“Man, that’s fucked up, Coach Hack!” I yell, as he calls a timeout and pulls me off the floor. They just wheeled Aran out of here and he fucking expects me to finish the game. I can’t do it.

“Watch your mouth, Kyle. What’re you gonna do? Play basketball or go play doctor? Are you a doctor? Finish what you need to and let her get the care that she needs. Priorities, Kyle. Take care of business first. The team before the individual,” he hisses at me. “We will all go check on her after we win. Do you think she’s gonna be happy if we lose this game because of her?” The timeout buzzer goes off and we hit the floor again. I hate when he’s right. Let’s go win this then.

I finish the game with a throbbing headache. My mind is battered from worrying over the game and about Aran. We pull a win out of our asses. I don’t know how we did it, but close games like this are exhausting.

Everyone is talking about going over to a party at the Theta Phi house. I’m not in the mood for that shit. Loud music, drunken idiots, and bad pick-up lines. I’m gonna go check on Aran.

“Hey, Coach.” I say as I approach him, interrupting his conversation with another player. “Do you know where they took Aran? What hospital?” I ask.

“Kyle, don’t go over there now. Let her rest. You need to rest and recover, too. Go check on her in the morning. I’ll go with you. Hell, I’ll take you there. Deal?” he says as he claps his hand on my shoulder.

“Sure, Coach. Deal.” I mumble, as he goes back to his conversation.

I leave the gym floor and pass a security guard by the exit. “Sir. Do you happen to know where they took the photographer that was hurt tonight?”

“They usually take hurt players over to St. Vincent’s Medical Center, so I imagine she’s there,” he says.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

When I get out to my car, there’s a note from Kelly tucked into the driver’s side mirror . “Call me,” I read aloud. Fuck no. I wad it up and throw it onto the front seat of my car. I still don’t know how to explain what happened yesterday with Aran to her.

All I know is when I enter the gym and she’s there, she’s all I see. My focus zeroes in on her, like tunnel vision—that red hair and her curvy ass just draw my eyes to her. But my gut screams “STOP.” I need to focus on basketball. That is where my future is. Not chasing a photographer around because she looks great and smells fucking phenomenal. As sad as it is to know, that’s what gets my dick hard. Her smell. Her scent…she smells like some kind of flower, but I don’t know which one. I just want to hold her naked body tight and inhale that scent.

I head over to my apartment and change clothes. My cell phone buzzes on my bed and Kelly’s picture is lighting up my screen. I swipe to answer. “Hey.”

“Did you get my note?” she asks tartly.

“Yes, I did. I was gonna call you tomorrow. I‘m wiped out tonight,” which isn’t a complete lie because I am tired. I really don’t want any drama tonight.

“Well, I actually want to get this over with tonight, so just listen,” she snaps.

“Get what over with, Kelly?” I ask. I’m really not in the mood for her attitude tonight. “Just say it, whatever it is. I can’t handle any of your drama tonight.”

“My drama? Really? When do you ever deal with my drama? We are always doing the stuff you want to do on your schedule. My life doesn’t even exist. We hang with your friends, go to your team parties, and fuck at your place. We go to your practices and your games.” She’s yelling at this point, so I move the phone away from my ear, letting it dangle in my hands.

She’s right. It’s always my stuff, but she talks so bad about her friends, why would I want to hang with them? And when we’re together, I’m always the one listening to her talk…about her. I can guarantee she doesn’t even know my major or my hometown. When we’re together, Kelly is in control. I think she finally realizes that I haven’t said a word. I pull the phone back to my ear when she says my name.

“Kyle,” she pauses, clearing her throat for a calmer voice. “You’re a great guy, but you’re busy. I never get to do what I want to. So, let’s just leave it at the dead end it’s come to. Go enjoy your photographer. I hope she treats you well. Bye, Kyle.” She loses steam as she whispers those last words, and hangs up. Wow, the queen of drama broke up with me and decided to take the high road when she did it. What the fuck?

