The last place in the world Russell Green wanted was to find himself was here.
He hated the smell of hospitals. Disinfectant and misery. It didn’t help that there was nobody there for him to bitch at about his dilemma. The restaurant’s evening shift manager, Ellie Foster, had made sure he was checked in at the emergency room before she’d hightailed it out of there to get back to Words & Music, too busy to wait around long enough for Russ to see a doctor.
Since his bleeding had all but stopped, he didn’t want to stay a minute longer. Unfortunately, a nurse had already taken his vitals, had a good look at the gash in his forehead, and led him back to a treatment room. He figured he might as well get the treatment, because the hospital was going to charge him now anyway.
He dutifully sat on the gurney despite the nearly overwhelming desire to flee. Before the nurse had left, she’d taken the dirty wad of tissues he’d used to stanch the bleeding and handed him gauze to keep pressure on the wound.
“I’m fine now. Really,” Russ insisted when the nurse peeled off her gloves, tossed them in the trash, and headed back to the sliding door.
She frowned at him. “You’re definitely gonna need stitches, Mr. Green. You want that wound to heal well, don’t you?” Instead of waiting for his answer, she said, “Be sure to keep a little pressure on that until the doctor gets in here.”
“I could just superglue it,” he insisted. God knew he’d done that before. More than once.
“The wound’s too large for that to work.” A knowing smile blossomed on her face. “The doctor will give you lidocaine, so you don’t have to be afraid of stitches.”
Russ had to resist the urge to growl at her incorrect assumption. “I just need to get back to work.” A lie. Jorge, the head bouncer who was on duty, could handle the Saturday-night crowd at Words & Music without him, and he didn’t want the nurse to think he was some kind of coward.
“We’re busy tonight,” the blonde assured him. “But it won’t be much longer.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Still no dizziness?”
“I don’t have a concussion,” he insisted. “I barely got winged by that bottle.”
“You had a blow to the head. I’d expect a concussion screening at the very least. Better to be on the safe side.”
“It wasn’t a blow. Just grazed me.”
The phone in her pocket started ringing. A quick check of the screen brought a frown to the nurse’s face as she answered, “Francie. ER.” After a litany of “yes” responses, she ended the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Hang tight. Someone will be in shortly.” She pointed to a white remote resting on the patient table. “You can watch TV if you’d like.” Then she skirted around the curtain, opened the sliding door, and pulled it closed behind her.
Russ scowled at the empty room.
His head throbbed, but pain never fazed him much. A couple of aspirin would take care of that, maybe with an added shot of Jack Daniel’s. If his blood hadn’t been pouring so freely from the wound, he wouldn’t have bothered to come to the hospital. Ellie had taken one look at his bloody face and freaked. The only way he’d been able to get her to stop worrying was to agree to let her bring him to the ER.
The emergency room? For a small gash on his forehead?
He was made of tougher stuff than that. Shit, he’d broken his nose on the football field. Twice. And both times, a trainer only popped it back into place and let Russ get right back in the game.
The door opened, and when the curtain was swept aside, he was surprised to find a familiar and very pretty face.
He grinned. “Well, what a surprise. How you doin’, Josie?”
* * *
Joslynn Wright took one look at Russell Green and frowned. The name was familiar, but until she’d seen his face, she hadn’t made the connection. This man was a partner in Words & Music with her best friend Savannah’s husband, Brad Maxwell.
She’d only met Russ twice—at Savannah and Brad’s wedding rehearsal and at the wedding itself. Three times if she counted that he’d seen her finishing a swim workout the day of the rehearsal. When Savannah had introduced them, he’d immediately given her the nickname Josie, something she found a bit endearing. Most people called her Jos or stuck with Joslynn.
“I’m doing well, Mr. Green.” She pulled two purple gloves from the box on the wall and snapped them on. Then she gently removed the soiled gauze to see what brought him in. She’d read Francie’s notes and knew he’d been hit in the head with a beer bottle. No surprise to find that the man had a rather nasty gash running along his hairline. “It would seem you’re not quite as well.”
Russ shrugged before he grinned. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
In all her years as first a nurse and now a nurse practitioner, she’d heard that Monty Python quote more times than she could count. It normally irritated her.
So why did she find it so cute coming from him?
