Free Taboo Love With The Doctor (BBW Contemporary Medical Stepbrother Romance) by Ava May

In Love with Dr. Stepbrother
     
    Chapter 1
    As far as emergency room visits went, this one hadn't been too bad. Chris knew; she spent a fair amount of time here. Between her job and sports activities, injuries happened often. Today, no irate family members shouted at each other, no patients argued loudly with the staff, no crying children tugged her heart strings. A relatively peaceful place to spend a Thursday afternoon. If only her ankle wasn't screaming in pain.
    Think of something fun. Like how good it felt running with that football, right before she got tackled.
    The curtain to the cubicle where she sat was suddenly whisked back and… holy moly! A cuter-than-shit man in scrubs stood in front of her. He looked at her briefly, then looked down at a file.
    "What seems to be the problem today?"
    Cute, but kind of dumb. If he'd look up for a second, he'd see the ice bag on her leg propped on the table.
    "I hurt my ankle. I think it's just sprained, but my boss wanted me to get an x-ray before I go back to work."
    "What kind of work do you do?" Still looking down at the paper.
    Crabby too. "I'm a mechanic." That got him to look at her.
    "You did this at work?"
    "No, I was on break, playing football…"
    Now she had his full attention.
    "You play football?" His eyes widened and maybe she imagined it, but she could swear she heard a note of disdain in his voice.
    Chris bit her tongue, wanting to give this arrogant man a piece of her mind. She hurt, she was missing work, and the smell of hospital disinfectant had started a colossal headache. But she always tried to be polite to everyone, no matter how much they annoyed her.
    "Yeah, me and some of the guys at the auto dealer where I work have a team. We practice sometimes, on break."
    "You play football with men?"
    "Yes, little old me plays football with men. I don't think I'm going to get crushed, do you?"
    Now he took a moment to actually look at her. So far, he hadn't made any mention of her being a plus-size woman. Points to him for that. Too busy being amazed that a girl played a boy's sport, probably. A hint of a smile crossed his lips, then disappeared. And was that a trace of heat in his eyes?
    "No, I suppose not. But you should be more careful." He flipped through the chart. "The x-rays don't show a break, so you've just sprained it. Get an ankle brace, keep it iced tonight. I'll prescribe an anti-inflammatory and pain pills. I can give you one right now. Do you have someone to drive you home? A husband? Wife?"
    Oh, no he did not. "A wife? You assume I'm gay because I'm big, have short hair and don't wear makeup?"
    "And play football."
    WTF? Where did this guy learn his bedside manner?
    "Yeah, and play football. I like to fuck men, okay? That's right, I cuss too. And no, I'll be driving myself home, so just give the scripts and let me out of here."
    She swung her leg off the table and tried to stand. He grabbed her shoulders and stopped her. She pushed him away, the tears she'd fought since her injury threatening to spill.
    "I'll get an aide and a wheelchair. Hospital policy. Don't hurt yourself further on the way out."
    With a final disapproving frown, he let her go. Even through the haze of pain and anger, she admired the way his ass filled out his scrubs as he walked away.
     
    ****
     
    "A sprained ankle? You sprained your ankle the day before our big weekend? Christina, how many times have I asked you to be careful?"
    "Calm down, Mom. I can still walk. It's not even a sprain really, more like a strain. It's braced, doesn't hurt, and I have pain pills. No biggie."
    "But you won't be able to wear the shoes that go with the dress I bought you."
    Oh darn . Chris threw her purse on a chair, turning her head to hide a smile. Her mom was freaking out enough about her upcoming wedding. No need to irritate her further. Amanda had planned this weekend event for months and wanted everything to be perfect. Which, for Chris, would mean not having to put on the frilly, fuchsia