But therein lies the problem. I can’t enjoy my photographer. I’ve really fucked up her life now. I’ve never physically hurt another person. Panic set in when I rolled off that soft body and saw who it was. My heart sank when I heard her bones crack. All I can think about now is that I have to make her better. I just hope she’s not as bad as she appeared leaving the game.

Grabbing my wallet and keys, I open the door to leave just as Luke enters with two long sandwiches in a little plastic bag and Monster drinks. “Brought ya dinner, ya winner,” he says as he tosses my sandwich at me. “Were you heading out?” he asks.

“I was gonna head over to the hospital and check on that photographer,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Eat first; hospital food is horrible. And waiting while hungry is even worse,” he says, as he shivers in thinking about it.

“Thanks, man.” I bite into the steak sub and groan; the combination of tender beef, caramelized peppers and onions, and melted cheese is amazing.

We pop the tops of our Monster cans and he throws me a bag of potato chips. I’m so hungry that I’m halfway through my sandwich already.

“So, seriously,” he asks me, stopping to swallow a mouthful of peppers and onions, “What are you gonna do at the hospital? Are they even gonna let you in to see her, with privacy laws and all?”

“Well, shit. I don’t know. I didn’t think about that,” I reply.

“Yeah, you have to be a family member now to get information—even her room number. It can get crazy. I just want you to have a plan, so you don’t get frustrated.”

“Fuck. Maybe I should wait to go with Coach in the morning?” I growl, second-guessing my original plan because clearly I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. “Why can’t you just show up and tell ‘em you want to visit a friend? Never mind, I know the answer to that.” She’s not my friend.

Wadding up my napkin and wrapper, I shoot it towards the trash, missing. Just my luck tonight. I grab my keys and go.

The visitor parking lot is near empty this time of night. I hope it’s not too late to check on her. Entering through the emergency room, I stop a nurse and ask directions to the help desk. She just points to a glass case and hurries away, juggling the items in her hands. The middle-aged nurse behind the glass is on the phone, rolling her eyes at whomever is talking, but she smiles at me. I only have to wait a few minutes before she stands and opens the sliding glass door. “May I help you? Man, you’re a tall one.”

“Nah, I’m standard height, I promise. Anyway, there was a lady brought in tonight from the UC Bears game. A basketball player fell on her. I just wanted to check on her and make sure she was alright. Can you help me with that?”

She purses her lips and twitches her eyebrows close together and leans outside the glass toward me. “Are you said basketball player, perhaps?” she questions.

“Well, kinda.” She’s making me nervous with these questions, and sweat droplets form on my back.

“She’s over in Bay 8. Can I give her your name so I can get her permission to let you back there?”

“It’s Kyle Daniels,” I choke out. I’m not sure if I want to go back into an emergency room bay, but I’m already here. She closes the window and walks back into the back area. I run my hands through my hair, not sure if I’m supposed to wait here or go sit down. As soon I turn to find a seat, she appears at the door, says my name, and crooks her finger, motioning for me to follow her.

Bay 8 is just a curtain, separated from the other bays by nothing more than other flimsy curtains. I thought there were privacy laws—I can hear every conversation going on inside the curtains. The nurse leaves as soon as she shows me to the bay, and I’m left standing here outside the curtain, not sure of what to do. My stomach flip-flops and my steak sandwich is making me sick. I’ve been in the ER many times. I was always the little boy who did stupid shit, but I was always the one in the bed. This freaks me out.

“You can come in. Just pull the curtain,” she says. There’s a long silent pause. “I know you’re there, Kyle, because I can see your feet.”

I reach up to pull the curtain back, but hesitate, curling my fingers into the cloth. “Um, are you decent?” I ask nervously. This is so awkward. I just wanna leave, but I also wanna pull that curtain back and see her in a fire engine red bra and panties.

