One trip down the stairs, caused by a lone Lego, while wrapped in a towel, spewing a plethora of profanities, and my cell phone went flying.  

I landed on my a--, and then the ER.  

Between those two occurrences was a FaceTime call, placed by a bouncing phone, to the number of a man I didn’t even truly look at, who had now seen more of my body than anyone had since my Tinder days, over a year ago.  

Three declined calls later, I limped out the door to get myself to the ER before starting my hectic day.  

The ER was packed, but when I saw Nurse Bridget, one of my students’ mothers, I pleaded my case, and she hurried me into an examination room.  

An hour later, I left on crutches with a bruised a--, a fractured ankle, and an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon at four p.m.  

Arriving 15 minutes late for that appointment, I heard the sexy yet very brash accent of a man who clearly had an obsession with punctuality and had, apparently, no bedside manner. Dr. Ethan Stewart, tall, copper-haired, sinfully sexy...was a total a--.  

After a tongue-lashing about how irresponsible I was to, first, leave the ER with such an injury, and second, be late, I put him in his place...or so I thought.  

Turned off by his arrogant attitude, turned on by the roguish glint in his green eyes and the way he spoke, I left his office a hot...and wet mess.  

Upon exiting, my phone rang again. It was the same number from before, and I couldn’t help answering to give the caller a piece of my mind.  

Once in my car, I hung up, tossed my phone on the passenger seat, and then looked out the window to see him with his phone to his ear and a grin spread across his far too handsome face. It couldn’t be.... Could it?