Chapter 2
Chapter Two
JENSEN
THEN—FIVE YEARS AGO
SEPTEMBER
A hot blonde bends over to kiss me, her lips brushing mine. Soft. Warm. Damn. I lean into the kiss, chasing the heat, but she pulls back, leaving me with the faint taste of something I don’t recognize.
I look around. I’m surrounded by a blur of people. Wait. Where am I? Central Park? I blink, the scene shifting. Now she’s in the park, laughing as she chats with her brunette friend. There’s a dog, too, its leash tangling around their legs.
“Jensen… Jensen.”
Her voice morphs into something sharper, closer. A heaviness settles over me as I stir, the park fading to gray. A groan escapes me, my body protesting the idea of moving.
God, I’m so comfortable. Just let me stay here a little longer.
“Hey, Jensen, can you hear me?” The voice cuts through the haze in my brain, pulling me closer to reality. “Jensen. If you can hear me, squeeze my finger.”
Something presses into my palm, and my hand instinctively clenches tightly around it.
More voices follow, words mumbling into meaningless sounds.
My body feels like it’s been anchored down, heavy and uncooperative.
But one thing stands out: my aching erection.
My clustered thoughts spin back to the blonde and her brunette friend. Where did they go? Come back.
My eyelids fight against me, cracking open just enough for light to stab through. I wince, shutting them tight again.
“Jensen. It’s time to wake up.” The voice is soft but insistent, definitely female. Maybe it’s the blonde? I chuckle, my brain too foggy to care about making sense of anything.
“I have a boner,” I blurt, laughter bubbling out of me.
“Is that so?” The same woman’s voice responds, amusement in her tone.
My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the blinding brightness. Shapes blur, then sharpen, until I lock onto a pretty blonde standing over me. Her lips twitch, barely fighting back laughter.
“That’s pretty normal,” she says, patting my arm. “Welcome back. I’m Alley, your nurse. How was your trip?” She winks. “Sounds like you were having some pretty wild dreams.”
Is this the blonde from my dream?
“What’s your pain level?”
I stare at her as the haziness in my brain clears. Oh, yeah. Knee surgery. God, my throat feels like sandpaper.
“Um…” I croak, my voice rough. “Can I have some water?”
“No, sorry. But you can have some ice chips.” She hands me a cup filled with ice—the kind that crunches perfectly between your teeth and tastes like childhood summers—red cups, and Dr. Pepper at Pizza Hut. “Do you have any pain?”
I shake my head, distracted by her smile and the one dimple in her cheek. “God, you’re pretty,” I say, the words spilling out, my drugged brain betraying me.
She grins. “Oh, yeah? Is that why you still have a boner?”
I glance down, the blanket tenting over my lap.
I nod.
“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you’re still loopy enough to forget this conversation.”
I chuckle. “No chance. I’m going to remember this forever. I have a hot nurse.”
She laughs softly, meeting my gaze with amused eyes, then ruffles my hair like I’m her kid brother. “Yeah, well, I’m not your nurse for much longer. You’re in PACU. We’ll be taking you down to your recovery room in a minute.”
“No, don’t go,” I murmur softly, the words slipping out unfiltered. I’m awake, but still disoriented. I can’t hold them back.
She smirks but doesn’t reply, helping me sit up as another nurse approaches, an older woman with a kind face.
“How’s he doing?” the older nurse asks, her gaze landing on me. “Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?”
I clear my throat, swallowing against the dryness. “A four, I guess. It’s not bad.”
“That’s good. I’m Cindy. We’re going to take you down to recovery now. Ready for a ride?”
I nod, then glance at Alley. “Are you coming too?”
Her grin lights up her face. “Slow down, lover boy. I’m coming.”
The gurney rolls forward, the ceiling lights blurring above me as I’m wheeled down the hallway.
The soft hum of wheels on tile lulls me, and I close my eyes for what feels like just a second.
When I open them again, I’m in a different room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, nurses, but none of them are Alley.
“I can’t stop thinking about that nurse,” I say, pulling Matt’s attention away from the TV. We’re about a month into fantasy football and my team’s holding pretty strong.
“So, ask her out,” Matt says, as if I haven’t considered it a hundred times.
“Yeah, because walking up to the PACU floor like a creep is totally normal.” I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Not that it matters, I don’t know her schedule anyway.”
He glances over, one eyebrow raised. “How hot are we talking?”
