Death eBook 9.8.16 Read Free Page B

antibiotics just in case,” she explained as I watched her dispose of said empties. The smart old goat had changed the subject on me.
    “Am I sick?” How in the heck did I end up in the hospital?
    I thought over my day the best I could, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how or why I was there. The last thing I could recall was being at the library and snapping at Troy to stop staring at my tatas and instead concentrate on his calculus. Then I’d been counting the minutes until I’d be free to catch the train home.
    “The train,” I whispered. Something about the train struck a nerve in my memory. But why? Then as quickly as the thought came, it was gone. Nothing. My mind was blank of anything after that night’s tutoring session.
    I turned to the nurse and asked again, “Why am I here?”
    “Sorry, hon, but you will have to wait for the doctor for answers. He’s the one who gets paid to talk. I only do the grunt work around here,” she answered with a wink on her way out of the room.
    I had only enough time to assess that, besides some achy muscles and a mild headache, I seemed fine, before someone tapped on the door.
    “Hi, my name’s Dr. Steven McMullan. I’m the doctor who was on call when you arrived.”
    Holy hot Moses! I think I may be drooling. He turned slowly as he shut the door after he entered, giving me a shot of a sinfully tight tushy. He then made his way across the room, not stopping until he reached the bed, my bed. With a sexy smile and face usually reserved for billboard Jockey underwear models, he eased his cute tush onto the bed next to me, causing us to touch from hip to knee. Resting his closer hand on my upper thigh, he reached with his other to grasp my hand. We stayed like that a few moments longer than necessary, and I could say I was enjoying the feeling of comfort—until he broke my trance.
    “I need to see if you know your name, and how you’re feeling?” he asked gently, still holding my dang hand with his strong and soft one. Sigh .
    Ah-ha! A concussion! That was why I was there. It was the only way to explain why it felt like the good-looking doctor, with his gorgeous I-play-Polo-on-the-weekends blond hair and Ivy League features, was flirting with me. Maybe a book had fallen on my head at the library? A big book. Or I could have slipped on the stone stairs as I left. Or….
    Crud, he was still waiting for an answer, and I was still drooling. Gently, I removed my hand from his to tuck my hair behind my ear. It was all in an effort to hide Operation: Drool Drip Removal going on, wiping it on my left hand. Yep. I’m slick like that. Not. But back to the good doctor, whose charming smile was patiently waiting to see if I’d respond or had brain damage.
    “Julie, um, Julie Michaels. And I feel fine?” Totally slick. I shook my head to clear the stupid out and get back to the important question. “Why am I here?”
    “Do you know where you are?”
    “Yes, the hospital.”
    “That’s right.” He smiled. “Do you know what year it is?”
    Okay, I was getting ticked. My hands balled into fists on the bed. Taking a deep breath, I told him, “I’m getting a little annoyed with everyone avoiding my question. Yes, I know my name. Yes, I know the year. Yes, I know my address, my mother’s maiden name, and my dang bra size! What I don’t know is why the fart I’m here?” I huffed out, my arms crossing over my chest.
    “Why the fart?” he asked with a chuckle.
    I sniffed. “Yes, well, I teach children. So I don’t cuss,” I explained, and frowned. “And you’re still avoiding my question.” Wow, he was as good as the nurse.
    “The reason I’m not answering is because I still need to assess how much you remember. Before I can do that, I needed to see if you were lucid after being out for nearly seven hours,” he explained with amused patience.
    “Oh, well, why didn’t you just say that?” I snapped, embarrassed, heat hitting my cheeks.
    He chuckled