It had been three weeks since he’d fractured his ankle. Today, he’d bug the therapist to let him go from tripod to biped. The cane said “old and decrepit.” He didn’t need a cane. If Jamie had to gimp, he’d rather do it with dignity. Yes, folks, step right up and see the male ego in its native habitat, still intact and in denial. Despite the fact that PT was on the same medical campus as the hospital, the chance of running into Remy was remote. So why had Jamie’s stomach tied itself into knots? Better off without some jealous doctor going all King Kong on him. In a town this size, Jamie could meet plenty of guys. It just wouldn’t be while running in the park. And never on rollerblades. A nice safe bar, maybe something with handicapped access for those with orthopedic issues. Something to look forward to. He hit the automatic door opener, and the heavy glass door swung open. Mixed smells of plaster, lemon cleanser, and adhesive tape wafted out, accompanied by notes of New Age music.
