A while back I set out to write a story about an accidental meeting between two men. What better way to have them meet than...an accident? A collision between a runner and a novice rollerblader made a nice premise, especially if the guy who you'd expect to cause the accident was in fact the collide. Even better if one guy was a doctor.
Welcome to the world of Dr. Remy Marshall and massage therapist Jamie Sullivan.
Here's an excerpt in Jamie's point of view:
THIS COULDN’T BE happening.
It just didn’t get more humiliating than this. In the park, on a cloudless day, being carried to a stranger’s car—no, to Dr. Marshall’s car—by the doctor and a female Good Samaritan. And he still had on the damn rollerblades because the MD suspected a fracture. Jamie had to admit, the intense throbbing in his left ankle tended to make him agree. At least going by private car was cheaper than an ambulance. Another group of kids, all giving him unabashed stares. Jamie closed his eyes. Nightmare.
“Almost there, Jamie.” Dr. Marshall spoke next to Jamie’s ear. At least he was cute. Jamie opened his eyes.
Oh no. Cupid, thy name is cruelty. Wending toward them, body moving sinuously in time with the music on his MP3 player, was the object of Jamie’s worship from afar: Cute Rollerblade Guy, fiery ponytail gleaming in the sun.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Skate right on by—
Cutie halted next to Dr. Marshall. “Hey. Need some help?”
Jamie’s rescue team paused, and he tried to sit up straighter. Hanging between two people, parked on the seat formed by their forearms—dignity really wasn’t possible. He smiled through clenched teeth.
“We got it,” said the woman. Her tone dared the guy to challenge her capability to haul injured men through the park.
“Big oops, huh?” Cutie pointed at Jamie’s scraped leg and throbbing ankle. “Looks bad.”
“Rollerblading injury,” Dr. Marshall snapped. No mistaking the disapproval in those words.
“Did you fall?” Cutie leaned forward, hands on knees. Tawny eyes met Jamie’s.
The man had dreamy peepers. “N-no, more of a collision.”
“You ran into someone?”
“Sh—sheesh, no. Someone ran into me.”
Dr. Marshall cleared his throat and looked away. “We’ve got to get going, get him to the ER for X-rays.”
The rescuers bounced Jamie up, resettling him in the two-person carry, and resumed their shuffling progress toward the parking lot.
Cutie tagged along, rolling next to the rescue team. “Hope you’ll be okay.”
Jamie tried, but an authentic grin wasn’t possible. “Sure.”
Flashing another stunning smile, Cutie executed a one-eighty and bladed off. Jamie attempted to enjoy the view of Cutie’s spandex-clad ass, but pain got in the way. He closed his eyes. Well, now he’d met Cute Rollerblade Guy. Only had to sacrifice an ankle to do it.