Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Reggie

I ’m back in the ER less than six hours after leaving, my usual holiday double shift part of my annual routine. I’m not one of those department heads who pull seniority and rank during holiday seasons. So many of my staff have young families at home, and us veterans cover during this time of the year to allow them to build memories at home. They sacrifice so much of themselves throughout the year already.

It’s the same reason Nurse Reynolds is already at the station when I enter. I doubt she’s even left the building, preferring to take a nap on the couch in one of the offices.

She doesn’t bother with a good morning, instead giving me a knowing look, a tilt of her head, and a soft whisper. “She spent the night.” Her wave to exam room nine is the only clue I need. My feet move on autopilott, not bothering to drop off my briefcase or grab a morning coffee.

“Arrived around four in the morning, according to the overnight,” she whispers from across the floor as I peek behind the curtain. Griffin is sound asleep, the monitors flashing but the room silent. In the corner, Coach Springwood is curled up awkwardly on a chair pushed next to the bed. Her head rests on the arm of the chair, a pillow draped over it. The thin hospital blanket is on the floor next to her, giving me a full eyeful of her long, bare legs. Those volleyball shorts, which I definitely thought about overnight, tease me. Everything about this woman is a tease.

I bend to retrieve the blanket, lowering my briefcase to the floor. Movement. Her leg stretches out, and my eyes snap to them, a magnetic pull I won’t even try to deny. Shapely, muscular legs. This close, I see the scars from a long-ago injury on her left knee, an image of her diving for an impossible-to-get dig but it not stopping her. Fully extended, disregarding the damage the crash to the hardwood floor might cause, her focus only on the goal in front of her, reaching the ball.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Her voice is scratchy and is quickly followed by a yawn. She stretches her arms above her head, eyes closed, and I rise, my treacherous eyes snapping to the strip of bare skin of her torso as her T-shirt rises with her stretch. A different shirt from yesterday. The hospital’s logo has been replaced with an American flag and the five golden Olympic rings.

Guilty. “I’ll have you pose for me later.” When her eyes flutter open, I can’t help but notice the exhausted red lines etched beneath, a clear sign of her lack of sleep. “I walked you out of the hospital last night. Put you in a cab myself. You said you were going to get the girls settled for the night, and I told you to get some rest.”

“That was your first mistake—not coming back with me to tuck me in.” She doesn’t miss a beat, the unique rhythm from yesterday returning with it. So does the pitter in my chest. “Someone had to keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty.” She gestures to Griffin before she pushes up in the chair, her eyes pinned to the blanket I hold suspended in the air between us. “Were you putting the blanket on me or removing it?” The tilt of her head and the smirk let me in on the joke. “It’s the shorts—gets them every time. You should know they have their own YouTube channel. Like and subscribe, and you’ll never miss a post.”

My gaze lingers on her limbs, and I wish this channel existed. “You do know we have an entire staff to watch over him. And as for the shorts—” She’s opened the door, and I walk through it. She presses her elbows onto the armrests, giving me permission and access. I let my gaze take the world’s slowest perusal of her long legs, not stopping until both precious limbs receive a full examination. “I’m surrounded by naked bodies all day, every day.”

She scoffs. “You’ve never seen anyone like me.”

“Is that an invitation?” I adjust my feet hip width apart and relish in the undeniable magnetism that exists between us. I could stay like this all day.

“In your dreams—oh wait, you’ve just woken up. I bet you might think you are still in a dream fugue state. Should I slap you out of it?” She reaches for the chair handles and pushes up.

“Oh my god, please pull the plug on me. Now.” Both our heads turn to a suddenly awake Griffin.

“You’re awake,” Ivy says, hopping to her feet, her hands on the bed rail. Her focus snaps to him. “How are you?”

“I’d be better if I didn’t hear what I just heard.” He attempts to push up and immediately grabs his abdomen.

“Don’t sit up.” I reach for the chart at the foot of the bed and direct him to lie back on his back. “Let me see how you did overnight.” I scan the chart, and it confirms the initial diagnosis. Internal bruising that will need to be monitored for the next few days. I press the nurse’s button. “Good news. Looks like I’ll have Prince Charming moved to a proper room soon.”

“When can I leave?” Griffin asks.

“Let’s get you settled upstairs and run a few more tests, and then we’ll be able to give you a proper timeline.” I deflect his question. His injury, though appearing not life-threatening, could turn in an instant. He’ll need to be carefully monitored for the next forty-eight hours. But I don’t tell him this. To a twenty-something-year-old, forty-eight hours feels like a prison sentence.

