Chapter 4 #2
I shook my head. “Who am I, anyway? I don’t deserve to be at the Cancer Sucks Conference. I mean I do agree that cancer sucks and all, but I wouldn’t be here if my coach said it wasn’t good PR. I’m just another asshole athlete.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Our drinks arrived and I opted to change the conversation. “So, what kind of doctor are you?”
“Internal Medicine,” she said. “I work in oncology. It’s a—”
“Subspecialty which involves the management and diagnosis of benign and malignant neoplasm,” I completed her sentence.
She looked shocked. “How did you know that?”
I shrugged. “My old college roommate went on to work in oncology.”
“If your old college roommate became a doctor, why did you say you hated doctors earlier?”
“I run my mouth sometimes. Well, lots of times. I’ve got no filter. It’s not the first time it’s gotten me into trouble.”
“I find it hard to believe this is the first time. According to the stories I’ve read, you’re on pace for the most thuggish hockey player of the year.”
“That,” I raised a finger, “is a long story.”
“We’ve got time.”
“I’m not that interesting, trust me. And there’s something else I want to know.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nodded. “Why are you sitting here, staring at your drink at three A.M.? I know that look. I’ve seen that look before.”
Her eyes flickered up and caught the reflection of the lights. “Have you really? Where?”
My mouth went dry and I flashed back to the time when I was a little kid and I’d gotten up to get a drink of water in the flat I shared with my grandmother. In one hand she’d had her honey Jack Daniels and in the other, a stack of bills she went through with teary eyes.
I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what you were thinking about when I walked up here.”
She shook her head. “It’s silly, trust me.”
I studied her face. “Fine. I’ll just assume you were waiting to be picked up.”
She shook her head and her gaze wandered around the room. I made a mental note that her neck was incredibly kissable. “It’s an uncomfortable topic,” she said, stretching her arms up.
“As uncomfortable as you are in the chair right now?”
She giggled. “Even more. I’m not used to sitting. Sorry. What about you, do you have any worries?” she asked, deflecting the question.
“Besides that I’ll disappoint you in bed?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not happening.”
“You’re right. Who are we kidding? I would blow your mind in bed. My motto is ‘underpromise, overdeliver,’ though.”
She smiled. “I can’t tell if you are being serious. But I guess a player like you wouldn’t have a care in the world, would you?”
“Sure, I’ve got worries.” I told her about the power-mongering owner of the Chicago Tigers who was going to trade me to the worst team in the league to assuage his own ego.
She mindlessly played with her hair. “That’s pretty bad,” she agreed.
“Pretty bad?! I think it’s the worst thing in the world that could happen to me. In fact, aside from a good friend or family member dying, I can’t think of a thing worse.”
She laughed, almost evil sounding. “Don’t you get paid millions of dollars?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “But that’s not the point.”
She took another sip of her drink and set it back on the table.
“So have you always wanted to be a doctor?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Ever since I was eight years old.”
“Wow. That’s not a dream a lot of people had.”
She tensed her shoulders for a moment, then released them.
Her eyes reflected the myriad of colored lights from the casino, and part of her seemed to drift away.
“My father died of throat cancer when I was eight. His months of treatment are the most vivid memories I have from childhood. I asked the doctors if they were going to save him, and they said, ‘we’re going to do our best.’ Three months after the cancer had been detected, he was gone.
” She took a deep breath, then brought her eyes, now pained, up to meet mine.
I could feel the pain of her father’s death emanating through her, and my chest began to ache.
I had no words for her, so I just silently nodded.
She went on. “I would go into the hospital and watch the doctors all day. One time I asked a doctor why they could save some people and not others, and she said, ‘Sometimes cancer gets a hold of people, and sometimes they are able to fight it. There’s no logic to who dies and who lives.’ I didn’t accept that, I told her I was going to be a doctor one day and save other people’s daddies. So that’s what I did.”
I leaned back and took a long pull of my drink. “Color me impressed. I now feel awful about having said all that shit about doctors.”
“Thank you.”
I leaned forward. “You didn’t deserve all that. I was just pissed about my stupid trade.”
“I can see why you might be angry about that.”
“Here’s what we can do. Slap me.”
She recoiled. “Excuse me?”
“Slap. My face. Lightly.”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I get into fights every other day on the ice, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “It’ll really make you feel better?”
I nodded.
“Alright.” She made contact with my cheek—a nice solid skin on skin slap.
“Ohhh yeah!” I said, reveling in the sting she laid on me. “I’m really into this kind of thing. You have no idea.”
She laughed loudly, but our server rushed over to my side. “Mr. LeBlanc, shall I have her removed?”
Most times I loved the VIP treatment I got everywhere. Today, though, it was just annoying. “No no,” I said, then leaned in, and whispered to the server, making sure my voice was loud enough that Doctor Red Hot could hear.
“We’re into some really kinky stuff. Imagine, if this is what we do in public, how rough we get behind closed doors.” I leaned back and wiggled my eyebrows.
The man’s face seemed half confused, half disgusted.
Dr. Vidal decided to get in on the action. “Usually he likes it when he’s tied up for his slaps. But he just couldn’t wait tonight.”
“This is why I love you, babe,” I said, the words just sliding out of my mouth too easily.
