Page 3 of Blitzing Emily

“Hey, Balloon Girl, I’ll give you a ride.”

Brandon’s lips compressed into a thin line, and a flush spread over his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “Sorry about that,” he told her. “They don’t know any women they can actually be seen with in public.”

Her stomach lurched and rolled with each footstep Brandon took. She was not going to throw up. She tried not to think about how much she weighed as Brandon carried her. He did not slip and slide on the ice. He wasn’t even breathing hard as he settled Emily on the passenger seat of her Escape.

“Hang on.” He hurled himself into the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing? You can’t drive my car. The insurance—” she cried out. She clutched her aching head in both hands.

“You need to get looked at, and you’re not driving yourself to the hospital.”

He pulled away from the curb. Emily saw the other five guys on the sidewalk, debris at their feet, receding in the rear-view mirror. All that chocolate ... Somebody was going to have a mess to clean up.

She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

Brandon’s voice was sharp. “Don’t go to sleep. You have to stay awake till we get to the emergency room.”

He held the steering wheel as he reached out and shook her shoulder. He glanced over at Emily as he maneuvered in and out of traffic. “Emily, I mean it. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Obviously he was great at multi-tasking. She forced her eyes open.

“Good girl,” he said.

Her car would need a detailing when this was all over. She was bleeding. The t-shirt and shorts he wore were drenched in sweat from what must have been his workout. Even sweaty, he smelled wonderful. Clean, with the faint scent of Old Spice. It was surprising to her he wore such an old-fashioned aftershave, but it fit him.

“Keep talking to me, sugar. You don’t look like any delivery person I’ve ever seen.”

She’d have to marshal enough brainpower to answer. It was all she could do not to close her eyes. “My sister Amy owns a flower shop. She needed a driver. It beats the hell out of sitting around at home watching reality TV.”

“That’s nice of you. What’s her shop called?” The dimple in his left cheek flashed as he grinned at Emily. He turned into the emergency room’s driveway.

“Crazy Daisy. It’s on Broadway,” she said.

“I’ll have to remember that.” He came to a halt in front of the sliding front doors, threw the car into park, hopped out, and hurried around to open Emily’s door.

“Easy,” he said, and reached in to unsnap her seat belt. He also grabbed her handbag off the floorboard.

Brandon was all business. “Here. Take my hand.” Emily clutched his bigger, slightly rougher hand. He eased her out of the seat. She tried to stand on her own but swayed again. He glanced around, frowned a little, and told her, “No wheelchairs, damn it. I think you need a ride.” He scooped her up once more.

“I can do this myself.” She could barf on his shoes, too.

“And have you pass out on the sidewalk and hit your head again? My mama taught me better than that. I’m already in enough trouble.”

Brandon strode into the emergency room. Every time Emily had visited a hospital emergency room in the past, no one had rushed unless a patient was bleeding from multiple places. Maybe the key was being carried in by a big jock in sweaty workout clothes. Nurses scurried toward her.

“What do we have here?” one of them asked Brandon.

“She decided to try ice skating in stiletto heels. She’s bleeding a little.”

“We’ve got a room with her name on it.”

They were shown to a dimly lit room painted the shade of Silly Putty and dominated by monitors, IV medication pumps, a rolling cabinet with clean linens, and a computer setup. Brandon laid Emily down on a narrow bed. He dropped her purse next to her.

“No sleeping,” he warned again, pulling a chair up beside her. He threw himself down in it. They didn’t have long to wait. A doctor breezed through the doorway.

“Hi, there. I’m Dr. Su. What have we got?”

“This is Emily. She wiped out on some ice in the parking lot,” Brandon explained.

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