Page 47 of The Boyfriend List
I get up. Gloria comes with me. I don't protest since I know she'll pester me about what the doctor said later, anyway.
"Have a seat," the employee says in a bored, robotic tone that suggests she's done this at least twenty times today. "The doctor will be with you shortly."
Sitting in the examination room, on a crinkly paper-topped bench, makes me feel like a child again. At least I don't have to wear a hospital gown.
"Thanks for your hoodie," Gloria says. "It's really warm."
"It probably smells like a high school boys' locker room," I say, only half-joking.
"No, um, it smells nice. It smells like you." The implication is that she thinksIsmell nice.Or maybe I'm just suffering from a severe case of wishful thinking. Does the doctor have a prescription for delusional attraction to your best friend?
"Thanks," I say with a chuckle.
The door flies open and the doctor walks in, wearing a name tag that reads DR. COFFIN, which makes me chuckle. "London Young?"
I raise my hand like I'm taking attendance in school. "That's me."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Doctor Coffin. What seems to be the problem here today?"
"I'm pretty sure I just sprained my wrist at the gym this morning, but…" I gesture toward Gloria. “She wanted me to get checked out.”
“Well, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.” Dr. Coffin examines my left wrist with expertise, instructing me to turn it back and forth. "Yep, it looks like you just sprained it. Just get lots of rest and ice it. If you have an ace bandage, feel free to use it to wrap your wrist, but nothing else should be necessary. Come back in if the pain and swelling don’t go away after three to four days."
I give Gloria anI told you solook. She shoots me one that says,better safe than sorry.
As we drive back to my apartment, listening to SB19 and BINI, Gloria says, "I know what you're going to say."
"I told you it was just a sprain."
"Well, I felt bad that you got hurt, so excuse me if I wanted you to get it checked out."
"You're not responsible for my health and wellbeing, you know."
"Maybe not, but maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt if I wasn't there."
I suck in a sharp breath, but not because of my wrist. Does she know I was checking her out at the gym?
"I mean, you were probably distracted by my improper squat form, and that's why…"
My shoulders sag the slightest bit with relief. I wince as the movement nudges my sore wrist. "It's my fault for trying to show off."
"You were trying to impress me by bicep curling fifty-five pounds?" she says, turning over to look at me with one eyebrow quirked up.
"Yes. No. I don't know," I say, the words tumbling out in a scrambled rush. "Thanks for making me go to the clinic. I'm glad it wasn't something worse."
"Me, too." She pulls into the parking lot outside my house.
"Let me make it up to you for cutting our workout short," I blurt out. "I'll cook you dinner."
"London, are you making it up to me or punishing me?" she asks, folding her arms over her chest. She's still wearing my hoodie, and the sleeves are adorably too long on her, going way past her hands.
"No, I promise I'll make you something edible. I mean, more than edible. Delicious, even."
"What about your wrist?" she asks.
"After my wrist heals, I, London Young, solemnly swear to cook you dinner," I say, pressing a hand to my chest. "Come on. It'll be fun. After all the favours you've done for me recently."
"Okay, fine." Her shoulders soften. "It's a date."
