Chapter 8 – Catalina #3
“Something like that.” He tilts his head, studying me again. “It’s the one thing I remember from waking up after surgery. Looking up at your face and thinking... wow... damn... I was unconscious and almost missed this…?”
His voice trails off, but I want to know how the rest of that sentence ends. Jensen rarely keeps a thought to himself. Whatever is in his head tends to come straight out of his mouth, consequences be damned. Most of the time, it's infuriating. Lately, though, I find myself looking forward to it.
“So, why surgery then? Did you always know you wanted to cut people open?” he asks, moving the subject into safer territory.
I glance down at my glass and give the amber liquid a good swirl.
“When we were in elementary school and had to write what we wanted to be when we grew up, I always picked whatever sounded the smartest. I wanted to make my parents proud because I knew the homework would get sent home for them to see. Every time I wrote down doctor or surgeon, they’d see it later, they’d gush in Spanish to each other when they thought I wasn’t listening. ”
He hums thoughtfully. “You chose it to impress them?”
I nod. "As you can imagine that gushing was attention that I desperately craved. Doctor and surgeon sounded good, and I think I repeated it so much I eventually believed that’s what I wanted to do.” I shrug. “It might sound foolish, but I lived for their approval.” I still do.
“Thankfully, I ended up loving med school and surgery, so it all worked out.”
“Well,” he says, leaning forward, “I think you picked the right thing. Not that you need me to tell you that.”
I smile, glance out over the backyard again.
The soft hum of laughter floating through the smoky, mountain-cooled air is relaxing.
I'm glad I didn't go back to the hotel room to perform surgery in my head. Everything about this place feels different from California. It's looser, quieter, slower. I like the way it forces me to breathe. Maybe it’s the conversation with Jensen that’s making me more relaxed, too. Oh, that’s probably the whiskey.
“So, no riding for four days then,” I say.
He lifts his arm slightly, showing off the sling one of my trainers put him in after his MRI. “Yeah.”
“You don’t seem that bummed about it anymore?”
He shrugs. “I know it’s the right thing to do. I want to stay in this long term.”
Of course he does. Because he has zero intention of slowing down, even when his body and every medical recommendation scream otherwise.
I finish the rest of my drink faster than I should, and Jensen must notice something shift in my posture like I'm trying to run away because he quickly blurts out: "Tell me five things about you that no one else would know.”
I look at him. “Why do you think I have five secrets?”
He chuckles. “I think you have many more secrets than that. But I want to know five, Doc. Hit me with them, and they better be good.”
I raise a brow. “Why?”
His voice dips. He leans forward, his knee bumping mine a little. I don’t pull away from the contact this time.
“So that I know more than any other man does about you.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
” It’s not. God help me, it’s absolutely not stupid at all.
His words land somewhere low and warm, brushing against the part of me that craves validation and acknowledgement.
The part that still struggles to believe I could hold a man's attention this completely.
I immediately blame the whiskey. All of it. I never should've ordered the first glass, let alone considered a second. Otherwise, I'd shove his stupidly handsome face away and tell him his ridiculous lines aren't going to work on me.
The problem is, I'm not entirely convinced that's true anymore because I think they’re working. I think they’re working well.
I try to think, to come up with five things that feel safe but are still true. This is what normal people do on dates. I need the practice. That’s all this is. Practice. It’s not even a date! I’m just having a single drink with one of my athletes in a city neither of us are tied to.
“Okay,” I say letting out a deep breath. “Here we go.”
He leans in closer.
“I think people who eat pizza crust first are serial killers, and if I find out that a patient does it before or after surgery, I make sure they know it’s bad for their heart health even though it’s a lie."
He bursts out a laugh. "Damn."
I continue with my list. "My favorite color is red. I’ve always wanted to go to a hockey game but never had anyone to go with and would feel weird sitting in the crowd alone.
If I could go back in time, I would have chosen to work with the San Diego Suns professional hockey team, and not the Breakers.
I wear an eye mask every single night or I can’t sleep.
Staying in California as long as I did is one of the biggest regrets of my life. Staying with my ex is a close second.”
He's motionless, watching my face and waiting for me to finish. When he’s sure I’ve given him five, he sits back in his seat. “That was good.”