I twist to Ivy. “The nurses will be awhile. Just so you know, we don’t allow overnight guests or chairs in my ER rooms.”

She bats her eyes at me, another smart remark cueing up. She waves her arms at Griffin and mocks me. “The king has spoken. My ER.” She reaches for the back of the chair, dragging it across the floor. “Your kingdom, your rules.”

I reach for the chair, grabbing it by the armrest. She concedes, releasing it. “I got it.” I turn to exit, and she steps around me to slide open the curtain. I catch her eyes narrowing for the briefest moment before she steps back into the exam room. I see how protective she is of Griffin, and I get it. She’s not the first caregiver I’ve had to chase from an ER room.

But there is a difference between an ER room and a patient room. ER rooms are tiny. Its patients can take a turn for the worse in a heartbeat. If that occurs, the staff needs to be able to get to the equipment, take up the proper position, and treat the patient as fast as possible. Every second can make a difference.

“I’ll see you up in your new room in a bit.” She pats Griffin on his covered foot and bends to scoop my briefcase off the floor. She carries it out of the room. I follow, expecting her to question me about the chair, but she doesn’t. “You came to check in on me and Griffin before you even settled in for the day. Thank you.”

I place the chair back at the nurses’ station and turn. Ivy is standing right next to me, my briefcase dangling in front of her. “How did you know that?”

She tips forward, and for the briefest of moments, I think she might kiss me. “No coffee on your breath, the briefcase, no lab coat. You walked in this morning and made a beeline right to me. That must’ve been a powerful dream you had last night,” she teases. Always teases. And she’s damn good at it.

“I’ll never tell.” Two can play that game.

“Only a matter of time, Reggie. You already feel it.” Her gaze flits down to my lips. “You want to spill right now. It’s taking everything in you not to. I like a man who thinks he possesses self-control. They never do.”

“So, this is a game you play often? Is that how you pass the time?” I put into words the thoughts from yesterday. The ones that returned the minute she leaned forward, and I thought she might kiss me.

She scoffs. “Have you ever asked yourself that question when you whip out your charm on unsuspecting victims?”

We remain standing in the one place I shouldn’t. Not like this. Not toe to toe, staring into the eyes of a woman who has my pulse racing. The nurses’ station is in the center of the floor, the most heavily trafficked area on the floor. The center of information and gossip. It’s early, but I pick up the movement of at least three staff members in my periphery.

These are all things I should be concerned with. Yet, not one of them gets me to move. “No one I deal with is a victim nor unsuspecting. I think they know what they are getting if they deal with me.”

“Do they?” she challenges.

She refuses to back down, and neither do I. I tilt my head forward and wait to see if she moves. Our noses practically touch before she leans back ever so slightly. We’re still less than an inch away, yet it feels like a victory. “They get to feel like the center of the universe for a moment or two.” We sway like trees in the wind, me leaning toward her, her mirroring my movement in reverse. Then she leans toward me, and I do the same. We are synchronized. “They get to feel their pulse racing, an attraction they hadn’t experienced in far too long. To forget whatever might have been troubling earlier.” I let my dangling right-hand brush against the back of hers.

Her lips part, and the soft exhale escaping lets me know I’ve struck gold.

“I get to live rent-free in their head. Images of me consuming their waking thoughts, and they make up reasons to be near me.”

She nods, finally relenting. “Like…” She dangles the word in the air like a reward. I wait for the prize I’ve earned. “Like rushing in early for work under the guise of checking on a patient.”

Wait, what?

“I get it now. Thanks for mansplaining to me what it feels like to be on the other end of… me.” That sexy smirk returns to her face, and I realize I’ve been outmaneuvered. Again.

“HR likes to roam this floor. Take it to the lounge. At least there’s mistletoe to explain why you two are about to kiss,” Nurse Reynolds says over her shoulder, tapping away on an iPad.

I realize with Ivy standing in front of me, the rest of my world had disappeared. I feel the rapid flutter of my lashes. “I need coffee.”

“Is it in the doctors’ lounge?” Ivy asks, and I feel my brow furrow.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m coming with.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation.

I already know where this is going, and it’s useless, but I say the words, anyway. “It’s called the doctors’ lounge for a reason.”

She giggles at me, striding side by side next to me. “Doctor, we both know you’re going to bend the rules for me. So let’s skip ahead to the part where you do.”