“Hot. Like a ten out of ten. But not obvious-hot. More girl-next-door hot.” I grin, remembering her teasing me about my hard-on.
“That’s the best kind of hot,” Matt says, taking a swig of his beer. “Go find her. A hospital unit’s never stopped you before. Remember when you stalked that bartender in college? You spent every Friday night at her bar for, what, a month?”
I laugh. “That’s different. Waiting at a bar doesn’t make you look like a stalker.”
“True, but stalking’s kind of your specialty,” he shoots back with a smirk.
I shake my head, chuckling. “Yeah, but that didn’t involve hospital security.”
Matt shrugs. “You’ll find a way, bro. You always do.”
Easy for him to say. If it were Matt, Alley would’ve handed over her number before the anesthesia even wore off.
Hell, he might’ve even received a handy under the sheets.
No need for him to ask, either. Girls throw themselves at him, consequences be damned.
Yeah, he’d have walked out with her number and a grin plastered on his face.
Me? I don’t have it quite that easy, but I do just fine.
I’m not the guy who turns every head when I walk into a room, but I’ve got enough going for me to keep things interesting: a good face, decent build, great sense of humor, and I can charm my way into just about any opportunity.
That’s why I’ve built a solid career in software sales.
I don’t make Matt-level money, but I’ve done well for myself.
I’m thirty, single, and I’ve made smart investments.
The main difference between us, though, is that I actually want to find someone to spend my life with. Matt? Not so much. He’s more about keeping things casual, and in a city like New York—crawling with women who aren’t looking for anything serious—he’s thriving.
“Any suggestions on how to do that?” I ask, kicking back against the couch.
“I don’t know, man. Do the typical Jensen thing. Stalk her, flash her a smile, and let your charm work its magic. Ninety percent chance you score a date, fifty you get laid.”
Matt’s attention shifts back to the game, leaving me stuck contemplating my obsession with Alley.
I keep asking myself what makes her different.
There are plenty of hot girls in New York, and I rarely do a double take, let alone let someone hijack my thoughts for two weeks.
Was it her stupid sexy smile and that one dimple?
The way she flirted back without trying too hard?
I mean, Jesus, she cracked a joke about my boner.
Made me laugh when I was barely conscious.
Not a lot of girls with that kind of sense of humor.
And there was something in her eyes. Something honest, and innocent.
For some reason, I felt like I could trust her.
Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my head.
Maybe Matt’s right. I could go to the hospital, but I don’t want to come off as creepy.
Was she even into me? Would she even say yes if I asked her out?
It’s been two weeks, and she still lurks in the back of my mind.
Every night, I fall asleep thinking about her.
Hell, I’ll probably rub one out to thoughts of her tonight.
My hand drifts to my knee, mindlessly rubbing the ache.
I reach for the bottle of ibuprofen on the side table, pop two into my mouth, and wash them down with a sip of water.
It won’t do much right away, but in thirty minutes, it should be just enough to take the edge off.
Two weeks post-surgery, and I’m ready for this dull ache to leave me the hell alone.
At this rate, I’ll be limping like an old man forever.
I should’ve known better than to jump for that rebound.
It was way out of reach. One wrong twist mid-air, and my knee gave out like a cheap folding chair.
The sound still echoes in my head—like a branch snapping underfoot—followed by the sharp, gut-punch pain that nearly had me seeing stars.
I’ve been playing in an adult basketball league on Tuesday nights for a couple years now.
Unfortunately, those days are gone for at least a couple months.
“I should probably wait to stalk her until I’m off my crutches, huh?”
Matt hesitates, glancing over. “I don’t know. The whole ‘poor me’ thing might actually work. Girls love taking care of a man, and she might feel bad about saying no to a guy on crutches.”
I laugh inwardly. What a Matt thing to say. He thinks women live to serve him, and judging by his track record, they pretty much do.
We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. Matt and I both grew up on the Upper East Side, lived in the same building, and went to the same private schools together. Even now, we still live in the same building, a building he owns in the West Village.
Matt shouts at the TV, but I’m lost in thought—the past, the present, and what I’m going to do to scratch this itch named Alley.
“Hey, speaking of women… Remember that girl Samantha I told you about?” Matt glances over, pulling me from my thoughts.
And, just like that, we’re done talking about Alley. “The one that gave you head at your buddy’s birthday party?”