The dimple. That was the difference. The man had the most delectable dimple on his left cheek. In fact, the whole package was rather attractive, something she’d noticed the first time she’d seen him. His body was no stranger to a gym, judging from the definition in his arms, the lean hips, and the firm thighs. She loved that he wore his blond hair in a short buzz cut. It suited him—and it would, of course, make closing the wound easier.
That thought made Joslynn stop gazing at Russ like some girl looking for a date to the prom, something very unlike her. She had a job to do. He’d come here for help, and she needed to remember that she was a professional. “Since we’re acquainted, I could get another person to treat you.”
He stared at her. “Why would you do that?”
“Some people find it uncomfortable to be treated by a person they know.”
Russ scoffed. “Savannah said you’re the best nurse she knows. Why would I want someone else?”
“Nurse practitioner,” she couldn’t help but say.
“Not the same thing?”
She shook her head, resisting the urge to set him straight on how hard she’d had to work to become an NP. The guy didn’t deserve a lecture simply because he’d pushed one of her buttons.
“What’s the difference?”
Since he’d asked with a tone of curiosity rather than condescension, she answered. “I’m not a doctor, but I do have a lot of the same privileges. I can see patients pretty much the same way, and I can write scripts.” She opened some fresh gauze, gently pressed it against his cut, and offered him a smile. “And I can stitch up wounds.”
He took over holding the gauze in place. “Thanks for taking care of this, Josie.”
With a nod, she said, “Let me get a few supplies and we’ll get you patched up.” She peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the trash. Then she pumped a bit of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser and rubbed her hands together. “I’ll be right back.”
Sweeping aside the curtain, she left through the sliding door.
* * *
Russ let out a sigh of relief. After all of Savannah’s lush praise, Josie was sure to do a good job patching him up.
The door slid open with a whispered swish, and she strode back in, arms full of packages. She set them on a silver tray and moved it closer to his bed. Then she handed him a folded light blue garment. “Instead of having you change into a gown, I figured you might like a scrub shirt.”
“Thanks. That’s very considerate.” He pulled the bandage away, looking for where to put it.
“Let me take that.” Josie grabbed it and tossed it in a biohazard container. Then she began to assemble the supplies into some order that probably made sense to her. One of the packages she opened first had tan gloves, which she put on with more care than she had the purple pair.
Russ carefully removed his stained polo, donned the scrub shirt, and then sat back on the gurney.
As soft as a breeze, she touched the wound. “Are you sure you don’t want a plastic surgeon to take a look? It’s a fairly big gash, and a plastic surgeon will probably leave less of a scar.”
“Can’t you just staple the stupid thing shut?” He glanced up at her.
How had he not noticed those chocolate-brown eyes before? Or her scent? Something floral and terribly enticing.
“Staples would leave a nasty scar,” she replied. “If you don’t want a plastic surgeon…” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Nope.”
“Then let me see if I can do better with some tiny stitches. Just relax. I’ll have you put back together in a jiffy.”
With practiced ease, she went about getting everything ready. After she injected the area with lidocaine, something he hadn’t wanted but she assured him would make him more comfortable, she started working on him.
Zoning out so he didn’t have to think about what she was doing, Russ focused on the woman who was so close to him that her breasts kept bumping against his arm. Although he was aware that she was Savannah’s best friend, he knew little else about Joslynn Wright. His fault, because he’d all but avoided going anyplace with Brad and Savannah when he knew Josie was going to be there too. That had stemmed from Savannah constantly trying to play matchmaker, always chatting Josie up and telling Russ what a great couple the two of them would make.
Hell with that.
The last thing he needed in his fucked-up life was a girlfriend, especially one who was so close to his partner’s wife.
But in a moment of honesty, he acknowledged that he very clearly remembered the first time he’d seen her. The afternoon before the Maxwells’ wedding rehearsal, he’d been striding across the pool deck, aiming for the tiki bar. A woman had been slowly ascending the elaborate pool’s marble staircase. The sunlight had hit her perfectly, and damn if she hadn’t looked like a goddess emerging from a forest pond.
As he’d taken in her toned body, his mouth had gone dry. High, firm breasts. Slim waist. Just enough muscle to look athletic yet still utterly feminine. She’d been dressed in a red bikini that was tasteful as well as enticing, and she sported a small tattoo of an orange butterfly on her left breast—it peeked out of the bikini top just enough to see it—over her heart.
