Page 5 of Not a Perfect Save

Strong and chiseled, his profile is a combination of Greek god and underwear model. He’s not merely handsome.More like breathtaking. Perfect. In the midst of a headache, an unwelcome whisper of attraction flutters through me. I quickly quash it. Though it’s to be expected—I mean, who doesn’t appreciate a pretty billboard now and again?

Although Connor is hunched forward with his elbows propped on his knees, there’s no mistaking his wide shoulders. He appears larger than life in the cramped space. A tiny part of me is glad he was in the drugstore with me, though I wouldn’t have wished that nightmare on my worst enemy.

When my attention lifts back to his face, his eyes are fixed on me. Amusement glints in his gaze, and I get a small grin as he catalogues me in return. My breath quickens for a whole different reason.

We hit a pothole and my stomach lurches. My hand flies to cover my mouth. Connor curls a hand around my knee to steady me. His expression has shifted from cocky to concerned. “You okay?”

I give him a small nod. I’m not, though.

“Hurt?” He gestures at my ankle.

Between my head and my leg, everything hurts, and I can’t distinguish one pain from the other. I shrug. ”Peachy.”

We lapse into silence. I don’t have the energy for more.

At the hospital,I’m loaded onto a gurney angled toward a large, red ‘Emergency Room’ sign while another attendant meets Connor and points to a separate entrance. Mercury must be in retrograde because two other ambulances have arrived at the hospital at the same time carrying victims from a car crash. My face blanches at the sight of the blood and gore, and all my earlier bravado vanishes.

As I swing my panicked eyes to Connor, he’s already saying, “She comes with us.” There’s no room for argument in his tone.

Maybe I should say I’m fine, that I don’t need any special treatment, but screw pride. The attendants don’t disagree with him either. They escort us past the mass of bodies to a private exam room across from a nurses’ station and hand us over to the waiting staff.

Disposable paper sheets crackle when I’m set on an examination table while Connor lumbers over to one of the visitor chairs in the corner and plops himself down. The doctor, who perked up at the arrival of a celebrity patient, moves over to Connor, but at his blue glare, swivels around to attend to me first.

Not too much of a loss for Mr. NFL because a young nurse, a perky blond thing with the rare skill of making her pink scrubs look like high fashion, drops to her knees at his feet—a pose I’m sure he’s not unfamiliar with.

The other woman, likely her supervisor, is a hatchet-faced Nurse Ratchet-type who frowns as she watches.

A penlight shines in my eyes, and my attention switches to the doctor. He asks me a few questions. I must answer correctly because he turns his focus to my leg. I distract myself by looking around.

High windows on one side look out into the corridor where interested staff peer inside, trying to get glimpses of Connor. I turn to find him looking at me and raise an eyebrow. He shrugs and gives his audience a small wave. The head nurse rotates to see what he is motioning at, and her mouth twists in annoyance. She marches over to the glass and grabs the rod for the blinds. With a flick of her wrist, she shuts out the prying eyes.

I hide a smile and snuggle into my pillow.

I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m jerked awake when outside, a loud voice yells, “I need to go in. No, I’m not family. Are you kidding? He doesn’t need family right now.He needs me!”

There’s a brief silence, then more yelling.

Connor lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. “Fuck.” Then he turns to the nurse. “That’s my agent, Dan. Can you let him in? He’ll scream down the entire place if you don’t.”

The crease between Ratchet-the-Hatchet’s brows deepens. “Gretchen,” she snaps, and the other woman stands, reluctant to give up her perch at Connor’s feet.

Seconds later a squat man in a grey suit rushes in and goes straight to Connor’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I told you on the phone I was fine.”

“Your foot,” The agent moans, catching sight of Connor’s wrapped ankle. Sweat plasters his thinning black hair to his scalp.

“Is fine. Tweaked it a little, that’s all.”

“Mr. Hall needs to keep off it,” Nurse Ratchet interrupts.

Connor’s jaw tightens at that, while Dan groans. “He’s got a game next week.”

“I’ll be fine by then. Calm down.”

“See? He’ll be fine.” Dan swings his head back to the nurse. She stares down her nose at him. He deflates and turns back to Connor, raking both his hands through his hair. “Fuck. There are reporters out there. The last thing you need is more press about your foot.”

“Shit. Okay.” Connor pinches his lids shut for a moment, then whooshes out a resigned breath.

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