2. Caroline
2
CAROLINE
A s the team doctor for the Iowa Gray Hawks ice hockey team, I shouldn’t have any favorite players. I’m supposed to be professional and detached. But gorgeous, charming Brock Mann makes that mission damn near impossible.
When he calls my personal cell phone number to warn me that his social media accounts have been hacked, I find myself twirling a lock of my hair around my index finger. As soon as I notice the girly and flirtatious movement, I force myself to sit up straight in my chair, place my errant hand flat on my desk, and thank my lucky stars that the blasted man couldn’t see me acting like a silly schoolgirl with a crush on the hunky athlete.
In an efficient tone, I say, “Thank you for alerting me about this breach. I’ll be sure to ignore any requests for money that appear to come from you.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that Brock notices the sudden shift in my demeanor. The man always seems to have his finger on my pulse––even though I’m the one who is supposed to be monitoring his health.
“What just happened there? It sounded like you built an entire wall between us in a matter of seconds.” His relaxed drawl is the exact opposite of the clipped manner of speaking that I had just adopted with him.
“Nope, just trying to be efficient. Was that the only reason for your call?” My words come out in a rush as I fully morph into prim, respectable, and time-crunched physician mode.
It’s obvious that the abrupt change in my attitude has caught him by surprise when he stumbles a bit over his words for the first time since I’ve known him. “Oh, umm, yeah… I guess that was all I needed.”
“Very well, then.” Deciding that sounds a bit too hoity-toity, I add, “Let’s hope I don’t see you after tomorrow night’s game.”
“You don’t want to see me?” He sounds crushed.
I hate it that my heart does a flip-flop in my chest at his immediate, vulnerable response. It’s obvious by his tone that my words have affected him in a major way.
Softening a bit, I clarify, “You only come to see me after games when you’re injured. I know you have a reputation for having a thick skull, but there is a limit to how much abuse it can endure.”
I’ve tried to have this crucial conversation with him many times in the past, but he always immediately shuts me down.
True to form, he says, “I’m tougher than I look, Doc. Besides, that’s what buckets were made for––to protect what little brains dumb jocks, like me, have.”
The man is hardly a ‘dumb’ jock. I’ve taken note of the eloquent way he speaks when he’s not playing Mr. Tough Guy, and rumor has it that he’s quite an investment guru. Rather than addressing his self-effacing comment, I remind him, “Helmets can only do so much.”
Evidently tiring of my Debbie Downer warnings, Brock says in a confident tone, “I’ll be fine. I always am. But even if I’m not, I have the best team doctor in the world to patch me up and get me back out on the ice.”
While I appreciate his unwavering faith in my abilities, I can’t shake the nausea-inducing feeling that one of these times his wounds are going to be too severe for me to treat. The mere idea of him being permanently injured and unable to play the sport he so obviously loves makes my stomach churn.
“I’ll always do what I can to help you, but I can’t perform miracles,” I remind him.
“Oh, I think you can.” His frisky tone is back.
Knowing that his flirting is completely addictive to me, I decide to shut him down before the temptation becomes too much. My voice sounds snippy when I say, “Well, I can’t, and it would be wise of you to remember that and not expect it of me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, sounding utterly sincere.
The way he picks up on my need to distance myself from him and immediately backs off is completely endearing. Damn it!
Knowing that talking to him more will only make my unwise crush on him grow stronger, I effectively end the conversation by saying, “I have work to do. Good luck at your game tomorrow, Mr. Mann.”
If he notices how brisk my words are, he gives no indication of it as he lets out a lighthearted chuckle and says in a deep voice, “I’m almost hoping for a minor injury, so I get to spend some extra time with you, Dr. Wilson.”
I quickly tap the button to hang up, toss the phone down, then flop my forehead down on my arm resting on my desk. It was silly of me to suddenly shift to the formality of referring to him as ‘Mr. Mann’ after knowing him for all of this time.
The way he immediately picked up on it, and called me Dr. Wilson was adorable. The man is absolutely irresistible. Unfortunately, that is exactly what I must do… Find a way to resist him.
A sharp rap on my office door pulls me away from my thoughts of the handsome hockey player. When my trusty nurse, Shayna, pokes her head in to say my next patient is ready, I fully shift into efficient doctor mode––for real this time.
As I wrap my stethoscope around the back of my neck, I decide that perhaps staying busy will help me forget about my unwise, forbidden crush on Brock Mann. Granted, that plan has never worked before, but maybe today is the day it will finally do the trick.
Or not . Intrusive thoughts of Brock’s glistening, straining muscles as he makes use of the team’s weight room emerge in my head before I even make my way out of my office’s door.