Sleeping With The Enemy. Jamie Denton

or slim hips were cradled within his own so unconsciously and so naturally?

      “Sanders, get your head up,” he yelled at Jimmy, who was charging straight for Crawford.

      The defensive lineman hit the pad, head down. Chase swore and dropped his blocking dummy. Snagging Sanders by the face mask, he pulled the player toward him. He managed to shout a few oaths common on the football field, then threatened Sanders with a seat on the junior varsity bench for the season.

      The kid started to say something, but Chase didn’t hear him. From out of nowhere, he took a direct hit. And that was the last thing he remembered before his world went dark.

      “THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I’m fine.”

      Dee offered Chase her best tolerant expression, the one she reserved for difficult patients, particularly the male population being as they were the ones more apt to complain about obeying doctor’s orders. Especially orders from a female doctor. Regardless of how great he kissed, Chase was a credit to his gender in the doctor/patient relationship area.

      She slipped the otoscope back into the holder, before making a notation on the chart. “You were tackled, hit the ground and rendered unconscious.” She glanced up from the chart and graced him with a smile. “Be a good boy and let me do my job, Chase.”

      He narrowed his gaze and glared at her from his seat on the edge of the exam table. “I’m fine.” The firmness of his voice held a determination that didn’t sway her in the least.

      He probably was going to be perfectly fine, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. She never did when it came to her patients, and right now, Chase Bracken was her patient. “A CT scan will tell me if you’re fine or not. It’s just a precaution,” she added in the face of his deepening scowl.