“You promise not to leave during the procedure?”
“I promise. I’m definitely not going anywhere. Please get back in the bed.”
“Sure you don’t want to join me? Might need a kiss for luck. It’s been confirmed I’m a very good kisser.” He leaned toward her, unable to resist his need to get more of her warmth. He wanted her hands back around his neck, her pressed against his chest.
She did press a hand against his chest—to stop him. “Dr. Yates is standing right here. And there is a Cleveland Browns policy about this. We are not supposed to kiss the players, especially at work.”
“Oh.” They did have an audience, and everything he wanted to do to her was for him alone. “I can wait till we’re not at work.”
“Good plan. Into the bed.” She pushed him toward the bed, and he decided sitting back down was a good idea.
“I still love you. And these drugs are amazing. You’ve got to try them.”
“I can tell. I think he’s ready for the Ketamine now.”
A strange wave rolled across Bowen’s eyes, forcing them down. The last thing he heard was from the nurse.
“Time out best conscioussedation ever for Dr. Yates. Now for the reduction...”
CHAPTER6
There was no doubt about it. The toughest, meanest, most tattooed defensive back in the NFL was an absolute goofball post sedation.
“Hey, we’re at the stadium. Roy, we work here.”
“You work here. I’m closer to being a visitor. Thanks.” She added a tip from Bowen’s phone onto the Uber driver’s fee. Glazier was still in surgery, but had told her to get Bowen back to the stadium to collect his belongings and make sure he made it safely home.
It was well after midnight, so the press was long gone from the stadium, and the coaches had already given their post-game statements to appease the media.
They’d snuck out one of MetroGen’s side entrances to catch the Uber, with the loopy Roy in a pair of scrub pants wrapped in multiple hospital blankets. They couldn’t get a scrub top over his arm in a sling, and she’d stolen Dr. Glazier’s backup scrub pants to fit Bowen.
The standard XXXXL scrubs were made for guys who weighed six hundred pounds and didn’t have an eight pack made of solid muscle.
Glorious, lickable, warm, inked muscle.
Which she did not want to touch. Even if he spent the whole drive low-key trying to convince her otherwise. Really, he curled up against her shoulder, a giant tattooed snoring teddy bear. Any time she tried to slide away, he freaking snuggled closer.
“Why are we here now? It’s dark.” He was more awake, in some ways. “Dark. Lark. Bark. Snark. Spark. That’s you, Roy.”
“Am I snark or spark?”
“Both. Spark. Snark. Bark.” He pointed at one of the team murals in the empty cafeteria as they approached the team players area. “Hey, that’s me. I’m huge. Thirty feet tall. My dick’s gotta be huge.”
“I’m sure it is.” She took his left arm again, tugging him in the other direction. Even though she’d been obsessed with Clifford the Big Red Dog as a kid, her mom, bucking Filipino tradition and love of dogs, got her a cat instead.
She might have been right, because this is exactly what Clifford’s owner Emily Elizabeth went through.
Except her dog was very rambunctious, rambling, and randy...
Shoot, while she tried to find another R description, he careened off in the opposite direction.
She dug her heels in again, trying to stop him. If the entire Seahawks’ offensive line couldn’t stop him, her body weight wasn’t going to do much.
“Bowen! Stop. Wrong way.”
“Why? This is my stadium. The game is over there.”
“The game is over. You won. We’re going back to the locker room for your stuff.”
