by Kimberly Fox
“I’ll bake you fresh muffins for a month,” I say, getting desperate now.
“Dr. Mendes.”
“Two months.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You’re right,” I say, wringing my hands together. “My baking sucks. I’ll cut your lawn for the summer. I’ll do your laundry for a year. I’ll wash your fleet of cars. I’ll set you up with my hot friend.”
His eyebrow raises. “Hot friend?” he asks, looking interested.
I got him now!
“She’s beautiful,” I say, laying it on thick. “Her name is Anabelle, and she works in public relations. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Public relations?” he whispers as he rubs his chin. “That does sound appealing.”
I’m pulling out my cellphone and swiping through my photos as he thinks, probably considering how a girlfriend in PR can help his showbiz career.
“Look,” I say, thrusting my phone at him when I find a picture of me and Anabelle together. I look like I’m mid-sneeze, but she looks hot.
“That’s her?” he asks, swallowing hard as he looks at the photo.
“She loves doctors,” I say, hoping that she’s going to let me set her up with one again after the Dr. Mitchell Clark fiasco. She wanted a George Clooney type, and they don’t get any closer to Doug Ross than Dr. Cialdini.
He’s starting to waver. “Still,” he says. “I have a spot on the news.”
“You want a spot on the news?” I say. “Forget the local news. That is the one and only Shane Winters. If you save his life and get him walking again you’ll be able to book a spot on Ellen, The Tonight Show, The View, any show you want!”
“Who?” he asks, looking over my shoulder at Shane.
“Shane Winters,” I say, looking at him like he’s an idiot for not knowing who he is. “The legendary motocross rider. He came first in the Z Games last year, and he’s the only motocross rider to finish first in the X-Gravity Championship three times.”
Oh, my God. I can’t believe I have his Wikipedia page memorized. I sound like such a groupie.
“He’s practically a legend in this country,” I say, laying it on even thicker. “No, the world. It will be great for your career, and you can tell Anabelle all about it on your date.”
He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”
I grab the iPad off the bed and show him the results of Shane’s MRI.
His brow furrows when he sees the size of the blood clot. “Pull him in now,” he says, rushing to the prep area. “We have to do this fast.”
“Thank you!” I say, clasping my hands together as I take a breath of relief. Thank God.
His eyes narrow as he points at me. “Get your scrubs on,” he says. “You’re helping.”
I gulp as I stare at him in shock. “Yes, sir.”
“Dr. Mendes,” Dr. Clark says, charging over with a furious look on his face. I just stood through four hours of spinal surgery and am too exhausted for this.
Dr. Cialdini is a true master surgeon, and he managed to eliminate the blood clot and save Shane’s life. Not only did he save his life, but he should be able to walk again in no time. I wish I could say I helped, but I didn’t do much more than hand Dr. Cialdini the occasional instrument and give him the occasional compliment to stroke his enormous ego.
Shane is still recovering and hasn’t woken up yet from the anesthesia. I’m going to be so relieved when I see that frustrating smirk one more time.
“Dr. Mendes!” Mitchell repeats when he arrives in front of me, breathing as heavily as an angry bull.
I need a cigarette. I’ve never tried one in my life, but I wouldn’t mind trying one for the first time right about now.
“Yes, Dr. Clark?” I say, turning to him with a tired smile.
“Where have you been?” he snaps.
I’m not in the mood for this. “Saving a man’s life. Doing my job,” I say, looking at him with a blank stare. “What problem do you have with me this time? Did Anabelle not like your Katy Perry singing telegram and you’re taking it out on me and my patient?”
“It was Lady Gaga, first of all,” he says as his nostrils flare. “And your patient… Is that the one with the spinal injury? The one you had walking around the hospital late at night for some kind of perverse sexual escapade when he should have been resting in bed?”
“It was a cup of coffee,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him. “And in my medical opinion, he was fit to walk around.”
“Your medical opinion is the only thing that is unfit around here,” he says. “I’m starting to see why you were sued for negligence back in New York. If you didn’t have the patient gallivanting around, this probably wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can’t be serious,” I say, staring at him with my jaw hanging open. “This was completely unrelated, and I’m not a negligent doctor. You’re just blaming me because Anabelle is not into you. And I can see why. You’re a real jerk.”
He slowly raises his chin as his chest puffs out. “You’re going to be under investigation for this. This hospital doesn’t need another lawsuit.”
“Investigation?” I say, huffing out a breath. “I just saved his life. The only investigation should be why you keep harassing me over something that isn’t work-related and completely beyond my control!”
He clenches his jaw as he backs away from me. “We’ll see what comes up in my investigation,” he says before turning and walking away. “You better hope I don’t find anything.”
I gulp when I remember the deal with Dr. Cialdini. I just hope that Mitchell doesn’t discover that I promised the hot surgeon a date with Anabelle.
If he does, my career is going to be resting in the morgue.
Chapter 12
Shane
Madison is by my side when I wake up in my room. I just wish I wasn’t so groggy. I feel like I’m glued to the bed.
