Badge Bunny is book 4 in the Romance in Rehoboth Series. Find it here: books2read.com/BadgeBunny

 

“Accident coming in,” Anita tells me just as I’m about to swallow another gulp of coffee.

I suck a deep breath into my lungs and spring into action. Turning the corner, a pair of glittering hazel eyes are the first thing I see. It’s Trooper Asshat. Just the way I wanted to start my morning.

“Sixty-two-year-old female complaining of neck pain after a car accident,” the paramedic rambles off as they wheel the patient into one of the free rooms. Poor lady’s face is pale and gaunt, and her chest is heaving with labored breathing.

“Well, look who it is, my favorite DOCTOR,” comes his smooth-as-silk voice before I turn to follow the patient into the exam room.

“Just dropping her off?” I ask, hoping to get a nod.

“Thought I might hang out, see if I can annoy you for a bit,” he says, the corner of his lips cranked up into a devious grin.

I roll my eyes, not bothering to offer any other reaction as I slip past the curtain. Outside, he’s still rambling on. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my bite wound is? Do you want to see it?”

The nerve of that guy!

“Hello, Ms…Goodpaster, is it?” I question, looking down at the woman in the bed. She’s only sixty-two, but she has a frailty about her, her wrists tiny enough that I could probably encircle them with my fingers twice over.

“It’s MRS. Goodpaster,” she corrects me, “though my husband has passed on.” She gives a dramatic sigh and waits for me to offer my condolences.

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am—”

“Well, he’s not dead,” she explains, emphasizing the last word. “He merely ran off with some forty-year-old skank. But he’s dead to me, the fat bastard. He had a small willie, anyway.” She rolls her eyes and sighs again.

Wow, we gotta live one here! I shoot Anita a look, and she’s trying so hard not to laugh, her face is scrunched up painfully. I wonder if Trooper Asshat caught that pronouncement from beyond the curtain.

“I understand your neck was injured in the crash?” I question, hoping to find a topic less drama-worthy.

Her hands instantly fly to her neck, bracing it as if her head might just snap off at any given moment. “Oh, my heavens, yes. That stupid young man was flying down Route 1 and didn’t even notice I was pulling out.”

Ah, she pulled out in front of him. Got it.

“He had to have been going eighty miles an hour! Smacked right into my brand new Cadillac—best thing I got in the divorce, you know.” She says the last part in a low voice like it’s some sort of secret. “I tried to get Corporal Everson to arrest that imbecile, but as usual, no one cares about criminals in this godforsaken blue state!”

Now Anita is visibly shaking, she is trying so hard to keep her laughter at bay.

I bite my tongue to keep from snarkily correcting her: we’re in a red county in a blue state. Instead, I summon every last shred of professionalism and advise, “I’m ordering an x-ray for your neck. Are you having any other pain?”

She vehemently shakes her head, then winces because it hurt her neck. I wait until I’m fully turned before rolling my eyes and escaping past the curtain. Trooper Asshat is leaning against the wall. “See what I have to deal with?” he asks. “If you think she was bad in there, you should have heard her at the accident scene.”

“Yeah, she’s really something, isn’t she?” I had planned to say something else, but as soon as I locked on to his gaze, my other speech escaped me. I stand there for a fraction of a second, transfixed by those eyes. And it isn’t just his eyes. It is the total package: the bronze skin still tan even after a long, cruel winter, the cut jaw with just the promise of stubble later in the day, and the full lips that look like they might taste as delicious as a sinful dessert. Then there is the way the sleeves of his uniform hug the muscles in his arms and emphasize the broadness of his shoulders.

Damn it! I’ve already learned my lesson that cops are arrogant, sexist assholes. Why do I have to be drawn to their look? Their physique? That damn uniform? I didn’t know any doctors or lawyers or teachers who look like that. WHY?

“See something you like, Dr. Miller?” his voice eases out, smooth as butter. He’s caught me staring at him. Busted. Damn it again!

“I’ve gotta go—”

“Wait a second,” he says, not touching me in the slightest, but pulling me back with his hazel gaze.

“What?” Do I sound exasperated? I definitely sound exasperated. With myself. For letting myself respond to his stupid good looks and sexy smile. I know better!

“I was just wondering if you might want to go out sometime?” He wears the perfect balance of hope and confidence spread across his handsome face. He hooks his thumbs in his gun belt and waits for my response.

My nose wrinkles up as my brain fights to get to my tongue before the rest of my body has its say. “Are you really, truly asking me out? Right here? In the middle of the ER?”

“Why? Is that frowned upon?” He flashes me a charming, innocent look as he shifts his weight to his toes and then back to his heels, rocking back and forth a few times in an “aw, shucks” kind of way.

My eyes sure are getting a workout today with all this rolling. “Pretty sure it’s not completely professional.”

I can tell he wants to touch me. His hands clench up, then unclench, then clench again. He’s itching to grab a fistful of fabric and pull me toward him like he’s reeling in a flailing fish.

Only I’m not flailing. I’m cool, calm and collected. At least on the outside. He can’t see the butterflies in my stomach doing anything but staying calm, cool, and collected.

He leans in close enough that I feel his breath on my chest. “You didn’t answer my question, Dr. Miller.”

“I can’t believe you think there’s a chance in hell that I’d go out with you,” I fire back, but not before I inhale a noseful of his musky scent. My knees are nearly shaking from the way it travels from my lungs through my bloodstream and into certain parts of my anatomy.

“Chicks dig cops, what can I say?” He winks at me.

That’s what the problem is. It’s that cockiness. That arrogance that comes with the uniform. Most of these guys have such a thick air of entitlement about them, you’d think they invented dating or something.

“You know what, Corporal Everson?” I bite my lip to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

“What’s that?” He straightens up, preparing himself for victory, at least judging from the grin creeping across his face.

“I used to date cops,” I tell him. “All the time, as a matter of fact. But I don’t anymore. Do you want to know why?”

His face doesn’t betray the slightest hint of disappointment. Or maybe he doesn’t realize what I’m delivering is a rejection. “Why?”

“Because they’re shallow, vain, cocky, close-minded jerks,” I tell him. “And from what I’ve seen so far, you’re just like the rest.”

“Pffft,” he scoffs, his hopeful smile fading into a tight smirk. “You think doctors are much better? You’re conceited, stuffy, boring, tedious sticks-in-the-mud.”

“Wow,” I say, drawing out the vowel. “Why would you want to go out with someone like that, then?”

“Because I have I have a feeling you’re different, Dr. Miller. You know I make a living reading people, right?”

I slowly nod, trying to figure out where he’s going with this.

“Right, and something tells me there’s a lot more to you than that white coat and those glasses.” He looks me up and down for a moment before getting a serious look in his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re aware…but looks can be deceiving.”

And before I have a chance to protest, he’s turning on his heels and making his way down the long corridor and out of the ER.