More Than a Kiss Read Free

room at University
Hospital.   Amy sat on the rolling stool in a curtained-off cubicle and
surveyed her patient.  To say that Jordan was good-looking was an
understatement.  Amy thought Jordan was perfection personified – speaking
purely from an anatomical viewpoint.  Not that Amy was much of a judge of
anything other than medicine, but to her this woman, with the sculpted body and
long dishwater-blond hair, looked like one of those Olympic volleyball players
everyone went gaga over.  In short, she was the type of woman Amy despised.
    Well,
maybe despised was too strong a word.  Loathed?  No, she didn't loathe Jordan
just because she was the type of woman that stared out at her from magazine
covers, made a sports bra look sexy, and made her feel inadequate and homely
and invisible.  Hate?  No, she didn't hate Jordan either, not exactly.  She
hated the idea of Jordan.  Amy hated that there were women out there who
looked like Jordan and made women like her feel like something you had to
scrape off the bottom of your shoe.
    Jordan
asked, "You look like you're going to be sick.  You're not going to throw
up over a little cut and some blood, are you?"
    "Of
course not," Amy said, lifting her chin defiantly.  "I'm a
doctor."
    "Yeah,
but that was an 'I’m going to puke' face if I ever saw one."
    Amy
took a deep breath and assumed her professional look.  Her professional look
consisted of knitted eyebrows, a squinted right eye and pursed lips.  If she
wanted to be super professional she tapped her fingertip on her chin.  She had
perfected this look in front of her mirror in the bathroom at home.  She
thought it made her look smart, knowledgeable, caring and in control all at the
same time.
    "You're
not pooping, are you?" Jordan asked.
    Amy
laughed.
    “Because
that face you’re making looks like you might have I.B.S. or something.”
    Amy
decided she was going to have to cultivate another professional look, perhaps
one without the eye squint.  "Who's the doctor here, you or me?" Amy
joked.
    "You
are," Jordan answered.  "Unless…" she said with widening eyes,
"you stole a lab coat and scrubs and are impersonating a doctor."
    "A
doctor with I.B.S.," Amy corrected.  She pointed to Jordan's overly
bandaged hand, saying, "So, that's some first-aid job.  If I didn't know better,
I'd say that's an oven mitt under all that gauze.  An oven mitt covered in
gauze and attached securely by duct tape."
    "It is an oven mitt attached securely by duct tape.  This is what happens
when you let a handyman slash inventor slash horror movie fanatic slash best
friend play nurse."
    Amy
gently turned Jordan's hand over.  "Well, it looks like the oven mitt did
its job.  Though I think it was due more to the tourniquet quality of the duct
tape."
    "Don't
tell Edison that.  That's my friend who did this first-aid job.  She's already
a huge fan of the stuff.  Edison always says if you ever have to make a run for
it, be sure to pack a hundred dollars in quarters, duct tape, and
Vaseline."
    Amy
agreed on the first two counts, but wasn’t sure if she wanted to know about the
Vaseline.  "So, tell me what happened."  She held Jordan's hand in an
upright position and gently prodded at the rest of her arm, checking for
contusions or broken bones.
    "I
fell out of a window.  I was rescuing Mr. Pip.  He was hanging from a tree
branch."
    "Who
is Mr. Pip?"
    "He’s
the old man who lives next door."
    Amy's
eyes widened.  Jordan laughed.  "I’m kidding.  He's my cat."
    Amy
almost laughed out loud.  If she wasn't careful this woman was going to make
her stoic doctor personae crumble.  "Okay, you fell, but how did the cut
happen?"
    "There
was a broken piece of shower door in the dumpster.”
    "You
fell into a dumpster?"
    Jordan
nodded.  “Dumpster diving.  Literally.”
    “So,
what happened to Mr. Pip?"
    "He’s
fine, although he didn’t say thank you.”
    "Cats,"
Amy said, shaking her head in mock disgust.
    "When
I came to he was