Chapter 7 – Jensen #2
The guys leave, and it’s only me left at the table. Leaned back in my chair, long legs stretched out, watching her like I’m incapable of doing anything else.
She feels it. I can tell by the way her spine straightens, the subtle flick of her lashes before her eyes cut to mine. Guess it'd be hard to miss considering it's just me, June, and her now.
She mouths to me, "Stop staring."
“No.” I mouth back.
June finally pauses for a breath and then immediately drops her gaze back to her phone, thumb swiping in quick little flicks. Catalina’s voice cuts through, flat and unimpressed as she looks over her shoulder.
“Oh. You’re on dating apps.”
June lights up like someone plugged her into a wall. “Yes. Oh my God, the pickings out here in Colorado are insane!”
Well. Raf will be thrilled to hear this news—if he ever grows the balls to admit he’s obsessed with her just to get rejected.
“I just log in to whatever city we’re in,” she continues, “and go out for fun when everyone’s asleep. I’m a night owl. And if I’m not gaming, making content, or editing photos, I’d rather be out exploring and dancing.”
Okay. Never mind. She’s literally the opposite of Raf’s fantasy girlfriend. He'd rather be in his hotel room. Probably jerking it to photos of June and imagining she doesn’t like to go out and dance or do any of the things she just rattled off.
“I see,” Catalina responds.
“Are you in a relationship?” June asks her.
“No.”
My head snaps up before I can stop it. Catalina’s eyes flick to mine—quick, sharp, like she can physically hear the thump my heart gives.
She probably could if she put those surgeon hands on me again.
Would know the exact moment that it skipped a beat over hearing that she's single. I should have assumed. She didn’t mention it last night.
But it’s good to have it confirmed for me through someone else.
“And I’m not interested in getting in one,” she adds, cool as ice. "My last relationship was... not good."
"Oh, when did it end?"
"Six months ago."
June nods. "Well, no better way to get over someone than by getting under someone new."
I lean forward. "I couldn't agree more with that."
Catalina glares at me while June ignores my presence.
“Let me help you set up a dating profile.”
Wait. That's not how this was supposed to go.
“Um, I don’t—” Catalina starts.
It’s too late. June snatches her phone like she’s disarming a bomb.
If I were Superman, that thing would be a melted puddle on the table with my laser beam eyes.
It takes her an impressively short amount of time—concerningly short—to build a profile for the doctor before she tosses the phone back at Catalina’s chest.
“There you go. You’re welcome.”
Catalina frowns down at the screen, brows pinching together as she reads what June wrote.
“I don’t think some of this is true.”
June shrugs. “Everyone exaggerates a little on these apps."
Catalina's lips form a straight line. "I don't like lying."
June ignores her. "Do you have a nickname? I figured ‘Doctor Alba’ was too formal to put for your name.”
Catalina bristles instantly. “No nickname. Catalina is fine.”
“Perfect. You’re all set then! Start swiping, update your location when we reach a new place, and when you get a match, we’ll double date in whatever city we're in. It'll be so fun!”
Double date. Yeah. That sounds like hell on earth. For me.
Catalina forces a tight smile that June doesn’t decode. June pushes away from the table to stand.
“Okay, off to meet my date for the night. He's an athlete with biceps the size of my head." She points to her head, her blue eyes widening comically. "I'm going to see if he can lift me for a video I'm posting on social media. See y’all in the morning!”
“Sure,” Catalina says quietly as June walks off.
As soon as she’s gone, I lean across the table. "Do you also like biceps the size of your head? Because mine are pretty damn large." I flex one in the air so she can see, and it must be my lucky night, because her eyes flick there for a second before cutting back to my face with a hard glare.
"They weren't strong enough to protect your shoulder, so they must not be that big."
I drop my arm with a laugh. “Touche. So... dating apps?”
She pockets her phone and rolls her eyes as she stands. Before she can open her mouth, the freaking server materializes at our empty table again.
“Are you sure about the dessert tonight, Doctor Alba?” he asks her with hope in his eyes.
“No. Thanks.”
“Aw, come on,” he presses. “I get off in thirty minutes. Dessert’s just enough time for us to grab a drink after.”
Her discomfort is instant, and I can feel it like it’s something palpable. “No.”
“I’m great conversation. I promise.”
“She said no thanks, dude. Fuck off. Damn. She's not interested.” The words barrel out of me.
Catalina looks at me, surprise flashing across her face. She doesn't look irritated by my outburst. She looks relieved.
“Whoa, no problem, cowboy. It was just a question,” the guy mutters, hands raised as he backs away with the checks.
When he’s finally gone, I arch a brow at her.
“What?” I demand. “You’re not going to tell me I was a total dick to him? That I should have been nicer even though he was being pushy and not accepting your no?”
She bites the corner of her lip, fighting a smile she won’t give me. God, I want her to. I’ve seen her smile exactly once—last night in Austin when I made her laugh—and she was so fucking pretty it nearly knocked me flat on my back.
When she reins it in, the glare returns. “No. That guy was annoying. He deserved your stupid little pissing competition.”
“He wanted to fuck you,” I say plainly.
“I know. I can’t imagine why.”
That makes me sit back. “You can’t imagine why? Are we doing this again?”
She shrugs and it’s the first crack in her armor. The first slip of insecurity she’s let me see.
I lean forward. “Come have a drink with me.”
I’m prepared for her to shut me down, to humble me, to teach me that I don’t get to ignore her professional guidance in public, then spend time with her in private. I’m bracing for it. I'm shooting my shot anyway. Again.
This time, she shocks the shit out of me by saying, “Fine, but you’re buying.”
Then she grabs her purse and turns on her heel.
I’m on my feet in a second, following her out of the restaurant, watching every confident swing of her wide hips as she heads toward the exit. And tonight—thank the rodeo clown gods—she’s not wearing black. She’s in jeans that hug her thick ass perfectly.
It’s an ass that shouldn't be hidden behind scrubs or black. An ass that should be on display. In my hotel bedroom. In my hands. Beneath me. And something in me, something stupid and reckless and way too hopeful, thinks I might have a chance at making that happen tonight.