“How are you feeling, sir?” The doctor was on automatic pilot, speaking before he even looked at Ryder’s chart.
“Not so good, doc. My head’s all fuzzy. Can’t seem to remember anything.”
Grabbing the chart, the doctor performed a cursory evaluation, his response short and clinical. “You were hit by a vehicle. A moderate to severe concussion can lead to short-term memory loss. Chances are it will come back, with the exception of the memories surrounding the accident itself. It’s not unusual to lose those memories permanently. Do you need something for pain?”
“Hell, the fuck no. I ain’t interested in taking nothin’ to screw my head up even more.”
“If you change your mind, let us know. The pain might become quite severe.”
Tiffany was getting annoyed with the physician. He didn’t have the courtesy to even look at Ryder when he was talking to him. One glance at him on the way into the bay communicated he was a biker, and that was all the narcissistic doctor needed to dismiss him as a person. What’s more, she could see how it embarrassed Ryder to be marginalized, especially in front of her.
“I’ll survive a little pain. Drug addiction, not so much.”
Tiffany quickly interjected. “I’ll keep a close eye on him, Dr. Cole. If the pain gets above eight, I’ll let you know.”
The clean-cut young doctor’s eyes landed on her and he responded warmly. “I know that you will, Miss Tiffany. You are one of the best nurses we have at St. Mary’s.”
Feeling her face flame red, she turned and began organizing supplies in a side cabinet. “Thanks, Dr. Cole.” Tiffany had forced the words from her mouth, not liking the way he treated her and Ryder differently.
Come to think of it, the majority of the doctors were total asshats at St. Mary’s. She knew what his drill was. Dr. Cole had asked her out a couple of times already. Now she knew why her gut had been telling her to hold back.
Sitting outside Ryder’s bay until everything died down, she brainstormed ideas of where she could stash him for the rest of the night. An idea came to mind, and it was perfect. Slipping into his small bay, she murmured, “It’s pretty quiet out there. We should get you moved.”
Wrapping his arm around her neck, she helped him slip out of the back of the bay and down a quiet hallway.
“Where are we going, doll?”
“I was going to stash you in an office, but I thought of an even better idea. I’m going to put you in Duncan’s lab.”
“Who the hell is Duncan?”
“He’s a friend of mine. He’s got a grant to study TB and stuff like that.”
By that time, they were in front of his lab. Using her name badge, she swiped the door open. Thank God it was a small hospital. No one cared much about security unless something bad happened.
“Shit, is it safe in here?”
“Sure. Just don’t touch anything, and whatever you do, don’t eat anything out of the mini-fridge.”
“Like I would.” His lip curled in mock disgust as he spoke.
“Here, I brought you a package of scrubs. You need to wear them along with the paper cap. Anyone walking by will think you are just pulling an extra shift.”
“Fuckin’ great. Are these even going fit my fat ass?”
Leaning back, she glanced at his rear. “Oh, quit your whining. Your ass doesn’t have an ounce of fat on it, by the way.”
“Great, now you’re developing a sense of humor. This night just keeps gettin’ better and better.”
“I almost forgot. If anyone looks like they’re going to come in, make this gesture.” She held up her hand, palm out.
“And why would I do that?”
Pursing her lips, she answered reluctantly. “It’s American Sign Language for stop. It’s our signal that we’re handling samples containing dangerous contagions. You know, like active tuberculosis and flesh-eating bacteria.”
“You’re pulling my leg, right?” He stopped mid-step, pulling open the plastic pouch of scrubs. She tried not to look at his taut, naked ass as he jerked up his hospital gown.
“Of course not. It’s all part of what Duncan studies.”