“No concussion?” I ask, though I didn’t see one on her chart.
“Nothing like that.”
I nod and inspect her fingers. “Any numbness?”
“Yeah, there’s pain that radiates down my right arm, and my first two fingers are like numb and tingly at the same time. It’s annoying ’cause I can’t do much, and it’s my dominant hand. I’ve got papers due, and I can barely type.”
These are typical symptoms, and her treatment should be pretty straightforward. “We’ll get you feeling better in no time, as long as you come to your appointments regularly and do your home exercises. So, for the next six weeks, I’d like to see you here three times a week. Don will schedule your appointments around your classes.”
Her shoulders sag, but she nods in agreement. “Yeah, I guess I can do that. Life’s busy, ya know? I gotta job, classes, studies…”
“I understand, but the key is to keep you out of invasive surgery. That’s the last thing you’d want.”
“Yeah, no… I get it.”
“Let’s start with some neck traction. That should take some pressure off that nerve. You’re going to love it.”
“God, that sounds great.”
I work with Liz for the next hour, teaching her some at-home exercises and how to sleep to keep that pressure off.
The rest of the day goes by fast before I wrap it up and head home.
It’s Friday, and I’m eager as hell for some fun tonight, and not just the dancing and drinking kind. Sexy fun.
I look into the mirror, finger my hair back, and roll up the sleeves of my button-up to expose just enough muscle and veins on my forearms to entice. I wear royal blue because it shows off the color of my eyes.
With a few spritzes of cologne, I leave my bedroom and grab my leather jacket from the front closet. As I shrug it on, I look into the living room of my condo, filled with a sudden pride. I recently purchased the place, and it’s the first home I’ve ever owned. I still can’t believe it’s mine, and I never get tired of looking at it. It’s a little sparse and could use some decorative touches, but I’ll get there. Baby steps. Hey, at least my mattress isn’t on the floor, and I have a couch—silver linings and all that.
The bar is within walking distance, so I don’t have to worry about drinking and driving.
I step outside with my hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket, since the night is chilly. I head four blocks to Jeremy’s Junction, a hopping bar that serves over 150 different types of beer. My mouth waters at the thought of a tasty lager.
Eugene has become a second home to me. Dennis and I were undergrad students here. I left for a couple of years to live near Portland while I received my doctorate. I do miss Cannon Beach and the ocean, though, and being close to the water.
As soon as I open the door to Jeremy’s, I’m blasted with heat, the scent of beer, and bright purple and pink neon lights. While they cater to beer lovers, they also have a dance floor. It’s a good way to get the ladies in here. My ears vibrate to the catchy beat ofI Just Mightby Bruno Mars, which makes me want to wiggle my hips.
When I see my friends Justin and Rose standing at a bar table next to the dance floor, I do just that, swaying my ass and spinning until I reach them.
After saying hi to Justin, I wrap my arm around Rose and dip her as I sing along to the song. She rolls her dark brown eyes and slaps me away, giggling.
“Off, you beast!”
I straighten her up and kiss her cheek. “As the lady commands.”
“Good lord, you’re in one ofthosemoods,” she chuckles.
“What mood?”
She drags her index finger up and down. “The charmer. The one where you get ready to sweep a lady off her feet before convincing her to sleep with you.”
“You know me too well, Rosalita.”
Rose Mendoza is not only a friend, but she’s one of my ex-girlfriends. It wasn’t anything overly serious, but we liked each other. It just wasn’t enough for something more solid and committed. Therein lies my problem with most women. I can’tseem to find one willing to stick it out with me or vice versa. There always seems to be something holding one of us back.
When I left to get my doctorate, Rose and I simply headed in different directions. It’s the way it is, but we’ve remained good friends. She’s seeing someone now, so no rekindling for us.
“So, how are you, my dear? The ol’ ball and chain let you get out of the house, eh?”
