Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) Read Online Free

she lead
the patient to Johnny’s table. “The Stripper might need stitches.”
    “Don’t call me that. And I don’t
need stitches,” he said.
    “Well, you need something, cuz
you’re bleeding all over yourself.”
    “I’m fine, I’m…” He hesitated,
took a step and turned white. The adrenaline rush must have worn off.
    “Grab his arm!” she cried. She and
Johnny got a grip on The Stripper and guided him to the examining table before
he collapsed.
    “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mumbled.
    Okay, so he didn’t want to be
called The Stripper and she needed him to calm the hell down so they could
examine his head wound. What was his name again? Jackson, Jacob? She knew it
started with a J.
    “J, I need you to relax,” she
said.
    Johnny handed her a washcloth and
she wiped the patient’s forehead. “You still with us?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Check this out, Johnny.” She
turned The Stripper’s head and pointed to the bump.
    “Who did that?”
    “Maybe Floyd, I don’t know. When I
found this guy he was in the process of killing Floyd with a pink stiletto.”
    “Killing Floyd?” Red croaked.
    “Not really killing him,” she
said. She didn’t want to ruin The Stripper’s career before it got started. Then
again, he was doing a good job of that all by himself.
    “We might have to take him to the
hospital,” Johnny said.
    “No hospital. I’m fine, I’m ...
fine ... fine,” The Stripper muttered.
    “Sounds broke to me,” Red offered.
“Like a scratched record.”
    “Thanks for the diagnosis,” Sandy
shot over her shoulder. “What do you think?” she asked Johnny.
    “Could be a nasty concussion.
Clean the wound and see how deep it is. Then we’ll determine if we need to get
him to the hospital.”
    A conservative approach was always
Johnny’s way. He knew the medical bills could empty out a pro wrestler’s life
savings. It’s not like they qualified for affordable health insurance.
    She washed her hands in the sink,
keeping an eye on her patient. He didn’t move but continued to mumble that he
was fine, over and over again. She couldn’t argue with him in one respect — the
man did have a fine body.
    “Damn,” she whispered. She’d
worked with these guys 24/7 and never thought twice about any guy’s body except
for it being broken or on the mend. But there was something different about
this guy. Something vulnerable ...  and incredibly sexy.
    Snap out of it ! She had to
stop being drawn to lost causes and stay focused, assess his injury, administer
first aid and move on to the next patient.
    A lunatic — that was her first
impression of The Stripper, so she’d keep thinking of him that way to keep this
silly attraction out of her head. She walked back to him and tried prying the
shoe out of his hand.
    “I think you’re done with this.”
She tugged, but he wasn’t letting go.
    “Okay,” she whispered. So what if
he had a shoe fetish?
    She tried to gently turn his head
for better access to the wound, but he resisted.
    “You are a stubborn son of a bitch,”
she muttered.
     
    * *
*
     
    You are a stubborn son of a
bitch . The words echoed in Jason’s brain. Stubborn, stupid, insane .
Familiar words uttered by a medic in Bosnia as he patched Jason up to be flown
out of that hellhole to a real hospital.
    No, he couldn’t go. Couldn’t leave
Chauncy.
    “Gotta get back,” he mumbled,
trying to sit up. A firm grip on his shoulders kept him flat.
    “Come on, J. Work with me here,” a
voice said.
    A woman’s voice, and she’d called
him J. He opened his eyes but was staring at a bare, white wall. Pressure at
the base of his neck made him wince. He turned his head and looked at the
source, a beautiful woman with big, catlike green eyes and an angry expression.
    “Stop it already,” she said.
    Jason drifted in and out of la-la
land. Who was she again? A nurse? A field medic?
    Wait, no, he’d left Special Ops,
became a cop, and joined the DEA. The DEA. Right. His