“Yes, Kyle. I’m as decent as I can be in this hospital gown.”

Swallowing a deep breath, I pull on the curtain and it rolls back. Her long-ass, sun-kissed leg is in traction and ice packs are wrapped around her ankle. I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the hard-on that just appeared.

“Hey,” I smile at her. “How are you feeling?” I ask, pulling a chair in the corner of the bay closer before sitting.

“I feel like I got ran over by a seven foot train,” she smiles.

“Well, that wouldn’t be a very big train, but I get what you’re trying to say,” I chuckle. Confusion momentarily crosses her face. I don’t want her to feel stupid, but she keeps smiling at me. They must have her pumped up on some good shit if she’s lost her sassy side.

I jump out of the chair and reach for her water cup, nearly knocking it over. “Can I get you anything?” I blurt. Before she can answer, the curtain is pulled back and a set of doctors enter.

“Hello, Miss Bailey. I’m Dr. Blevins. I’m an orthopedic specialist. How are you feeling?” he drawls out in that over-educated, monotone voice.

“I feel great, doc. How are you?” she slurs her response, so now I know she’s on some good shit. Oh, this should be fun to watch.

“I have reviewed the x-rays of your ankle. They really did a number on you. It’s gonna cost you a plate in your ankle, a permanent screw, and a few temporary ones to get it to heal correctly. Do you understand what I just said, Miss Bailey?”

“Um, yeah. Mostly,” she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. You can tell from her actions that shit just got serious and she needs to clear the painkiller-induced cobwebs from her head. I watch her face to make sure she understands. “Well, not the part about the plate. Where would that go exactly?” She winces in pain as she tries to scoot up straighter in the bed, momentarily forgetting about her other injuries. I move closer to her and push the button so that she’s sitting up a little more.

The doctor runs his hand down her calf and catches her heel in his palm. He proceeds to explain the surgery to her and I’m listening, but all I can focus on is him touching her. He’s rubbing his hands up and down her leg explaining the plate and temporary screw positioning along with where her tendons are damaged. Suddenly, I feel hot with rage— small sweat beads appear on my forehead. I’m pissed at this doctor for no reason. Or is it jealousy? What the fuck am I doing?

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asks.

She lays her head back against the mattress and closes her eyes. Just that little bit of conversation has exhausted her. “No, not at the moment,” she whispers.

Fuck that. I have questions. “Well, I have some questions for you.” I narrow my eyes showing him I mean business.

He clears his throat, most likely in annoyance, but I don’t give a shit. He looks at Aran and clears his throat again, but louder this time. Startled, she opens her eyes and looks at him. “Miss Bailey, is it okay if I answer his questions about your situation?” She slowly nods her head and closes her eyes again.

“How long will her recovery be? Will she be in a cast or a boot? Will she be able to walk on it at all after surgery? How many surgeries are we talking when you say temporary screws? How long will physical therapy be prescribed? Overall, what is your best-guess on complete time frame from surgery to back-to-normal?” I bombard him with the most pertinent questions for now. I will leave the others for when Aran is more aware. These are the simple ones I think of off the top of my head.

He re-adjusts his stethoscope, and places his hands in his lab coat pockets. I think he realizes that I’m not an idiot, and begins responding to all of my questions without any hesitation. Once I’m satisfied, he and his crew of wanna-bes leave us alone. Or more to the point, leave me alone. Aran tried to listen but fell asleep sometime during his monotonous response. God, he bored her to sleep.

I cover her back up with the blankets, tucking them under her slim shoulders. I bend over way too close to her and smell her perfume. It’s that same floral scent. I trail my nose across her collarbone, hovering within millimeters of her skin, inhaling every inch of her. I’d been so focused on her situation that my hard-on from earlier was gone, but her scent made me hard all over again. I pull my chair closer to the bed, and sit back to watch and wait. For what? I have no idea. I’ve never spent the night with a drugged-out sex kitten in the ER before.