“Are you okay?” she asks, rushing to my side.
“Great,” I try to answer, but it comes out as a mess of vowels instead.
She was worried about me. I try to smile but my lips are too heavy.
“Just relax,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re just coming down off the anesthesia. You should feel more like yourself in a few minutes.”
She tells me that I had a huge blood clot pushing against my spine and that she had me rushed into emergency surgery. When I remember the kiss in the elevator, I’m not able to focus on anything else. I don’t hear anything after that.
I can still taste her on my tongue. I can still feel the tingling on my lips—although that may be the anesthesia.
Gradually, the weighted feeling in my body dissipates and I can move my mouth again.
She’s talking a mile a minute, explaining the surgery in specific detail that mostly goes over my head. “Dr. Cialdini and I were able to—”
“You kissed me,” I say, interrupting her. I want to hear about my spine, but I want to get the most important thing out of the way first.
The kiss.
She stops talking and her adorable cheeks go red as she looks down at me.
“I was wishing you good luck on your life-threatening surgery,” she says. I grin when her tongue quickly slips out and she licks her lips. Apparently, she liked it as much as I did.
“So, you kiss all of your patients?” I ask with a smirk.
She gets even redder. “I was checking your breathing.”
“With your lips?”
She nods. “It’s a medical technique.”
“Oh,” I say with a laugh. “Well, in that case, you better check it again.”
Madison tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she quickly looks around. “This is an advanced medical technique to test your breath rate,” she says as she leans down. Her lips are hovering over mine. “Definitely not because I’m attracted to you.”
“Good to know,” I whisper, loving the feeling of her warm breath washing over
my lips.
She smiles and then kisses me. It feels even more euphoric than when I was under the anesthesia.
“Mmmm,” I moan when she pulls away, batting her lush dark lashes and looking at me with her sexy gray eyes. “How’s my breathing rate?”
“Delicious,” she says, licking her lips. “Although I didn’t get an accurate reading. I’ll have to test it again.”
She kisses me again, and my cock hardens as her warm silky tongue slides against mine. At least I know that still works after the surgery.
“Dr. Mendes,” I say, holding her hand when she pulls away. “I like you. A lot. I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“I’m your doctor,” she says, sliding her hand out of mine. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s unprofessional. It’s against regulation. It’s unethical.”
“It’s fun,” I say, reaching for her hand and pulling her back to me. I fight through the pain in my back and lean up to kiss her. She moans as I take her lips in a soft kiss.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun,” she says, licking her lips as she looks back at the door. “I said it wasn’t appropriate.”
“I almost died,” I say. “What’s more appropriate than telling someone how you really feel after that?”
“And how do you really feel?” she asks, holding her breath as she waits for my answer.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I say, wanting her to know the truth. “I love to make you blush and tease you, but I’m falling for you, Madison. I want you to be my girlfriend. You’re funny and smart and sexy as hell. That date was the—”
My manager Christopher walks in, ruining the moment.
“Hey, Shane,” he says, hurrying over. “Are you okay, man? They called me and said you had surgery?”
“Madison?” I whisper. My eyes are still locked on her as she takes a deep breath and composes herself. She smooths out her lab coat and looks around for the clipboard, never looking at me again.
Every time I think I’ve succeeded in getting a little closer to this girl, she pulls away.
“Shane,” Christopher says, waving his hand in front of my face when I ignore him. He turns to Madison with a look of confusion on his face. “Is he still out of it from the surgery?”
“Mr. Winters is still recovering,” she says, looking flustered. “He may say things he doesn’t mean.”
“No, I won’t,” I say, wishing she’d just look at me. “I meant every word.”
She turns to Christopher, ignoring me. “One of the side effects of anesthesia is delirium and cognitive dysfunction,” she says. “Sometimes patients can’t think too clearly, and can get carried away with their thoughts and especially with their emotions.”
“I want a second opinion,” I say. “I feel perfectly fine. My thoughts are perfectly clear.”
She finally turns to me, but all of the warmth of Madison is gone, and only the professional coldness of Dr. Mendes is left. “I have to go attend to my other patients,” she says. “I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit, Mr. Winters.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mendes,” I say, talking like I have a stick up my butt.
I watch her leave, wondering if I’ll ever get anywhere with this girl. It’s always one step forward, two steps back. Maybe it will be different when I’m free and not her patient anymore, but I’m beginning to think that day will never come if my spine keeps crapping out on me like it’s been doing.
“Do you think you’ll make it to Moxie?” Christopher asks.
“Good to know you always have my best interests at heart, C.” My back was sliced open and surgeons were prodding my spine only an hour ago, and he’s asking if I’ll be able to ride my bike off ramps and do back-flips through the air in three months. “I’m not sure if I’ll be out of the hospital in three months with the way I’m going.”
“I do have your best interests at heart,” he says, pulling a folded-up paper out of his pocket. “That was a costly surgery. And the recovery is going to be pretty rough on your wallet too.”
