Page 18 of Goalie Secrets

I shoo Lionel’s hands away from my legs so I can sit up. I’m done here.

“You’re right, she’s not sexy,” Connor says.

My skin prickles in response.

“She’s a fucking goddess,” Connor continues. “I’m thinking about getting injured just to get her hands on me.”

“Whose hands are we talking about?” Sean asks as he enters the treatment room.

Jesus, the amount of time these guys spend being creeps is better spent watching game footage with their gossipy mouths shut.

“Jeremy’s fancy doctor,” Connor answers, angling the phone to give Sean a better view.

Sean leans in and says, “No fucking way she’s a doctor. She’s too young. And too hot.”

“I think the folks from Harvard are more qualified than you to say who is or isn’t a doctor,” I state.

Sean raises his hands as if in surrender. “I didn’t mean no offense. Just saying I’ve never seen a doctor that gorgeous.”

“If you’re into that sort of look,” I comment halfheartedly.

“Who isn’t?” Sean and Connor burst at the same time.

“Jeremy Lopez, do you have a crush on your doctor?” Dexter decides to chime in on this conversation.

Seriously, how do these dumbasses get through the day without tripping over their hanging tongues?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, grow up!” I walk down the hallway which, unfortunately, allows their stupid conversation to carry.

“That’s not a no!” someone shouts.

“His jaw is all locked. He’s only like that before a big game.” That’s Sean, projecting his unwanted observations onto the world.

“Hey, Jeremy!” That’s definitely Connor yapping. “Is your doctor the big game?”

“Fuck off!” My denial is drowned out by laughter.

My friends are ridiculous and need to be replaced ASAP. But one thing they did get right: Dr. Vanya Kapur is a big deal. Comparing her maneuvers to Lionel’s massage is proof. I need whatever regimen she has planned.

I’ll call my inside connection to the practice. Sabrina will set up an appointment with Dr. Kapur if I ask her to. I don’t care that her husband is the captain of an NHL team, she’s a hundred times cooler than he is.

The rest of the week goes by quickly as I assess patients under my care.

I met with a seventy-year-old teacher recovering from a stroke. We worked on improving mobility and created an occupational therapy plan.

A young executive came in with chronic lower back pain that had not been solved by an epidural steroid injection. I recommended further diagnostic imaging and a few simple core strengthening exercises.

Every other meeting involved some version of knee pain or knee surgery recovery. Unfortunately, the knee is a fickle joint that keeps the clinic busy.

“Do you have lunch plans, Vanya?” Sabrina asks after helping me navigate one of the patient portals that I’m unfamiliar with. Each medical institution has its own software with a steep learning curve.

“No plans. Thought I’d grab something at the vending machine and review some files.”

I check my phone to find it’s past one in the afternoon. On cue, my stomach grumbles.

“Can I interest you in a Clover Leaf lunch? It’s one of the food trucks I organize since there aren’t a lot of restaurants in this industrial park. They’ve got healthy salads and rice bowls. Protein shakes, too.”

“That’s surprising. The only food trucks I’ve ever seen serve sweets or fried foods.”