The server cleared his throat, looking confused as could be. “Of course. Carry on, then.”
We laughed heartily once he left.
“How’d you know my sexual proclivities already, Doctor Vidal?” I asked. “Are you just that good at diagnosing people from a casual conversation?”
“Lucky guess. You’d be surprised how many guys like it like that.”
“Oh?” I quirked an eyebrow. “You have some experience in this arena?”
“One time, a patient asked me to spank him. It was his dying wish.”
“Get out! Did you do it?”
“Sorry, can’t tell you. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”
“That’s bullshit,” I scoffed, then leaned in, taking the last swig of my drink. “I think you’re projecting.”
“How do you figure?”
“It’s psychology 101. Whatever people say casually to make fun of other people, that’s what they really want. So you want to be tied up and rough-housed.”
Her cheeks went red, and I had my answer. “You don’t even know my first name.”
“Well, help me out then, Doctor Red…” Hot.
“I kind of like it like this.”
“Then don’t complain. Where are you from, anyway?”
“Spain. You?”
“Ohio. Wow! Spain! I thought I detected a slight Spanish accent. Only when you say ‘Vidal,’ though.”
“It comes out a little thicker when I drink. Actually, it’s not a Spanish accent, it’s a Catalan accent.”
“What’s Catalan?”
“It’s the language of Catalonia. It used to be its own country until Spain was ‘unified.’”
My heart began to beat louder and a realization crossed me.
I could talk to this girl all night. Something about her put me at ease in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
With other women, they wanted me, sure. But ninety percent of them couldn’t see past my celebrity-dom, and, yes, my extremely large bank account.
Or maybe they were thinking about something else I had that was large. Who knew?
But in this moment, with Doctor Vidal, I felt like I was talking to an old friend who I had known—maybe in another life.
Just then, the casino music changed from David Bowie to a salsa song. I got up out of my chair and extended my arm toward her.
“May I have this dance?”
“Um, right here? We’re in the middle of a restaurant.”
I looked around. It was mostly empty. I shrugged my shoulders. “What’s your point, Doctor? You never salsa danced somewhere that wasn’t an official dance floor before?”
“No, it’s just . . .”
Her protests faded away as she took my hand and we started dancing to Vivir Mi Vida by Marc Anthony.
My hand felt amazing pressed on the small of her back as I led her.
“Where’d you learn to salsa?” she asked between breaths. “Hockey players aren’t supposed to know how to dance.”
I pulled her into my body, and I loved how I could feel the heat of her skin radiating underneath her dress. She pressed into me, and I confirmed. No bra.
“I dated a salsa instructor for a little while,” I said when I brought her in for a spin.
“Oh.”
I could tell she was well versed in the salsa too because she tried to test me a few times. She didn’t lead, exactly, but I could tell she wanted me to step us up a notch.
The song ended, and our bodies pressed tightly together. She was breathing hard and her eyes closed and her back curved as I held her.
Applause sounded around us, and as we zoned back in, we saw a small group people who had formed a little circle of interest around us.
“Holy shit, isn’t that Dustin LeBlanc?” someone said. “Who’s the girl?”
“No photos, please,” I said, waving a hand in the air then turned back to Doctor Vidal. “Guess it’s time to wrap this up. Let’s get you back to your room.”
In the elevator, we could both feel the heat between our bodies. She got out at floor thirty-eight and I accompanied her.
“You really don’t have to,” she said.
“I insist. You never know what kind of creeps you’ll meet this time of night in Vegas,” I said as we reached her door.
“I met you,” she said, turning and leaning against the wall before going inside. “Are you a creep?”
I leaned in and brought my mouth to her ear. I could practically see the hair on her neck standing on end. “What did I tell you about projecting, you creep?” I whispered. “Now you’ve got me thinking you’re truly into some weird shit.”
Her hand found my loosened necktie, and she pulled it down. “Maybe I am, Dustin,” she whispered.
Next thing I knew, our lips were together and hers felt hot against mine, and I was pressing her up against the wall. I ran my hands greedily down the entire curve of her back until I was gripping her ass through the fabric of her bright red dress, tasting her.
She exhaled loudly as I kissed her neck, feeling the cold metal from her locket brush my warm cheek.
My stubble brushed her face and we stared at each other from a hand’s width apart.
Fuck me. Those eyes went so deep and I could tell she had opened up her soul to me. I wanted this night to keep going. I swear I’d dreamt about those eyes. I knew those eyes.
No, I didn’t. I was hallucinating.
“So, do you want to come in?” she asked, petting my tie.
I’ve had one-night stands before. I’m not morally opposed to them in any way. I wanted her more than I’d ever remembered wanting someone. Well, almost anyone.
But tonight, when I opened my mouth, these words came out: “I think I better go to bed. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
What? No! What are you saying, LeBlanc?
“Oh, uh, okay,” she said, slipping out from my grasp. “Well, goodnight then.” She inserted her keycard, went inside and closed the door.
And I was left wondering what force just took control of my mouth to say those words. I just cockblocked myself. Maybe it was for the best, though.
We had a genuine connection. And if there’s one thing that scared Dustin LeBlanc away from sex, it was just that: a true connection.