I drop my head back on the pillow and sigh. I’ve been so focused on Madison that I haven’t even thought about how much all of this will cost me.
“How much?” I ask, not really wanting to know. I close my eyes as he ruffles through the papers.
“The surgery has put you close to three hundred thousand dollars,” he says, making me want to puke. “The recovery could add another hundred depending on how long you’re here for and how many tests they have to do.”
“Four hundred thousand?” I whisper as I rub my eyes. “I better be ready for Moxie, or I’ll be living on your couch.”
Christopher shifts around uncomfortably. “Not unless—”
“I’m not suing anyone,” I say, cutting him off. Just the thought of doing that makes my heart pound angrily now that I know Madison’s history.
“But it’s the best way,” he says. “We can get the bill wiped clean. Otherwise, what are you going to do?”
I take a deep breath and look out the window.
What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter 13
Madison
My heart is still pounding when I walk into the breakroom. Did Shane really mean those things that he said? Or was it really the effects of the anesthesia?
A feeling of warmth floods through my body as I pull out my cellphone and sit in a chair by myself. It certainly felt real.
My lips start tingling with thoughts of the kiss as I google his name for the millionth time. The breakroom is empty, so I’m free to watch his videos with the sound on. They’re much better with the sexy timbre of his deep voice mixed with the carnal sound of his motorcycle engine revving.
“How do you get into the mindset of being able to rocket your body off of a fifteen-foot tall ramp?” the reporter asks.
My breath quickens as the camera cuts to Shane’s gorgeous face. He’s wearing a black baseball cap with an energy drink logo on it and a black polo shirt. The sleeves are tightly gripping his round tattooed biceps in the exact position I want my hands to be in. Is it weird to be jealous of sleeves?
“I don’t think about it,” Shane says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I don’t think about the consequences. You can’t think like that in motocross, or in life. If there’s a ramp in front of you, you gotta say fuck it and just run over that motherfucker, and trust in yourself that you’ll land safely on the other side.”
I pause the video and take a deep breath, staring at his frozen face. Maybe I should be more like Shane and not think of the consequences. I want to be with him. I want to be his girlfriend like he said, but I’m terrified of the consequences. I’ve crashed before, and I don’t want to go through that again.
I keep going back and forth. A part of me wants to stick to my rules. My rules are safe. My rules will keep me out of trouble and my heart intact. That’s why I set them in the first place.
But there’s a bigger part of me, a part of me that’s growing with every smirk, every sexy look, every forbidden touch, that wants to throw myself at that ramp and ignore the consequences.
Maybe watching some more will help me think.
I hit play and smile as I watch the rest of the video. The second it’s over, I hit another one, grinning as I see him flying around the track, his back tire kicking up dirt as he elbows another rider who tries to cut him off.
“Mr. Motorcycle has really got your engine revving, doesn’t he?” Shondra asks, making me jump up in my seat. I was too engrossed in the video that I didn’t hear her come in.
I quickly turn off the phone and guiltily shove it in my pocket as my cheeks get hot. She’s grinning at me as she walks over to the fridge and grabs a brown paper bag inside.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning ignorance.
“Sure,” she says with a laugh. “I’m sure you don’t.”
I didn’t turn off the phone properly, and the sound of a dirt bike engine is blaring from my pocket. Shondra lo
oks at me and we both burst out laughing.
“Fine,” I admit as I pull it back out and turn it off. “Maybe a little bit.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says as she pulls out her sandwich. “It’s nice to see you opening yourself up to a patient for once. You’re a really good doctor, but you’ll never be great until you stop seeing everyone as patients and start seeing them as people.”
“What do you mean?” I answer, furrowing my brow as I listen. Shondra has been in this hospital for two decades and has seen a lot of doctors operate. She knows what makes a good one.
“The best doctors get to know their patients,” she says. “You’re not just a pill pusher. You’re a healer. There’s more to people than just the meat and bones of their body. They have thoughts and worries and fears and problems. Sometimes you can’t heal one without the other. Sometimes you have to go beyond the medicine and see the pain of the person inside that’s causing the pain on the outside. Love will always heal better than medicine.”
I take a deep breath as her words sink in. Maybe I have been too cold with my patients. I don’t want to be like Dr. Cialdini—seeing them as a product or as merchandise. But I don’t want to get hurt either.
“It’s hard, though,” I say, feeling the heaviness in my chest that I always feel when I think back to my time in New York. “It’s hard to see them as people when sometimes those people die.”
Shondra nods her head in understanding. “That’s always hard,” she says softly. “I’ve been here a long time, and seen a lot of good people go, and it never gets easier. But I always take comfort in knowing that my care helped them be a bit more comfortable and feel a bit more loved in their last days, and that’s what helps get me through.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I have been too cold, too distant, and it’s my patients who are the ones that suffer because of it.
“Look at the care you’ve given Shane,” she says with a smile. “You’ve opened up to him and you’ve done things that you would never have done with another patient.”
