Page 2 of The Exception

“Everyone calls me Trav.”

“Okay, Trav. What kind of medicine do you practice?”

His grin wobbled and he was suddenly unable to look her in the eye. He sighed, looking at everything but her before clearing his throat.

“None. I was a combat medic in Afghanistan and I’m about to start my hospital internship for paramedic certification.”

Sonya’s brain slowed to a near crawl as she tried to process what she’d just heard. She had nothing against paramedics. Their training was similar to what nurses went through and she respected their ability to treat sometimes critical patients while speeding down city streets. But this guy wasn’t a paramedic. This guy wasalmosta paramedic and that was completely unacceptable.

She glanced over to the patient whose condition hadn’t changed much aside from the confusion that had settled in across her features, and decided she was stable enough to wait for the glucose tablets. Glaring back at the almost paramedic, she snatched the glass of orange juice from his hand before turning to the flight attendant who’d been watching their exchange with wide eyes.

“Bring me the plane’s first aid kit, now,” she ordered. Her eyes darted back to the imposter sitting next to her patient. “Please move away from my patient so I can help her.”

He didn’t move and the defiance in his eyes made her wonder if he would. She was just about to tell him that posing as a medical professional was something she could bring up to the ethics board, when he cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his short hair before standing.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But only because arguing about it isn’t helping anyone, most of all your patient.” His eyes never leaving hers, he moved out of the row and stood to the side so that she could take the seat he’d vacated.

“I guess the saying is right,” Sonya said, sliding past him. “Even a broken watch is right every now and then.”

The flight attendant returned with the first aid kit just as Sonya sat down and gave her full attention to her patient. Mr. Almost Paramedic faded into Mr. Non-Factor.

Two

“Hey! Excuse me.”

Trav slowed up behind a family of five meandering the concourse, tossing out a few apologies as he pushed past them. He was a nice guy like that—honest, polite—and he had to get to the woman hefting her bags off of the turnstyle and convince her of that before she disappeared to make a phone call that could throw all of his plans out the window.

“Miss… uh… nurse?”

She turned slowly at the sound of his voice, her already-narrowed eyes letting him know she’d definitely recognized it. For some reason that nudged his cheeks into a smile.

But he had some explaining to do, so he quickly straightened it out.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Back there, on the plane? You were wrong.”

Shit.

That had slipped out a little differently than he’d intended, but now he was going to roll with it. “The woman had a medical card with her. I checked it for kidney issues before I asked for the juice, and I couldn’t rule out dehydration as a contributing factor, so the OJ was a solid call.”

She dragged her eyes down his face, and he could practically feel the burn as if she’d used her nails. Pretty pink nails that matched the sundress she wore. He couldn’t help but notice how it highlighted the curve of her hips. The rest of her was lean muscle—a runner maybe—but just like the song, those hips didn’t lie. No doubt about it, she was gorgeous.

Not the time, Trav.

“That doesn’t make me wrong,” she said. “It just makes you slightly less incompetent.”

A genuine laugh burst from his mouth. He’d always enjoyed a challenge. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your specialty?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a nurse. What kind? Trauma? ED?”

She tipped her chin defiantly. “Mental health. But—”

“Ah. Lots of experience in acute medical situations, huh?”

Her big brown eyes narrowed to slits. “I have a masters degree. We covered it all, and I work at a hospital where we get urgent admits all of the time. Comorbidities are common; hypoglycemia is extremely common.”

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