But about that, he was wrong.The old ego had gotten a little out of hand.Dr.Foster was staring intently at the screen and frowning again, her smile gone.“It says here you were in a car accident.”
“A car accident?It was way more awesome than that.”
She looked at him as if he was crazy.Or had messed up his brain.
“I’m an off-road racer,” he continued proudly.“I was coming around a curve and took a steep bank too fast.”He shrugged.“It happens.But when I hit the brakes, the truck spun out and flipped.”
He felt a jolt of adrenaline as he remembered the truck tumbling over and over down the hill until he’d come to a stop upside down, the truck flipped onto its roof.What a rush!As crashes went, it was a nine point two.
“Okay,” she said carefully.“So you flipped your truck.No other vehicles were involved?”
“Just myself.No other vehicles got so much as a dent.We’re strict on that.On those trials, the trucks are spaced so that it’s near impossible to pass each other out there on the track.And if there’s a serious wreck, all racers are stopped.So if you’ll sign me off, I can get back out there tomorrow.”
Holy cow, the look on her face!Her jaw was slack; her eyes were wide.He suddenly realized that those blue eyes hiding behind her glasses were incredibly alluring.Or maybe it was the way she was looking at him.It wasn’t really horror.No.It was something else.She was fascinated.
“You have a concussion, Mr.Pierce,” she said slowly as if he were intoxicated and was having trouble understanding.“Do you truly believe you’re ready to be back on the track?”
Dylan gave a dismissive wave of his good hand.“Hell, yeah.This is nothing.I sprained my wrist a little.The club medic wasn’t sure if it was broken or not, that’s why he sent me here.”
That was a bit of a dodge on his part.He needed the exam form to clear him so he could get back out there.But it was always best to paint a rosy picture.Positive thinking and all that.
Something flashed behind her eyes.It was not amusement.“Did your club medic think to check you over for a concussion?”
“Sure.”Dylan frowned.“That’s why I’m not buying that I have one worth worrying about.Donnie says I don’t.So, if you can just give me an overpriced aspirin or something, I’ll be on my way.”
“I don’t think so, Mr.Pierce.”She looked concerned.“Your wrist has a minor sprain.You probably don’t even need that brace.But you cannot hop in another one of those dangerous trucks and jostle your brain around.You must be careful while you heal.You need to take a week and rest.”
“Aweek?”God, that was an eternity not to be behind the wheel and churning through the dirt.
“At least a week.You’ll probably notice your focus isn’t as sharp as it was, and your reflexes might be off.In this dangerous hobby you’re describing, I would think that your reflexes are of paramount importance.”
Paramount importance?Who talked that way?Dylan blinked at her and wondered if this was the time to tell herwhateverand walk out.He could do that, right?Just had to sign some papers and walk out on his own two feet.He was a grown man, after all.
But he couldn’t drive at the club until he had a doctor sign off on him, so he was screwed if he got all high and mighty and flounced out of here.
He rubbed his temple, sighing.The headache had started not long after the wreck.Still, that kind of thing went away soon enough on its own.It certainly didn’t take a week.
“You have a headache, don’t you?”She made a gentle, chiding noise.
Dr.Foster gently drew his hand away from his temple and lightly used the pad of her thumb to pull at his eyelids.Her hands were soft and cool.She smelled good too.Some kind of perfume or soap.Her touch was soothing.
That was an odd sort of thought.Perhaps he’d smacked his head harder than he’d thought…like this doctor kept insisting.
“Mr.Pierce, while I respect the passion you obviously have for your sport, I’m going to have tostronglyrecommend that you take some time to rest.”
“You know what they say.”He gave her a cocky grin.“I can rest when I’m dead.”
She pursed her lips and gazed directly into his eyes.“Not even remotely funny, Mr.Pierce.”
“Dylan.If you’re gonna ground me, you can at least use my first name.”He grinned at her.“Besides, it was a little funny.”
“No, Dylan.It was the opposite of funny.”But she was smiling a little again, so that was a win.“I know nobody likes to be grounded, but I’d hate to see you back in my care with a more serious traumatic brain injury.I imagine you’ve had several concussions in your life, since you seem like the type.It makes you more susceptible.Do you always wear a helmet?”
“Yeah.It’s club rules.Hey, I’m crazy, but not that crazy.”
She smirked.Her lips were really full.And kissable.He wasn’t entirely sure why he was thinking about that right now.Who got horny at a hospital?
“I’m glad to hear that, at least,” she said.“But helmets don’t always prevent concussions.We don’t know all the causes of a concussion and can’t design a perfect helmet to prevent all possible injury scenarios.”
