Blitzing Emily Read Free

your eyes and look at me.”
    Obviously he was great at multi-tasking. She forced her eyes open.
    “Good girl,” he said.
    Her car would need a detailing when this was all over. She was bleeding. The t-shirt and shorts he wore were drenched in sweat from what must have been his workout. Even sweaty, he smelled wonderful. Clean, with the faint scent of Old Spice. It was surprising to her he wore such an old-fashioned aftershave, but it fit him.
    “Keep talking to me, sugar. You don’t look like any delivery person I’ve ever seen.”
    She’d have to marshal enough brainpower to answer. It was all she could do not to close her eyes. “My sister Amy owns a flower shop. She needed a driver. It beats the hell out of sitting around at home watching reality TV.”
    “That’s nice of you. What’s her shop called?” The dimple in his left cheek flashed as he grinned at Emily. He turned into the emergency room’s driveway.
    “Crazy Daisy. It’s on Broadway,” she said.
    “I’ll have to remember that.” He came to a halt in front of the sliding front doors, threw the car into park, hopped out, and hurried around to open Emily’s door.
    “Easy,” he said, and reached in to unsnap her seat belt. He also grabbed her handbag off the floorboard.
    Brandon was all business. “Here. Take my hand.” Emily clutched his bigger, slightly rougher hand. He eased her out of the seat. She tried to stand on her own but swayed again. He glanced around, frowned a little, and told her, “No wheelchairs, damn it. I think you need a ride.” He scooped her up once more.
    “I can do this myself.” She could barf on his shoes, too.
    “And have you pass out on the sidewalk and hit your head again? My mama taught me better than that. I’m already in enough trouble.”
    Brandon strode into the emergency room. Every time Emily had visited a hospital emergency room in the past, no one had rushed unless a patient was bleeding from multiple places. Maybe the key was being carried in by a big jock in sweaty workout clothes. Nurses scurried toward her.
    “What do we have here?” one of them asked Brandon.
    “She decided to try ice skating in stiletto heels. She’s bleeding a little.”
    “We’ve got a room with her name on it.”
    They were shown to a dimly lit room painted the shade of Silly Putty and dominated by monitors, IV medication pumps, a rolling cabinet with clean linens, and a computer setup. Brandon laid Emily down on a narrow bed. He dropped her purse next to her.
    “No sleeping,” he warned again, pulling a chair up beside her. He threw himself down in it. They didn’t have long to wait. A doctor breezed through the doorway.
    “Hi, there. I’m Dr. Su. What have we got?”
    “This is Emily. She wiped out on some ice in the parking lot,” Brandon explained.
    The doctor moved closer and pulled a small flashlight out of his breast pocket. “Emily.” He sat down on a rolling examination chair as he took her hand. “I’ll bet you think you’re the first person I’ve seen today who had an encounter with some ice.”
    Emily glanced over at Brandon, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She tried to look pitiful in response. She turned her head and focused on the doctor again.
    “I’ll bet none of them were wearing a thousand dollars’ worth of Italian leather boots at the time.”
    While she spoke, the doctor examined the back of her head, shone a light in her eyes, and said, “How many fingers, Emily?” He held up two.
    “Three,” Emily responded. Brandon let out what sounded like a groan.
    “That’s never happened to me before,” he muttered.
    “Are you sleepy? Nauseated? Have a headache? Follow my fingers, okay?” He asked the same questions Brandon did. They didn’t sound any better the second time.
    “I mostly feel stupid.”
    She glanced over to see Brandon eying the clock on the wall in the opposite corner of the room. His eyes slid back to her, but he seemed distracted.
    “I’ll be fine. It’s