Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Shit. This isn’t good. “Page the doctor,” I call, seeing Sue hurrying back down the hall toward us.
The girl’s eyes flutter, and the tears staining her cheeks kill me. She must be terrified.
Because she looks so young, I tilt her chin up and check her airway for any foreign objects. After seeing nothing, I agree that it’s definitely asthma and hope like fuck that we don’t have to intubate her. “How old is she?” I question.
“Just turned three.”
“Okay, tell me about her night. How many times have you administered Ventolin?”
The man starts rushing through the details of their night, and I listen closely as I place a pulse oximeter on her tiny finger and wait for her reading. “Any allergies?”
“No, none that I’m aware of.”
Sue rushes in and closes the curtain behind her to give us a little privacy. “I’m going to need a corticosteroid injection,” I tell her, seeing the reading on her oxygen levels dropping steadily.
Sue jumps straight into action and prepares the injection as I remain with the little girl, positioning her in a way to make it just a little easier to take a breath, but fuck, she must be so uncomfortable. Seeing the needle, the man balks, his eyes going wide with horror, looking between the needle and his little girl, knowing this is bound to scare her. “What’s that for?” he questions.
“A steroid injection,” I explain, getting antsy as I wait for the doctor to hurry up and save this little girl. “It will act the same way as the Ventolin. It’ll help relax the muscles around her airway.”
He nods, and when the doctor still hasn’t arrived, I don’t give it a second thought as I work on saving the little girl. The man takes her hand and squeezes, and I pull on a pair of gloves and quickly insert the needle, hating the way the little girl flinches in pain.
I lightly rub the injection site, willing the medicine to work its magic, realizing it’s been such a rush, I haven’t even had a chance to ask her name.
Within seconds, the little girl takes a breath. It’s not a great breath, but it’s enough to give her small body the oxygen it so desperately needs. “Thank fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my heart pounding as her oxygen level improves a little.
The father rushes into her, crushing her into his big chest as tears of relief fill his eyes. He should probably give her the space she needs, but I’ll allow a small hug. After all, what parent wouldn’t be desperate to hold their child in this situation? I’m not a parent myself, but I can only imagine the unconditional love that comes along with the territory.
“Oh, thank God,” he sighs with relief, but as her breathing deepens, he still holds onto her as if she’s about to slip right through his fingertips.
The little girl cries in his arms as I pull off my gloves and find her a glass of water. I hand it over to the father, and he takes it eagerly before holding it up to the little girl’s lips. Once she’s done, the man places the plastic cup down on the end of the gurney before finally looking up at me.
My eyes widen as my heart starts pounding erratically, having no fucking idea what to say.
It’s the Tinder guy.
Sean.
No fucking way.
Hooooooly shit. Why does the ground never come and swallow you whole when you need it?
Embarrassment begins flooding me as my greedy gaze attempts to sail up and down his body, knowing exactly what’s hidden beneath his shirt, but damn it, my professionalism just has to come in and ruin a good thing.
“Thank you,” he says with every ounce of emotion in his body radiating out of his dark, dreamy eyes.
I’m completely thrown off, and it’s obvious by the way he’s looking at me that he has absolutely no idea who I am. And if he does, he’s way too caught up with his daughter to make the connection. And there I was sitting at the reception desk barely an hour ago, wondering why he hadn’t connected with me through Tinder, and it was because he was in the middle of trying to save his baby. How fucking shallow does that make me?
Giving him a tight smile, I try to shake it off. “That’s what I’m here for,” I tell him before turning away and giving him some privacy with his baby girl. Just outside the curtains, I start filling out a chart, realizing I still haven’t asked the little girl’s name.
What the fuck is wrong with me? One look at the sexy Tinder dude and I’ve turned into a frazzled mess. I didn’t even talk to the little girl or offer my name. Shit, he was right not to respond to my Tinder match. He must think I’m awful. Mel wouldn’t have had that issue. She would have that little girl laughing and the father already eating out of the palm of her hand.