Page 31 of Doc Showmance
Great. This ought to be fun.
Bruno elbowed his way inside.
“You good, Amber?” Bruno’s eyebrows were drawn inward.
“Yeah,” she said. “We were just having a private chat about boyfriends and girlfriends.”
“Forgot to give you…” He held up a Diet Dr Pepper.
Once she took it, Bruno held out his hand toward me. His voice lowered an octave. “Bruno Marquez.”
“Ian Todd.” I took the hand as my grin slipped into place. Bruno’s grip was tighter than necessary, and his eyes held a clear warning. I got it. If I hurt his sister, he’d mess me up. But he had to know we were on candid camera now since the door was wide open and the little weasel cameraman had his camera like three feet from us. That meant Bruno wouldn’t do anything violent in here.
My radar for danger pinged on high.
“This is the new guy you mentioned?” Bruno asked Amber.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms.
Bruno gave me a once-over that was anything but sexual. It was about weakness points if attacked. “She’s right. You do look like an underwear model. Are you from around here or new in town?” His face had a smile that was designed to relax the recipient, but his gaze was hard.
“I’ve never lived in San Diego. Haven’t met many people yet.” I wasn’t sure about the point of this conversation other than finding out she thought I looked like an underwear model. That had to be good.
Brain on Bruno, not what Amber thinks.
“We’re having a little get together on Saturday to watch the special edition of the show coming out. Even Amber’s been hush-hush about details, which means there’re fireworks with her starring in the episode. Can’t wait. You want to come over and see it?”
Amber snapped low, “Bruno, seriously?”
“Sure, I’ll go,” I said fast. I wanted more glimpses into Amber’s life. Besides, I had nothing better to do that day. It promised to be a visit rife with landmines, but it could be interesting.
“Play nice in the clinic, Mr. Underwear Model. See you at dinner tonight, Amber,” Bruno called out as he left. “Text if you need me.”
“What happened to your hand?” She pointed at my left hand. “There’s blood dripping down your fingers.”
“Parrot bit me.” I moved my hand out of view.
With a sigh, she opened one of the drawers in the exam room and pulled out bandaging material. “Hand.”
I didn’t move.
She waved for me to move closer to the exam table. When I still didn’t move, she took my arm and tugged me gently closer to the table. Efficiently, she cut off the old bandage, cleaned blood off with peroxide, and had it rebandaged in seconds. “I assume you soaked it to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
I flexed my hand and muttered, “Thanks.”
“You might want to take an antibiotic for that. Are we doing this surgical consult or not?” She threw the unused bandage materials back in the drawer and the trash into the can beneath the sink. Without another word, she left the room.
“Wait. We’re not done.” She still hadn’t clearly resolved the boyfriend question.
I followed her up the hall to the bank of computers, where I pulled up the films on the rabbit. A burgeoning headache pounded inside my skull.
“Oh, we’re done with discussingthat.I already saw these films,” she said. “I talked to Dr. Carmac about it. Said I’d do it, although I’ve never fixed a rabbit fracture before. But I don’t want anything to do with the patient’s anesthesia or post-op care. Rabbits give me hives since they’ll die if you look at one wrong.”
“That’s not true. They won’t die if you do it right. If you know what you’re doing, everything will be fine.” Sounded good, but they were tricky sometimes during anesthesia for painful procedures.
“I don’t know rabbit anesthesia. You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I know more than you about rabbits. That seems obvious. Why would I make a point of rubbing it in?”