He’d made up his mind to try to get to know her better—up until the moment Savannah had introduced her and Russ realized this was the woman she’d been trying to push on him.
Gorgeous or not, trying to date her hadn’t seemed worth the aggravation.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
The navy blue scrubs and white lab coat she wore hid that delectable shape, which helped him get a grip on his rampant imagination. Just because Josie was appealing to him didn’t make the situation any less perilous. He had no business becoming infatuated with this woman. With any woman…
Not with the dismal future he had in store.
She looked down at him, brows knit. “You doing okay? Awfully quiet there.”
“Just patch me up, okay?” Russ snapped. He was immediately contrite. His fascination with her bothered him, but that didn’t entitle him to take his irritation out on her.
The way she narrowed her dark eyes told him she’d caught his tone. “Alrighty, then…”
He had to hand it to her. Josie was efficient. She’d thoroughly cleaned and then stitched the wound up quickly. “Done,” she announced.
Probably a good thing for Russ, because the more time he spent with her, the more he started to wonder if Savannah had been right all along—that this woman might be worth getting to know.
He needed to get out of there before he did something stupid like ask her for a date.
Then he remembered the manners his mom had beaten into his thick head. “Thanks, Josie.”
* * *
“My pleasure.” Joslynn started to gather up the discarded wrappers and used supplies. She’d lost track of how many stitches she’d put in place, because she’d done her damnedest to keep them small and even.
A good job, if she did say so herself.
“When do I get them pulled?” Russ asked, jumping off the gurney.
“You don’t,” she replied. “These will absorb. I also sealed them with skin adhesive. Just don’t pick at it. It’ll peel off when it’s ready.”
“So I can shower?”
She nodded and then pointed to the gurney. “Have a seat. You might as well make yourself comfortable because you need the nurse to come and give you discharge instructions, and I think a quick concussion screening might—”
“Nope. Don’t have time for that.”
“You’re already here. You might as well—”
“I have to get back to work.” He picked up the blood-stained polo and tossed it into the trash.
Getting angry at his crappy attitude, she didn’t press the point about a possible concussion. It wasn’t as though someone had smashed a chair over his head. A screening wasn’t absolutely necessary. “There are discharge instructions and—”
“I’ve had enough stitches to know what to do.” The scars she’d seen before he’d put on the scrubs added weight to his claim but didn’t excuse his rude dismissal. “Besides, you just told me how to take care of them.”
She hadn’t meant to stare when he’d taken off his bloody shirt. But as he’d changed into the scrubs, she’d gotten a healthy view of his torso. Scars. So many scars. His chest. His back. Right shoulder surgery—probably more than one.
Sweet Lord, what kind of hell had Russell Green been through?
It wasn’t at all like her to notice a guy’s body in any way except clinically, but she hadn’t been able to stop from staring at his arms. His biceps were well developed, straining the sleeves of the scrub shirt. She found herself wondering what kind of sports he played. Football? Soccer? He had what she called a “rugby body”—muscular, sturdy, and exactly what she liked.
With a shake of her head, Joslynn resisted the urge to wag her finger at him as if she were scolding a naughty child. “At the very least, you have to sign the release paperwork.” To give him something to do, she popped up the mirror that was built into the patient table. “Want a peek?”
Russ actually came over to see the stitches. After a good, long look, he grinned. “Nice job, Doc.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“You did better than most probably could.” To her great surprise, he kissed her on the cheek. “See you later, Josie.”
And he was gone before she could regain enough of her wits to stop him.
Francie came strolling through the open door. “I guess he was in a hurry, huh?” she asked, watching him jog out the double doors to the waiting area. Then she shifted her gaze to Joslynn. “You okay, Jos?”
Her hand fell away from her cheek. She hadn’t even realized she’d been touching the spot he’d kissed. “Fine. And yes, he was obviously ready to leave our exceptional hospitality.”
Francie chuckled. “They always hate waiting on the paperwork.” She shuffled through the yellow discharge papers. “Want me to mail them?”
Joslynn’s first response would have been to do just that, but she couldn’t get past Russ’s rude exit.
A better idea popped into her mind, and a slow smile bloomed. “You know what? Please put them in an envelope. I’m going to make sure Mr. Green receives them. In person. He needs a lesson in manners.”