“I do.” I jump off the bed, forgetting my ankle, and let out a groan.
“Clearly not enough,” Travis mutters.
“Make sure she stays off it,” Dr. Wiles tells my so-called knight, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking like Clark Kent.
The only thing missing is the glasses. His shirt strains against large biceps and his shoulders so much I’m tempted to advise him to buy a larger size. But women around Manhattan would hate me, and I’m enjoying the view, so I don’t.
A lock of his dark hair has fallen over his forehead, and every nurse that’s seen him has melted on the spot, blushing like a young girl.
I get it.
I’m just better at hiding it.
I think.
A pair of crutches is offered to me, and I shake my head.
“I can work from home for a few days, so save them for someone who needs them.”
Travis pushes away from the wall and disappears, returning with a wheelchair. “Get in.”
I drop down into it, knowing it's not worth the argument and happy to not have to hobble through the hospital. Or have him carry me.
Not that feeling his hard, muscular body against me was horrible.
It was way too nice.
I just don’t want either of us to get the wrong impression, and I end up dating this man for the next six weeks then have him break my heart.
Not happening.
I’ve learned my lesson. Four times.
Call me a slow learner.
Anyway, I let him bring me to the ER, but I’m not getting back in the car with him, even if he does have a driver. I grew up in Manhattan—my mom is a professor at Columbia where I got my BA, and my father is a doctor—so I’m street smart.
I have two best friends. Tony and Jasmine. Jasmine and I started at Columbia together, and we met Tony. After a year, it was clear the two of them were attracted to one another, and so they dated and are now married.
So, I’m stuck with them both.
Which I love.
They are doing IVF, so their world is very different from mine. No drinking and an insanely healthy diet. Lots of sex—lucky them—and all the drugs and meetings that come with trying for a baby.
So I’m not messaging Jasmine as she’s hormonal and will freak out. I drop Tony a message instead.
Sprained my ankle. At the ER. Can you meet me in a cab and help me up to my apartment? Only if you’re free.
What? You okay? Yes. Shall I come now?
Yes. Don’t worry Jasmine, I’ll be fine in a few days.
See you in ten. Don’t move.
I wave goodbye to the medical team, thanking them, and let Travis wheel me down the corridors.
“Quite the black stallion you have here, Lancelot,” I say, grinning ahead of me because he can’t see.
