I felt terrible. Exhausted, achy, nauseous, my head throbbing. I wanted to do nothing so much as curl up and whimper myself to sleep. Given that I would never live that down, I made a wisecrack instead.
"Do you have a little white dress? I've had this deep-seated nurse fantasy about you, Ericson."
"A pervert like you would. Who hit your head?" she demanded.
"No one," I mumbled.
"Fell down the stairs to my apartment."
"Bullshit, Ryan," she said, her voice hard.
Her hands were no less gentle with the cool cloth, though.
"You've been running around on this case. That's where you got the bump on the head. Isn't it?" I started to protest.
"Oh, save it," she said, letting out a breath.
"If you didn't already have a concussion, I'd tie your heels to my car and drive through traffic." She held up two fingers.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Fifty," I said, and held up two of my own.