I can’t argue with her logic. She’s pegged me. All of me. My heart is racing. Ever since I put her in the taxi last night, all I’ve thought about is her. And yes, I did dream about her in those damn shorts. I’m not used to this. I’m used to being on the other end of this. I’m the one usually doing the charming. Being the distraction. Watching them get hot and bothered.

I know how far I take my initiative, but I have no clue where Ivy is leading me. How far is she willing to go? She’s hinted that she’s all talk, but at the rate we’re moving, it’s only a matter of time before we reach a crossroads.

“Oh my god,” she shouts upon entering the lounge. I’m not sure what I expect, but this isn’t it. She skips under the mistletoe in the center of the room and plants her feet under it, her chin lifted, a wide grin on her face.

The door to the lounge closes behind me. We’re the only two in here. She lowers her chin, a devilish smirk on her face.

“This must feel like returning to the scene of the crime for you.” Her gaze flashes up before pinning me back in place. “Mistletoe. Unsuspecting victims. How many?”

I shake my head. “How many what?”

“Women. How many have fallen victim to your charming ways, right here in this spot?”

She waves for me to approach, but I don’t. And I don’t kiss and tell. She tilts her head and attempts to read my face.

I don’t react. I don’t respond. She’ll never believe the truth, and I’ll never tell. She squeezes her eyes tight, her dark orbs becoming slits, peeking into my soul. “No freaking way.” My heart takes off in a gallop as her eyes pop wide as if she’s solved the final clue on Jeopardy! “I’d be your first?”

Bulls-freaking-eye.

There are hospital staff who have known me for years and can’t read me as well as Ivy has in a day. She leaps forward, her hands reaching for me, pulling me to her until we’re standing under the mistletoe.

I carefully measure my next words, waiting for the giddiness in her eyes to flick down from the excitement of outing me to a low simmer that a moment like this deserves.

We stand like that, hands in each other’s, standing underneath the mistletoe, waiting. I wait until the smile fades from her face. If she’s the Dr. Charmer whisperer, she’ll know.

The only sound in the room is the hum of the vending machine in the corner. “I’m not going to kiss you, Ivy.” I say the line like an edict. When confusion flashes across her beautiful face, I know I need to explain. Another piece of my armor falls away. “Another rule in my kingdom.” I try to lighten the mood. “Ladies first. Make the first move.”

Her brow furrows as she processes the information. She lets my hands fall from hers, and I wait. Technically, I’ve been making moves from the moment we met. Snide remarks, flirty comebacks, innuendos. It’s all part of my persona, one I built on the backs of a reckless past.

As I climbed the hospital hierarchy and my conquests were no longer fellow residents and peers but staff members who might one day report directly to me, I changed my ways. My reputation had been built, so I continued to let everyone believe it. I leaned into it with my charm, but I was no longer the aggressor. If a woman was interested, they had to make the first move. They had to understand what they were getting into. My reputation. They had to state what they wanted, and only if we were on the same page would anything happen. It’s why I don’t initiate the first kiss.

I lower my chin to my chest. HR has been right all along. Their policy makes sense. And as much as I don’t like HR being up in everyone’s personal life, I get it. Workplace relationships can negatively impact the dynamics of the hospital. I may not be a fan of the policy, but I understand it. But I have a different reason not to comply.

Ivy’s scoff causes me to look up at her. “Not what I expected when I entered this room. Very few men surprise me anymore.” Her words aren’t filled with disappointment but intrigue. “But you want to kiss me, don’t you?”

I don’t answer. But both of us know what the answer is. “Even during the holiday season with a mistletoe excuse?” Her eyes flit up and return to my lips. “It’s a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

She pushes my boundaries. She’s a beautiful angel sent from above to test my willpower, enticing me right up to the edge of the cliff. One small step and I’ll fall.

“Hmm, well, then we have an interesting dilemma.” Her words cause me to pause.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t make the first move either.” She takes a step back, no longer underneath the mistletoe. I try not to react; certain this is part of her ploy. She must read my face. “No, seriously, Dr. Morgan.”

She uses my hospital name, and I realize she’s no longer toying with me. “I told you this already.”

I shake my head, not sure what she is referring to.

“I joke, I tease, I get guys all worked up. You guys are so easy.” She says the lines, and I search my memory for what she’s said previously on this topic.

“I won’t kiss you, Dr. Morgan. If you are interested, if you want me—and from the look in your eye, you most certainly do—then you will need to be the one kissing me.”

