it figures. It’s only a little past 5:00 p.m. Cole likely has to work late tonight.
It’s actually better this way, considering my first objective is to immediately strip off my clothes. After spending all day in the clinic, I feel like I need a full spray down in one of those military-grade airlock chambers, but I settle for a quick rinse in the shower. After, in my comfy towel, while I hum a little tune to myself, I pick out lounge clothes: apair of sleep shorts and an old T-shirt I got from the time my parents took me to Yellowstone National Park when I was a teenager. It’s a little tight, and it exposes a teeny bit of my midriff, but it’s too soft to part with.
I toss everything onto the bed, andthemoment—I mean, truly, let’s get an official in here to review the game footage—I drop my towel, the door to the hotel room opens.
I let out an involuntary shriek, and then I’m scrambling to pick the towel back up and cover all the important bits as fast as I can. Boobs are partly covered, vagina is ... not so much.
“Hold on!”
It’s too late. Cole’s standing in the foyer as the door slams shut behind him. He looks like he’s been frozen in place, a statue of shock. Michelangelo’sDavid, only replace the weapon in his hand with two Styrofoam take-out containers.
The concept of turning around and averting his eyes doesn’t even occur to him. My naked body has rendered him absolutely senseless.
“Cole!” I snap.
And finally he stammers, “Uh, yeah, um ...”
He whips around toward the door; then a second later, his forehead drops against it.
“Say you’re sorry,” I demand dryly.
“And what if I’m not?”
Of course he’s not. He just got the milk for free, no purchase necessary.
“How much did you see?”
“Most everything.”
