Chapter 12 – Jensen
“Micah’s looking good out there tonight.”
I nod slowly, watching my friend finish up his ride. “Yeah. I think he’s got this one. His ride’s been the prettiest.”
Dawson angles his body toward me, lifting a brow. “Shoulder holding up?”
“Yeah.” I roll it once, keeping my face unreadable. “Heath taped it up well. We iced it and worked it out this morning. Don't worry. I didn't do anything heavy.”
Dawson slaps my back like I’m made of stone. “You hit your thirties and things start popping and cracking in ways they didn't used to, and one day you realize you're not as invincible as you once were. Take it easy. You’ll be back at it after the break.”
Invincible. There goes that word again.
“I think the timing of the break is good,” I say. "We could all use some time off from riding."
Words I never thought I'd say but am grateful for now. That way I don't fall too far behind in the ranks while attempting to rest my injury.
“Universe tends to have a way of doing that for us, huh?”
“That it does.”
My shades hide half of what I’m doing here—pretending to watch Micah ride while really scanning the arena like a feral animal looking for one woman. One wild and beautiful woman who seems bent on avoiding me ever since we landed in California.
Micah gets his eight seconds and dismounts clean. It's a solid ride all around. I should be hyped for him, and I am, in the way a man can be proud of his buddy while also not giving a single shit about his ride because the only person I’m looking for is Doctor Alba.
“You and Lo good?” I ask.
Dawson nods. “Yeah. We’re good. Going to Hawaii for the break.”
“Sounds nice.”
He winks. “Marriage is nice.” He looks out at the ring where Micah’s currently doing a cartwheel post-ride.
“Let me go talk to my idiot nephew,” he grumbles.
“He’s looking too tight out there. Bet he'll be hurting tonight from riding that stiff and flipping around like a kid.” He strides off toward the chute exit.
I pop a couple sunflower seeds into my mouth, chewing slowly, letting my gaze sweep the arena again.
And then I hear the sweetest fucking music to my ears.
That sharp, to the point voice that to most might sound like she's upset or annoyed.
But I know she's not. I know that she's just smarter than everyone else and we should all be listening to every word she says and obeying.
This is how she talks when she's working.
When she's sharing her knowledge. When she cares.
I turn. And there Catalina is. Cream short-sleeved shirt tucked into bright-red pants hugging hips I had in my hands last night while her pussy swallowed my cock.
Her hair is down in her natural, dark curls.
Not pinned up or swept back in a bun. Loose.
She’s bare faced and looks like every fantasy I shouldn’t be having.
And is she wearing heels? Out here? Why?
Gone is the all-black wardrobe. In its place is color.
And if I knew she'd give me another shot, maybe I'd puff out my chest thinking the glow on her cheeks today is because of what we did in my hotel room. I know that's not the case. Because Doctor Alba made herself perfectly clear that what happened between us couldn’t happen again. And no one will ever get to know. I’m not going to disrespect her by going against our agreement.
“Doctor Alba,” I say, giving her a nod like I’m not categorizing every change on her face this morning. The softness in the corners of her eyes when she looks at me. The slightest tick of her lips like she wants to smile but won't allow herself to since she’s working.
I hadn’t seen her on the plane ride here; the riders took a separate van so Craig could talk bonuses with the staff on the drive to the airport. I see that was a good thing now. One glimpse of her in those pants and I’d have crashed the aircraft just to get a seat next to her.
“Hello,” she says, voice professional and calm like she didn’t ruin me for all other women just twenty-four hours ago. “How’s your shoulder feeling?”
“Fine. How are you?”
She rolls her neck, stretching side to side. “Sleeping on the plane was impossible.”
I remember her saying she needs an eye mask to sleep. I stored that away like it matters, like I’m planning on being around long enough to do anything with that information. I wonder if she’d forgotten hers.
“The guys look good today,” she adds, without missing a beat. “No injuries so far which is good.”
Just another day at work for her.
She's not thinking about last night. She’s definitely not crashing out like I am.
“Hm.” I hum low, breathing her in as discreetly as humanly possible. She smells like clean skin and cocoa butter again. The same way that my pillow and sheets smelled after she left.
