"A prescription over a thousand? No way!"
Chris and Bridget were hanging out, both sporting leather jackets emblazoned with logos of a professional racing team.
Bridget had done her homework. She'd gone online to dig up some info.
Maybe she got the logo wrong, because she couldn't find any team tied to Chris.
What she did find, though, were loads of standards for professional racers.
Amateur bikers have fewer restrictions, but professional racers are held to some seriously strict standards, one of which is perfect vision.
Someone with a prescription that high couldn't possibly be a pro racer.
Sylvia was having a hard time figuring out what was real. Could Chris be pulling the wool over her eyes?
She pondered this for a few seconds, then looked up at Chris just as he was turning to look at some X-rays, giving her a clear view through his glasses.
Looking through those lenses made Sylvia's head spin.
Chris would have a tough time faking something like that.
Plus, Rupert didn't bat an eye at Chris wearing glasses, so it seemed legit that he was nearsighted.
Chris was focused on the images, pointing to a spot, "See here? No bone damage, so it's not a big deal. Just feeling a bit off walking for a couple of days."
Sylvia followed his gaze, catching sight of his wrist—clean, with no sign of a watch.
But Sylvia distinctly remembered Naomi mentioning that Fanny often custom-made watches for people she fancied.
If Chris really loved watches, he'd likely wear one all the time, leaving a mark on his wrist.
After mulling it over, Sylvia decided to test the waters. She wheeled closer to Chris.
Chris turned and nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw Sylvia so close. "Whoa, what's with the sudden close-up?"
"I just noticed, Dr. Lennon, you've got really nice wrists. They'd look great with a watch."
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