Page 8 of Doctor Charmer

“Ha, so it’s Ivy, not Coach Springwood. I’ve never known you to chase down a patient update yourself. You couldn’t seem to wait the thirty seconds for Nurse Jimenez to provide it to you.Ivy has you jumping. Should I be jealous? I thought I was the only one who warranted the white-glove treatment from you,” she teases, secure in the knowledge that those awkward days we experienced are safely behind us.

“Don’t read too much into it. You’ve heard how protective she is with her team. If I don’t get her an update, she’ll be roaming the halls herself any minute.”

Angie shoots a smirk over her shoulder and doesn’t call bull on me. She taps away, updating Griffin’s information. “Tell her we’re going to keep him here in the ER for continuous monitoring for a few hours. If all looks well, we’ll move him upstairs in the morning.”

“Thank you.” One down and eight more updates to go. I pivot on my heels, looking to check in on the rest of the volleyball team, when Angie tugs on my elbow once again.

“Do I need to remind you that there is a hospital policy about dating a patient.” Her words are soft, delivered with care. This policy is a land mine in our personal history. Angie is the ultimate rule follower, yet this was the one rule she tested, dating the father of one of her patients. The kid was a teenager, and therefore his medical decisions were made by his dad—technically not her patient, but right up to the line.

She’s also well aware I have no issue breaking rules. I possess a stubborn streak that blinds me from my reckless behavior at times. But not with this rule.

“A couple of sutures. She’s getting dismissed this evening. As of midnight, she’ll no longer be my patient.”

I may have issues adhering to the letter of the law but not the spirit.

“Well, then, hands off until after midnight.” She gives me a final piece of advice, and I nod as if her request is reasonable.

It’s not until I step away from her that I realize that as much as I pushed back about sticking to the hospital policy of notdating a patient, I never denied having an interest in starting a relationship with Ivy. And she saw it immediately.

Chapter Six

Reggie

“Outside of Griffin, Dalia, Chelsea, and Victoria are being admitted.” I’m back in the exam room with Ivy. She’s sitting up on the bed, her face freshly scrubbed, no remnants of the cryfest she shared with me.

I’ve given her the details of each member of the team. Most have minor cuts and bruises. The three team members being held are for a cracked rib, broken ankle, and deep cuts on a hand. Griffin is the most serious and the most concerning.

She lifts her phone, which is sitting on the bed in front of her crossed legs. She’s wearing an Eastport General Hospital T-shirt, which I recognize from the gift shop. Her bloody sweatshirt is now in a plastic bag on a chair.

She’s changed clothes, or rather stripped out of them. Stuffed in the clear plastic bag next to the bloody sweatshirt are her equally bloody sweatpants. She now sits on the edge of the bed in skintight volleyball shorts that she must’ve worn underneath the sweats.

She swings her legs as if she’s on a park swing, and my treacherous eyes follow. Her legs are long. Paris-runway-model long. Shapely, maple brown, the same color as my favorite trees in the forest across from my condo. She lowers her feet to the floor and turns to retrieve the phone, and my eyes refuse to look away.

Those shorts should be illegal.

“They’re standard issue,” she says, and I snap out of my trance.

“Whh… what?”

“The shorts. They’re standard issue. Part of the uniform.” She twists to face me, phone in hand and a smirk on her face. I’m clearly not the first man caught ogling her.

“Oh, I was… trying to figure out how you’re wearing a T-shirt from our gift shop,” I lie. And one look at her tells me she knows it.

She tugs on the ends of the shirt, stretching it across the top of her shorts. “This?” She giggles. “I only had on my sports bra underneath the sweatshirt. And I’m not a fan of the hospital gown—not my color.” She fists the end of the shirt, pulling it a few inches toward me, her chin lowering as if reading the Eastport General Hospital inscription plastered across her chest.

Angie’s words of warning rattle in my head, and I order my eyes to behave this time.

“Figured no one other than you would appreciate me strutting around here just in my shorts and bra.” She winks at me, and I wrap both hands around the iPad in front of me.

She’s your patient. Behave.

Her schoolgirl giggle lets me know she’s not done toying with me. “I barely mentioned my dilemma to that kind young man who came in to restock your supplies before he ran to the gift shop for me. Please thank him again when you see him. Everyone here has been so incredible.”

“I’ll pass along your kind words. It’s what we do in Eastport.”

She grabs the plastic bag with her clothes by the drawstring, tossing her phone into it. “I’ve been texting with most of the girls. Some of the parents as well. A few of them wanted to rush here tonight. I told them not to at this hour. I’ll get the girls being released settled at the hotel tonight. They can head back to campus or home tomorrow.”

“The staff is preparing the paperwork now.” I step to her and place a pile of papers on the bed. “There’s a prescription for ibuprofen, which I doubt you’ll need. Instructions on our concussion protocol and what to look out for over the next few days.” I step back. “Once again, I doubt you’ll need to do anything. You look… fine.”

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