Page 10 of The Interception
He chuckles. “I don’t think so. You took a full-on tackle like a champ, no padding or anything.”
I scoff and shake my head. “There is no way that was a full tackle. I saw the size of that guy. He would have knocked my soul right out of my body if he’d really been trying.” I roll my eyes and try not to let it get to me that I was just sprawled on the field, dress probably spread open to the world.
Ender nods a little and shrugs. “Okay, maybe not a full tackle. He tried to slow down, but he still hit you pretty dang hard, Layne. You took it like a champ.” I’m not used to such praise from a super hot stranger, so my cheeks burn with a blush.
“I still think I’ll pass on a career in football, if you don’t mind.” I try to keep up conversation so I don’t have to think about the fact that he’s literally carrying me all the way to the medical office. And despite having been sweating profusely, he doesn’t smell like a whole cow after a roll in the field. I definitely don’t think about how steady and supportive his arms feel around me, how nice it is to be held even if it is so I don’t pass out and crack my skull open. There isn’t anything about this situation that is flirtatious or affectionate, and yet, it might be the flirtiest and most affectionate thing a man has ever done for me.
Somehow, Ender manages to get the door open with one foot while holding tight to me. The blast of a whistle reminds me that practice must go on, even without their star running back…whatever that is.
“I’m sorry you’re missing practice. You can just dump me here, and I’ll meet you after,” I say and try to wiggle free so I can walk on my own two feet.
Ender takes the hint and stops to let me stand. I brush loose strands of hair back from my face, wipe my palms down the front of my dress as if it might smooth the wrinkles and remove the mud, and take one step. The second I put weight on my left foot, I go down like a sack of potatoes.
“Whoa there, are you still dizzy?” Ender asks. His arm supports me from behind and he’s helping me upright againbefore I have a chance to respond. “I hope he didn’t give you a concussion.”
“No, it’s my shoe. It just snapped.” The heel is broken off, but I have another pair in the truck. Before he can move to lift me off my feet again, I take the other shoe off and decide wandering into the team doctor’s office barefoot is better than what he does to my heart when he carries me.
He frowns but lets me walk on my own. I feel completely fine. There’s probably no reason to visit this doctor, but I don’t think he’ll let me out of it. Ender opens the door and we cross a small sitting area with a few chairs and a coffee table covered with sports magazines. He knocks on the glass window before sliding it open.
“Doc, can I come in?”
A doctor—who doesn’t look like a doctor because he’s wearing what can only be described as a track suit with a Timberwolves logo on the front—slides back in his rolling chair to see who has beckoned him.
“Ender, sure, come on in.”
Ender opens the door and steps aside to let me enter. “Hey, Doc, this is my cooking partner, Layne. She got tackled by accident in practice.”
“Oh wow. Who tackled her?” The doctor stands and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He’s got the faintest touch of salt and pepper hair and a stethoscope around his neck…which I assume is to impress upon people that heisa doctor.
“Johnson,” Ender says. “Not full-on, but still, she got knocked down and was a little dizzy. Mind checking her out?”
“Not at all. Have a seat and we’ll make sure you’re in tip top shape. Not every day someone survives a hit from Johnson, so you probably deserve a medal.” The doctor motions for me to follow him, but I hesitate.
“Uh…where will you be?” I ask Ender.
“Showers in the locker room unless you want me to stay?” He widens his eyes in question. It seems like he trusts the guy. I shake my head and motion for him to go.
“I’ll meet you here after, I guess. If it’s okay for me to stay in the waiting room, I mean.” I look back to the doctor whose name I still don’t know for approval that I can chill in his empty waiting room while waiting for Ender.
“Or I can take you down to the kitchen,” the doctor says. “I assume that’s where you were headed if you’re here to work with Ender?”
“Yeah, that’d be great actually. Sound good?” I look up at Ender but now he’s got a sick expression on his face, like he might be second-guessing this entire situation. It only lasts for a moment, a quick flash on his face, before he nods.
“Yeah, that would work. You sure you don’t want me to wait?” His gaze bounces between the doctor and me.
“I think I’m fine. Besides, I don’t want your coach to get mad at you. Go do your football thing, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He’s still hesitant, which makes me seriously rethink this whole doctor thing. I weigh the pros and cons in my head while Ender heads to the door without looking back. Once he’s on the other side of it, the doctor says, “Well, that was odd.”
I laugh it off and hop onto the table I’m directed to sit on.
“I’m Dr. Anderson. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m the team doctor so I’m pretty used to checking people for injuries after getting hit by giant men.” His joke falls a little flat, but I smile anyway. “Any headaches? Neck pain?” He turns my head back and forth, up and down while running off a list of questions.
“Any history of concussion?”
“No, not that I remember.”
He has me stand and run through a series of balance and cognitive tests before shrugging. “You look good. I don’t have any reason to believe you have a concussion, but if you have anysymptoms later like a headache, nausea, that sort of thing, then I’d get checked out by your regular doctor.”