Before I can stop staring and sniffing like a creep, she leans into my side and lifts her chin a little.
“Do you mind if I take a quick look at the tape Heath put on your shoulder? I trust him, but I’d like to see how the swelling looks today.”
I clear my throat. It’s rougher now. “No. Go ahead and look.”
She reaches up with gentle fingers, lifting the brace that’s covering my arm to examine it.
The top button of her shirt shifts just enough to give me a flash of white lace underneath.
I swallow hard. She wears lingerie for herself.
Under scrubs. Under work clothes. Just walking around like that while I’m supposed to stay professional.
It’s cruel. It's cunning. I’m trying really hard not to get hard while imagining her naked.
A part of me wishes I didn't know that detail about her. A darker part of me likes knowing that no one else knows. My jeans get tight, and I cross one booted foot over the other, pretending I’m stretching when I’m actually adjusting myself.
She finishes her examination and then slips the brace back over my shoulder gently. “Thanks. It looks good.”
I nod. “No problem.”
“There’s something else I needed to discuss with you.”
My whole body perks up. "Oh, really?"
Because I was looking for you too.
"Okay, so don’t make this weird,” she says softly.
“Well,” I chuckle deeply, “when you start a sentence like that, I’m bound to make it a little weird.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just hand me your phone, cowboy.”
My brows shoot up. “Aw, Doc… you finally giving me your phone number?”
She bites back a smile and shakes her head. I dig my phone out of my pocket and hand it over. She unlocks the screen, her brows rising in surprise.
“You don’t have a passcode on your phone?”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile before she looks back at the screen.
She taps a few times, her gaze intent. She's focused, the same way she is in the med tent when she's stitching someone up.
A moment later, she hands the phone back to me with a nervous smile, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.
“Here.”
I look down at the phone. On the screen is a page I’ve never seen before.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s an app.”
I frown. “You downloaded an app on my phone? You trying to track my location or something?”
She laughs easily this time. “No. This app reads the scores out loud to you after each ride. It also repeats the judges’ notes and pointers and can even provide you with comments people have left online.
I don't fully understand it yet, but it performs some sort of web-scraping for any sort of athletic event so that you can hear after the fact what happened.” She waves her hand like it's no big deal.
"We used it when I worked for the baseball team to recap while players were in recovery.
Something about hearing things audibly a few times seemed to help the feedback sink in.
It also follows web content accessibility guidelines, which means it's accessible for fans who want recaps on players stats and scores who may have a disability that prevents them from reading online. "
She takes a deep breath and looks up at me nervously.
I stare at her.
“That way,” she continues, “you don’t have to worry about mixing up your scores, and you can still get constructive feedback without having to miss anything valuable.
It'll help you... I think… the feedback.
You'll know what to work on to improve your next ride, and what the judges are looking for. You can also text your grandma your score with confidence in case she misses an event.”
She pauses and looks at me with a smile. Something in my chest shifts.
I uncross my feet and stand taller, gazing down at her.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to make of her.
Because she didn’t have to do that. Didn’t have to remember that I sometimes misread the numbers, so I've stopped looking. Didn’t have to try to find a solution to make my life easier. She didn’t have to care about me.
And yet… she did.
And that is the part that’s going to fuck me up way more than the white lace lingerie under her shirt, or the memory of her tight pussy wrapped around my cock and the soft moans she makes when she comes.
She did this so I wouldn’t have to miss out. She did this to keep me safe.
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. I know I'm staring. Probably looking at her with confusion and admiration written all over my big face. Judging by the way her smile just dropped, I’m guessing I’m making her feel insecure now.
“I said don’t make it weird,” she huffs out and folds her arms across her chest.
“Sorry. I’m trying not to. Why did you do this?”
“Because it’s my job to make sure that you’re performing at your best.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s why.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s it, Jensen.”
“I think you care about me,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. I'm trying to be playful, but my voice is all husky. I think she cares about me more than just a patient. I think Catalina likes me.
“We’re going to be working together for the next few months, and I care about all of my athletes equally.”
“I think you care about every patient you’ve ever had,” I counter.