Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Reggie

“ O utside 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.”

A soft curl of her lips warns me I’m playing with fire. I steal a glance at my watch, noting the time—eleven fifty-eight.

“There’s also your release paperwork. You’ll need to read, sign, and initial it, and then you’ll be free to go.”

She reaches for the pile of papers, sorting until she finds the one for her dismissal. “You realize you can’t get rid of me that easily?”

I don’t reply.

“Our school is only ninety miles away, yet I’ve never been to Eastport before. After I send the girls back to campus, I’m going to stick around for a few days. You know”—she looks up at me with a glint in her eye— “to keep a watch on the rest of the team.”

“Of course,” I chuckle, relishing every second of this.

“Are there any can’t-miss sights I should be aware of?”

She’s seconds from signing the papers. I’m almost in the clear. “You mean, besides me?”

An adorable twinkle shoots from her eyes as she scans me from head to toe.

“Sign those discharge papers, and I’ll share a place or two.” I reach into the pocket of my lab coat and retrieve the pen. I step to her, pen in hand, barely extending my hand, forcing her to close the distance. She doesn’t hesitate. Her move is a bold declaration: I’m game. Her hand purposefully lands on top of mine as she reaches for the pen, igniting a spark between us that electrifies the room.

This isn’t my overactive imagination conjuring up a fantasy. This isn’t her in an adrenaline-fueled haze spewing come-hither looks to distract herself from the surrounding reality. She’s safe, her team is taken care of. This is her. This is me. This connection is still burning bright.

Her index finger strokes the back of my hand. “Feels like I’m not signing out but signing up for something.” She’s a relentless flirt, and I’m becoming her number one fan.

“Lady’s choice.”

“Should I read the fine print?” She lifts the paper in the air between us, rubbing the crinkling paper between her fingertips, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

“My policy is always trust but verify.” I offer a line I’ve used in the past, one that hasn’t always provided the clarity of conscience intended. Therefore, I add an addendum. “Just so you know, around the hospital, they call me Dr. Charmer.”

The left side of her mouth tilts up in half a smirk. “Good. Maybe I’ve finally met my match. They call me Coach Flirt-a-lot.” She signs her name like a celebrity. Bold, confident strokes, larger than the space provided.

“Are you all talk too?” She offers an insight that sounds like a warning.

I wait for her to hand over the papers before responding. I twist my hand, pulling her attention to my movement, her eyes taking in my designer watch. “Midnight,” I whisper before responding to her question. She is officially no longer my patient. “Is there anything about me that makes you think I’m all talk?”

She scans me again, this time slowly. I unbutton my lab coat, removing it and letting her see all of me for the first time. I’m wearing a European-cut white fitted collared shirt, silk tie, and dress slacks worthy of standing at a podium at a medical conference. It’s how I always dress. It’s how my mentor, Angie’s father, taught me to dress. Respect for your position, respect for the hospital, respect for your patients.

I’m not flaunting this outfit for any of the reasons my mentor outlined. I’m doing it for the look on Ivy’s face. She’s no longer my patient; she’s a woman. A stunningly beautiful woman.

“Is this your go-to move with all the women?” she asks. A question I’ve heard more times than I can remember.

“If you’re asking whether a patient has ever put the moves on me before…” I twist her question and let it dangle in the electric air.

She reaches forward, stuffing the hospital-issued pen into my chest pocket. She’s wearing sneakers and is only an inch shorter than my five eleven, a fact that I should have picked up on when I read the chart but didn’t.

“You’ve not begun to see me make a move.”

“Yet,” I add to her statement, letting her know what our future holds.

“You’ll never see it coming if I ever do,” she teases, and I get the sense she loves this part of the game. Lucky for her, so do I.

“I’ve seen it all.” I take a step toward her, my hand reaching for her signed paperwork. This time, it’s her turn to hold tight with a forceful tug.

“You’ve never seen anything like me before.” She lifts her hand with the paperwork high, not stopping until it’s in my line of sight. I give another slight tug, and she releases with a snicker, an electric laugh that causes the hairs on my arm to tingle.

I’ve never done this before. Not openly flirt with a patient in an exam room. It feels forbidden. It feels electric. It feels good. “I trust you.” I give her words that are meant to make her relax. And when her nose twitches in excitement, I snatch the rug from underneath her. “But you know I have to verify. Show me.”

“Hmmm, enticing. But I’m not that easy. You may need verification. But I need something too.”

I fold the papers and stuff them into the rear pocket of my pants. “What’s that?”

She wraps the drawstring of her plastic bag around her wrist and lets it dangle. It swings from her movement like a pendulum, and I wait for her response. She doesn’t rush a response, instead using silence and time to let the anticipation build. “Where would the fun be in me telling? I’ll be around the hospital for the next few days. Let’s see if you’re interested enough to find out.”

She steps around me but stops at the doorway. “Now, are you going to lead me to Griffin’s room, or do I need to flirt with the next doctor to find out what I need?”

She reminds me of her name. Is this something she does? All talk. I’m not sure what to make of it. But I do know she’s gotten my attention. And it’s been some time since any woman has done that.

“To your left. If you’re still unsteady on your feet, I can hold your hand.” I dip the line in a gravelly, sexy tone that can’t be mistaken for anything other than what I mean. She may flirt a lot, but at the end of the day, I charm. I’ve been out of this part of the game for a minute, but it’s got to be just like riding a bike, right?

She laughs. “If Eastport is anything like Stapleton County, it lives on rumors and gossip. Aren’t you concerned to be walking the halls holding the hand of your patient?”

I step to her, sliding my hand into hers and leading her out of the room. “If you knew me, you’d know I never let a rule stop me from doing something I want. And second, as of a minute ago, you are no longer my patient.”

I pull her down the hall and ignore the side-eye I receive from Nurse Reynolds. “So it begins,” she giggles next to me, giving a quick nod to Nurse Reynolds. “I’m going to have so much fun ruining your reputation.”

I scoff. If she knew anything about me, she’d realize how difficult a challenge that would be. My reputation is a mile wide and a mountain deep, solidified over the last dozen years. She may be attracted to me, or she might just be flirting with me to pass the time. But in either case, I doubt there is anything she can do in the next few days to change how nearly everyone in the hospital sees me.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Years ago, I might have been foolish enough to think someone like her could enter my world and fall madly, deeply for me at first sight. Not anymore. We have chemistry. I am intrigued by her. I still don’t get an accurate read on her, whether this is her flirts-a-lot persona or something more.

I’m in no rush. I’m not going anywhere. And apparently, neither is she, at least for the next couple of days.

She tugs on my arm and straightens it to press her cheek against my shoulder for a quick second. “Aww,” she purrs like a kitten looking for a tender scratch. Her move is quick, over in less than two seconds. But it’s long enough to leave an impression. Two more seconds and I might’ve rewarded her with a head scratch. Two seconds after that, I might have pressed my lips to the top of her head.

She’s good. The younger version of me would have been just like her gift shop errand guy, bowing down at her feet, ready to feed her grapes.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Dr. Morgan.” She bats her eyes up at me, and I realize that younger version of me still exists deep inside.

“I’m no longer your doctor. Reggie will do.”

She tilts her neck and purses her lips into an air-kiss.

Her silly move causes me to chuckle. “You are so freaking adorable.”

“I was going for irresistible, but I’ll take adorable.” She squeezes my hand tight. “I’ll lead you to irresistible. Will you follow?”

She releases my hand and paces ahead of me like the femme fatale she is. She doesn’t give me a choice.

Where she leads, I follow.