It clicks. All talk. That’s what she said about herself. “Is this some type of game for you?” I hear the hypocrisy in my questions, and she calls me on it.

“Isn’t it to you? Five minutes.” She crosses her arms in front of her. “I was here five minutes before you began hitting on me. Not that I minded it, not one bit. It was a welcome distraction from everything going on at the time.” Her hands lower, and her gaze locks with mine. “But if for a second you think I was going to fall for a man like you, who looks like you, who acts the way you do, you really must be dreaming.”

I feel my ego deflating with every syllable from her mouth. I was dreaming. For a moment there, I believed. I thought she might be real. That this thing I’m feeling was shared by her. I kick myself for believing even for a bit.

I take a step back on unsteady legs. I try to hide the wound she’s inflicted with the one weapon I’ve mastered. “Wanna bet on it?” Bluster.

Her feet march a step forward, taking her under the mistletoe. She glances up, realizing where she is, and rather than step in my direction, she hops to her left. “Bet? What are you, twelve?”

I cross my arms. Two can play the indignant card. “I know you want to kiss me. And probably a lot more.”

“Oh, there is most certainly something I want to do to you right now.” For the first time, I see fire in her eyes. The competitive inferno every athlete carries. Good, I’ve just lit the flame. “And the best part is we’re already at a hospital in the emergency room. No ambulance required.”

“Do it?” I dare her, and she steps into my personal space. She projects fake anger, her adorable smirk just below the surface of her insincere grimace. The thumping in my chest returns, my attraction to her overwhelming. I so want to kiss this woman.

“Fine,” she grunts.

“What?” Did she just say what I thought she said?

“I said fine. We’ll play your silly schoolyard game. I have a few days and will spend them here at the hospital with my team. I’ll play your stupid game to fight off the boredom.”

“So, the options are me or boredom?” I joke, happy to cross back to our normal rhythm.

“Pretty much. Desperate times…” She lets the phrase hang in air, her insult not landing. I’m still stunned she’s agreed. Or has she?

“First one to kiss the other… loses.” I lay out the ground rules, making my intent clear.

“And what do I get when you lose?”

I snicker at her overconfidence. Since I implemented the rule several years ago, no woman has been able to make me break it. I’ve not even entertained the thought up to now.

“Besides the pleasure of kissing me?”

“If that’s the prize, I’ll choose door number two.” Her heartbreak smile reminds me of the tremendous disadvantage I’ll be competing with.

I uncross my arms, unsure of a response. I never thought she’d agree. I know what I want if I win, but I won’t say it out loud. It would merely validate every one of her assumptions. “How about this? If you win, I give you an all-day pass to Eastport’s finest spa. Mani, Pedi, Swedish massage, sauna, hot tub, the works. You get to hang up the heavy load of looking after everyone else for a day and be pampered in a way you never let yourself be.”

Her hand presses to her chest as if I’ve read her mind. It’s not that difficult. Every second I’ve known her, she’s been caring for others. From Griffin at the scene of the accident, in my ER, and even last evening, rushing back to get everyone settled in the hotel. I get the sense no one’s taken care of her in some time.

“That’s a lot, Reggie. I thought we were talking about something like a magazine from the gift shop.” She deflects, but I won’t allow it.

“It’s not a lot, not for someone with a heart as big as yours.”

“I’m totally going to win now.” She nibbles on her lower lip, and I sense the wheels turning in her head. “And if you win…”

I wait, and she lets me dangle in the wind, knowing my mind is conjuring up inappropriate thoughts.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” she says, glancing up at the mistletoe. “We both know what you want—me…” I feel my breath hitch with her words. “One-on-one.” She’s a dangerous siren luring me out to the deepest depths of the ocean on a leaky boat without a life vest. “A private, one-on-one volleyball practice session wearing the inappropriate shorts I can’t wear in front of the team.”

My eyes naturally lower to the spray-painted-on black shorts, and I can’t imagine anything sexier. She knows what she’s saying. She knows what she’s doing. She knows how I will react.

She raises her arms above her head, that T-shirt rising again. She lifts to the tips of her toes and does a slow spin to allow me to enjoy the view of the shorts. She has no intention of playing fair. A sliver of her toned abs shines bright, practically calling my name.

Bam.

I’m dead.

My tongue hangs from my mouth as she completes her turn and finds me panting. I am her willing, susceptible victim, my schoolboy crush now imprinted on the center of my chest like a scarlet letter for the world to see.

“Looks like we have a deal.”