“You asked for five things.”
“I didn’t expect you to deliver.”
“Well?” I ask, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. My whole-body itches with nerves. Am I breaking out in hives? I can't remember the last time I’ve ever been this vulnerable. It’s not a good feeling.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to make fun of me?”
His eyebrows pull together. “When have I ever done that? I think a lot of things about you, but none of those would ever result in making fun of you.”
Heat crawls up my neck, simmering under my skin as he keeps smiling at me.
He’s so… big. And warm. And solid. And all I can think of are large adjectives because I’m not used to being looked at like I’m interesting.
He’s emotionally stable in a way that’s unsettling, because how can he be this self-aware and kind, yet choose to do a reckless job without care for his physical safety? It doesn’t make sense.
Our server slides up to our seats and offers another drink. I order it before my brain can stop my mouth. I shouldn’t, but what’s another whiskey at this point? I need something to mess with, and my current straw’s been chewed to bits.
“I’ve had a lot of thoughts about you, Doctor Alba,” he repeats like he wants to be sure I heard him the first time.
“Remember, you can call me Catalina. We're not working.”
His eyes narrow. “Red’s a pretty color on you.” His gaze drops to my chest and then back up to my eyes. “I like that shirt, Catalina.”
I swear I can feel myself turning the shade of it hearing him use my name. “I don’t do well with compliments.”
“Why?”
“Because my parents didn’t give many to me as a kid.” Holy vulnerable!
“Well, I intend on changing that.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. It pins me. Holds me. And just like that, the air between us shifts—sharpens into something I absolutely should not be feeling for one of my former patients and a guy I’m going to need to work with for the next several weeks.
“And why hockey?” he asks softly.
“Your first crush might’ve been on Jessica Alba, but mine was a professional hockey player for the Manhattan Mayhem.”
Jensen throws his head back and laughs. “I see.”
“One of his teeth flew out during a game I was watching with my dad, and I no longer had the crush.”
“But that didn’t stop you from loving hockey?”
I shake my head. “It didn’t. There were other players for me to crush on.”
His grin is all mischief as he gives a wide, toothy smile. “I’ve got all mine still. Perfectly straight, too.”
I’ve noticed.
The server returns with my drink. I take a sip I shouldn’t enjoy but absolutely do. “Good to know.”
His smile grows even bigger. “Why’d you stay in California for so long if you didn’t want to?”
“Work. My parents.”
He nods slowly. “Where would you want to live permanently?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of why this series is working out for me. I’m enjoying traveling and seeing different places. This is my first time in Colorado. Maybe one of these cities will stick…”
He nods again, thoughtful this time. “And your ex? Why’d you stay with him for so long?”
I take a much bigger swallow of my drink with that question. “Not something I want to talk about tonight.”
His eyes narrow a little. “Well, I like that I now know five things no one else knows. Though I’m guessing your ex knows you regret staying with him.”
Heat prickles up my neck. He does. And I’m glad he knows.
“Tell me five things that no one knows about you,” I say.
He settles back in his chair, like he’s been waiting for me to ask. “I like talking to you.”
“You’ve already said that.”
“Let me finish,” he says, lips curving. “That was my warm-up and number one.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse flickers. It’s almost like he notices it because his gaze drops right to my neck before moving back to my eyes.
“Fishing,” he starts, “is one of my favorite things to do when I get time off work. My grandma has this lake, and I love sitting out there with nothing but the bugs humming and my line cast.”
I try to imagine him doing that. The image fits with what little I know of Jensen.
“Marriage and kids are something I want. Badly.” He continues without pausing.
“Most people think I hate my mom for choosing drugs, and my dad for choosing her, but I don’t.
I’m glad my grandma raised me. I don’t hold any ill will toward either of them.
I wouldn't have gotten into riding if my parents raised me.”
“That’s only four things.”
Something shifts in his posture. A hesitation. Like the fifth is something he doesn’t say to just anyone and maybe has never said out loud before.
I take another sip of my drink, letting the burn warm my chest, knowing I should stop because he’s starting to look less like a reckless athlete and more like… a friend? A hot crush?
I’m not really sure.