In Your Wildest Dreams (Wildcat Hockey, #4)(9)

They’re both quiet, and with another nod, she takes a step toward the door.

“Thanks,” he calls after her.

I feel Ash’s gaze immediately switch to me, but the man in the polo shirt speaks first. “I should get home to the wife and let you rest up. If you need anything, give me a call. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

While Ash says goodbye to him, I finish reading his chart. Ash Kelly, twenty-nine years old, no allergies, shoulder separation and concussion, just as Hannah said. They didn’t list his six pack or panty-melting smile. An obvious oversight.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Ash says when we’re alone.

My heart skips and I shuffle awkwardly, having no idea how to respond.

“It is you, right? I’m not hallucinating, am I? You’re the girl from the game last month?”

“Bridget,” I say, not directly answering his question.

“Bridget.” The way he says my name sends a shot of unprofessional heat climbing up my neck.

I should tell him I’m his nurse for tonight, but maybe I can still get someone to switch with me. I settle for smiling and asking, “Can I get you anything, Mr. Kelly?”

“Mr. Kelly?” He quirks a brow, then lets out a soft laugh. “Nah. Only thing I need right now is a shower.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, I can tell he came straight from the game. His hair is a little messy, though still somehow sexy. The dusty brown locks fall just below his chin, and he has it tucked behind his ears to keep it out of his face and covered with a backward hat.

His wrists are still taped, something I noticed at the game that a lot of the guys do. It’s a wonder he isn’t still in pads and skates.

“Sure.” I walk over to the bathroom and open the door wide. “Everything you need should be in there.”

His stunning blue eyes sparkle with excitement and disbelief. “I can’t get over it. You’re really here.”

I can’t get over it either. My stomach is doing a series of somersaults that make it hard to catch my breath.

“I’ve looked for you at every home game.”

Thrown off guard by that comment, but eager to guide us back to a more professional topic, I decide to take this moment to go through my usual spiel when entering a patient’s room. As much as my coworkers would love to trade me places, no one would dare go above Sandy’s head.

“I’m taking over as your nurse tonight. The room is all stocked, and I’ll put in a request for a late dinner tray. Any food preferences or dietary restrictions not noted on your chart?”

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

“Okay. Well, if there’s anything else you need, press the red call button on the side of your bed.”

I’d usually go show him, but stepping any closer feels like a terrible idea. Even six feet apart he can probably see the impact he’s having on me. “I’ll bring in a dinner tray anyway in case you’re hungry later. Do you need any help with the shower?” My face heats. “I mean getting out of the sling or getting undressed? I can ask a male nurse to assist.”

Do not think of him naked. Do not think of him naked.

His lips twitch at the corners like he knows exactly what I’m trying not to think about. “I can manage.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t move and his gaze stays locked on me. “This is such a trip! Wow. I think I’m in shock. A nurse, huh?”

“Yep.” I smile at him. It’s a little forced, but hopefully convincing and doesn’t show how much I’m inwardly freaking out.

“Nurse Bridget.” His smile widens. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not that long, but I promise you’re in good hands.” God, why does everything I say suddenly sound so dirty? I back up toward the door. I need to get out of here and regroup. “I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.”

“I look forward to it, Bridget.” Ash swings his legs to the side of the bed and stands. He winces a little as the movement pulls at his shoulder. He takes a step, then sways and wobbles as he takes another. My instincts kick in and I’m at his side quickly, aiding him like I would any other patient. His skin is warm and my fingers tingle as I steady him on the right side. I glance up to meet his gaze. He’s taller than I realized. I’m five foot five, but my chin barely reaches his shoulder and I have to tip my head back to look at him.

“Are you okay?”

He looks first at where my fingers wrap around his bicep before answering. His voice is gruff. “Yeah. Shit. Guess I’m still a little unsteady on my feet. I got it now.”

Stepping away from him, I wait while he crosses the room. He’s almost to the bathroom when he stops and asks, “Do you still have the puck I gave you? Maybe sleep with it under your pillow at night?”

I resist rolling my eyes. I’d say he’s going to be just fine if he’s feeling good enough to hit on me. “Sorry to disappoint, but I gave it away.”

“You wound me, Bridget.”

I swallow hard. His teasing and flirty demeanor is disarming, even if I think he’s full of crap. “No, I think you did that all on your own.”

“Me and the guy that rammed into me,” he mutters, all traces of that playfulness gone.