He waited outside the exam room while I stripped and donned the scratchy gown. I expected him to stay in the hall since the medical staff were less likely to act like lovestruck fans, but when the doctor entered the room, Vonn was right behind her.
“Okay, Mrs. Zimmerman—”
“Ms.,” Vonn corrected. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. My body felt a slow burning fire as his piercing blue gaze traveled my body from head wound to purple toenails.
“Of course, sorry,” the doctor said, shooting me a tiny smile under her purple framed glasses. “Ms. Zimmerman. According to this you were injured at a concert.”
“I was an unintended victim of the mosh pit,” I explained, bracing for the “old enough to know better” judgment. Vonn was still staring at me with an unreadable expression on his stupid gorgeous face.
“What?” I mouthed at him.
He shrugged. But his mouth curved ever so slightly.
“We’ve all been there,” the doctor said, surprising me. “Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with.” Her competent fingers went to work on peeling back the tape on my forehead while Vonn’s blue eyes blazed into mine.
Mark: Sorry for the vanishing act. Had to sit in on an emergency call with the board. You can find a ride home, right?
“Where’s home?”
I glanced up from the text I’d only just seen. “Sorry?”
“Home,” Vonn repeated.
“You don’t—”
“Brooke, if you say ‘you don’t have to’ one more time, I’m gonna make you regret it,” he announced with a simmering look that made my knees press together involuntarily.
“Bossy,” I muttered under my breath.
“Deal with it. Here,” he said, thrusting a bottle of water at me.
When I accepted it, he dug into his front pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pills. “Extra-strength Tylenol. Doc’s orders.” I watched him thumb off the lid and pour two tablets into his palm.
I wasn’t too proud to admit I had an obsession with the man’s hands. Not just because they knew their way around a bass but because there was something dexterous, competent about the way his hands did everything.
He watched me down the pills, then flicked on the wipers to clear the snow from the windshield.
The snow wasn’t just “coming down,” it was dumping. This was a legitimate blizzard. The idea of having to shovel tomorrow with a battered, middle-aged body was not a happy one.
Vonn took the water from me, helped himself to a healthy swig, then returned it to the cup holder. “Home,” he said again.
I sighed. “Turn left out of the lot.”
The man might’ve been a pain in the ass, but he had turned on my seat warmer. The radio was playing an old Nat King Cole favorite. The headlights panned over a veritable winter wonderland dotted with festive Christmas lights.
My phone buzzed with a text alert.
Michelle: How was your stint as a groupie? Did you get any of the guys naked? Never mind. Save it for brunch! Day after Christmas. Love you!
My best friend and neighbor, Michelle, always made me laugh. She was wildly inappropriate for a mother of three and a real estate agent.
Me: Not much to tell. But I can make something up over Bloody Marys. Try not to be too hungover for Christmas morning!
I stowed my phone in my jacket pocket and stared through the windshield. “You’re pretty good at handling the snow for a California guy,” I noted as Vonn expertly maneuvered around a slick corner.
“I grew up in Colorado.”
“Right. I forgot. Is that weird?” I asked, turning to him.