Chapter 4 – Catalina #2
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Let's get back on topic. Your shoulder. How did it feel after this last ride?”
He ignores the topic change. Instead, he looks directly at me, something new and raw in his hazel eyes, something unsettling in its clarity.
“I like you.” He says it so seriously, it surprises me.
“You shouldn’t. You should trust that I’ll do what’s best for your health while you're riding, and that’s it. You're a body to me. A job. We're not here to become friends.”
He smiles like he's full of mischief and zero sense before slowly shaking his head. “No. I like you.”
I tap my foot on the stool. “Well, I don’t like you.” It’s a lie.
“I know.”
And for a second—just one, blink-and-miss-it second—I swear something flickers across his face. Something that almost looks like sadness. But just as quickly it's gone, and in its place, I feel guilt.
“Come to my hotel room tonight.”
I choke, a quiet, humiliating sound that has me setting my glass down before I drop it. I’m rarely caught off guard. Okay, I’m never caught off guard. But him saying he likes me and then asking me to come back to his hotel room has officially caught me off guard.
“For what? To look at your shoulder?”
His mouth cracks wide in that too-big smile again. He definitely had braces as a kid. Probably an expander too. The man’s got a jawline that could slice marble. And I bet he sleeps silently—no snoring, no mouth-breathing, no future CPAP machine humming next to the bed.
God, that was the most annoying part about living with Davis.
The freaking hum of that machine when I was desperate for rest after being on my feet for eighteen straight hours.
And trust me, as a heart doctor, I know the importance of proper oxygen while resting.
He needed it. But fuck sometimes I just wanted to rent a hotel room so I could be alone with my thoughts.
“No,” he says, blinking at me, enjoying this far too much.
“Then… what?”
“Come test out just how good the heart you fixed still ticks so you can stop worrying so much about it.”
I blink at him, deadpan. “I'm not worried. And I know how it ticks. I touched it.”
“Then why don’t you hold it once more?”
I lean forward, placing my hand delicately on his thigh. It’s solid. Powerful. And all I can think—because apparently my brain hates me—is how strong his hips must be when he fucks.
Nope. Don’t think about that. Focus on the professional strength in his body.
His legs are strong enough to stay locked around the back of a bull. He won’t get thrown. Good for him. He'll probably be okay.
His body tenses beneath my touch and when my gaze lifts, I notice the tick of a muscle in his neck and the strong clench of his jaw like he's bracing for my words.
“I know anatomy’s hard for you,” I murmur, “but your heart isn’t inside your dick.”
He throws his head back and laughs, full-bodied, clutching the very chest I repaired. And dammit… the corner of my mouth betrays me, tugging upward into a smile I can’t hide anymore. I'm not sure if I've ever had a man laugh with me and not at me.
He sees my smile. His grin turns smug.
“Come back to my room,” he says again.
“Jensen. Why?”
“Because I think we could have some fun together.”
“And why would you think that?” I gesture to myself. “Do I look like I’m giving off fun vibes? I just scolded you for fifteen minutes straight.”
“You look like a fun time.” He says it without hesitation.
I shake my head, but my heart is doing something strange in my chest that's unfamiliar. It’s racing.
Need to get out of this situation. Now.
“No thanks. Not interested.” I pull out my wallet, toss a few tens on the table, ready to flee this disaster of a conversation.
He stops me—hand wrapping around my wrist. Not rough this time like he was earlier. It's gentler. Almost careful. And that throws me even more than the proposition for a fun time in his hotel room.
“Think about it,” he says softly, his eyes sincere. “Wouldn’t it feel good to fuck a patient whose chest you’ve been inside?”
I stare at him. “Is that what this is about? Sleeping with your surgeon? Is this some kind of… medical kink?”
He shrugs, utterly unbothered, but he hasn’t let go of my wrist yet.
“I’m not sure. I just know you’re beautiful, and you're smart. I like sex. I think I'd like it even more with you.”
Classic male with a one-track mind logic.
He's not thinking of the consequences for me or him. I have a new job that's at risk and athletes that I need to respect me. Him banging the series doctor would just be another night for him that he’d forget the next morning.
“Not interested in having sex with a patient. Not interested in having sex with you.”
I tug my arm from his grip—though the heat of his touch lingers, crawling up my skin. I've never been touched by a patient before. And in the past, none of this would have mattered. They are just bodies to cut into. Things to fix. There's no point in getting attached to them.
Jensen Grant. Asking me for sex? That’s… rich.
And ridiculous.
I turn away from him, ready to race out of the bar and forget this whole night even happened.
“See you at the airport tomorrow, doc!” he calls as I walk away.
I don’t look back. I don’t wave goodbye. I don’t even breathe until I’m next door reaching my hotel room. I have no idea what my sister sees in rough, untrained men like this. Truly. Her husband Lawson Marshall might be the exception, but Jensen Grant sure isn't.
And that will be the last time I ever take a “private” meeting with a cowboy again.