Page 48 of Doctor Charmer

I gingerly remove her hands from her side, pointing to her tank top. “May I?” She grunts consent, and I lift the shirt, expecting to see discoloration or some indicator of what is going on. Nothing.

“This has happened before?” I press gently on the hip, and a hiss seeps out between her clenched teeth.

“Ever since college.”

“You’re kidding.” Ivy’s been out of college for nearly a decade.

Her quick, shallow breathing begins to return to normal. The pain in her face eases, the episode slowly subsiding. “It’s a hip flexor strain. I’ve had it forever. The doctor told me some time ago I’d just have to live with it. It’s not a big deal.”

I withhold my judgment but can’t hold back the thoughts in my head. A young, fit athlete like her crumbling to the ground in pain is the textbook definition of a big deal.

“It only flares up when I push things.” She avoids my glare. “I can usually go up to sixty and seventy percent on a good day and not feel it.” She sounds like the seniors who come into the ER with injuries. Resignation in their voices. Former marathon runners, tennis players, and dancers learning the hard way to adjust their expectations because of their bodies betraying them.

She’s too young to feel this way.

“I blame you.” She looks to shift the conversation.

“Me?”

“Yeah, I wanted you to see me fly. Like I used to. A girl’s got to know her limitations.” Her broken smile doesn’t reach her eyes. But I don’t call her on it. Now’s not the time. I concentrate on making sure she’s pain-free.

She rolls onto her back and raises both arms in the air like a toddler looking to be carried. I comply and tug her harder than she expects, her momentum causing her to crash into my chest. I use the advantage to wrap my arms around her waist.

“I’m a sweaty mess.” She attempts to twist out of my hold, but I don’t release her.

“I like sweaty you.” My words cause her to stop squirming, her eyes locking on me. “I like funny you.” Her gaze lowers to my lips. “I’m slowly discovering every version of you, and something tells me I’m going to like each one of them.”

She avoids my gaze for a heartbeat, processing my heartfelt words. When she looks up, her eyes contain a confident sparkle filled with appreciation and warmth. “Me? I like the freshly showered, not smelling like I slept in a garbage bin version.”

“Did someone say shower?” I tease, releasing her, and she gives my forearm a playful smack. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

Her finger pushes a curl from in front of her beautiful face, her gaze focused somewhere on my chest. “Of course. It’s nothing, like I told you.”

“Still.” I tip up a line I’m not sure how she’d react. “I’d like to take a look at it. If you don’t mind. One perk of having me around.” I almost say the words of having a doctor as your boyfriend but know we are nowhere near that.

“Brilliant plan if a certain someone hadn’t gotten themselves suspended.” She reminds me of my situation. Of the fact that after tonight, I may not even have a job at the hospital.

“You’re meeting with Angie later. Go a few minutes early; I’ll give her the heads-up. She can do a quick exam, take a few X-rays, and we can go from there.” I offer her an option and realize how close to another administration situation I approached. If I did perform the exam, Ivy would re-qualify as my patient. Another hospital policy I would be at risk of violating.

“Must you? It’s fine. I’ve been told it’s chronic. I’ve lived with it this long. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time,” she pleads. She’s already fought this battle and moved to the other side of acceptance a long time ago. I have a clue how much heartache was involved the first time, but from the look on her face, I sense she wants no part of going back in time.

I try to see things from her perspective, my history filled with thinking my lab coat is a cape, that I’m capable of superhuman feats. Early in my career, that unearned optimism took too many patients on the journey with me, only for all of us to be crushed when reality set in.

I’ve learned. Failure is one of the greatest teachers. I won’t give her false hope. But I won’t let her live in pain until we’ve exhausted every option. “Five minutes,” I whisper. “No promises, but Angie is one of the best.”

She stares at me, and I can only imagine what she might be thinking. Then I remember she’s the charm whisperer. She can read the thoughts on my face.

I’m not going to let this go.

“Five minutes, that’s all I’ll give her,” she concedes, and I exhale.

“Five minutes. And no more spiking for the time being.”

Her wink brings us back to solid ground. She turns, scoops up the volleyball, and heads back to the other side of the net. I take the moment to admire her. Those insanely short shorts, her long legs, the muscles on the back of her shoulders that pop as she presses the ball against her hip. But now I see what had always been there before: her bravery. Her love of a sport so great she would rather go half speed if it meant she could teach the next generation to fly.

She turns, her eyes capturing my intense stare. She must read the admiration I have on my face, her gaze turning soft, eyes misty. “I’ll give you two minutes to shoot all the pictures you want after I whip your butt.”

I laugh. “So, the only thing keeping me from snapping indecent pictures of you in those shorts is us finishing this match?”

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