I finished my soup and reached for my laptop. I typed Wes Blakefield into the search engine. I clicked on the star’s website. He had his own page dedicated to his records. I skimmed the stats, but they meant nothing to me. He had won awards I’d never heard of. I didn’t care about football. I hit the back button and clicked on an article .
I chewed my bottom lip as I moved from article to article, picture to picture, studying him. Absorbing information about his social life. The man was single and seemed to be at every social event in the city. His killer smile was beyond photogenic. There were women. Lots of women. It seemed he had a new girl on his arm at every restaurant, charity event, or party. I never saw the same one twice .
I slammed the computer shut and headed for the shower. I peeled off my scrubs and stepped into the warm water. If I could wash away everything that happened today, I would. But in less than twelve hours, I would be right back there, starting all over again. I ran the loofah over my body, when an image of Wes flashed in front of me. I scowled at myself. He was the wrong kind of man to start thinking about. He was clearly a womanizer. An egotistical maniac. He may have the rest of the world fooled, but I knew a narcissistic prick when I met one. I should—I had lived with one for a year .
I made the decision right then. I had to give him to Dr. Evans. There was no way I could keep him as a patient. There was something bad about Wes Blakefield. The more I scrubbed the bubbles into my skin, the more I knew I had to stay far away from him. He made me uncomfortable. He made me think things I shouldn’t think about. He made me want to wipe that smug playboy look right off his damn perfect face .
I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my body. I placed my hand against my cheek. Did he actually think I was attractive? When I looked in the mirror, I saw a doctor. A surgeon. A woman who put her patients first. I let my hair tumble from the clip holding it in place .
I quickly twisted it back into a bun. It didn’t matter what Wes Blakefield saw. After tomorrow morning, he would
no longer be my patient, and I’d never have to see him again .
Five
Wes
I rubbed my eyes, grumbling about the lack of sleep I got last night. Every fifteen minutes, there was a nurse taking my vitals. And they sure as hell didn’t look like the hot nurse I fucked the other night. I even offered to pay them to leave me alone, but they only laughed, thinking I was joking .
I let my head sink into the pillow, hoping I could at least catch a nap before the next one came in, poking me with some kind of torture device .
“Good morning, Mr. Blakefield.” The door swung open and in walked Dr. Ashworth .
I sat forward, forgetting how exhausted I was. I suddenly had a new burst of energy .
“Hey, Doc .”
She walked toward me, and I noticed her hair was down today. It was layered in long strands over her shoulders. She was more beautiful than she was yesterday .
“How’s your hand feeling?” She bent to take a look at the incision .
“Hurts like hell.” I tried to catch a glimpse of her eyes, but she was studying my fingers .
“Well, it’s not swollen much.” She twisted her lips together. “But I’m not happy with this finger.” She pointed to my index finger .
“What’s wrong with it ?”
“It’s the most swollen.” She jotted something on her clipboard before placing it on the table. She retrieved the stethoscope from her neck and adjusted the ends in her ears. “Let me take a listen .”
I had had more physicals than I could count. The trainers for the Wranglers were constantly checking my heart rate. Checking for hydration and iron count. Physical therapists examined every muscle on my body. But I’d never in all those exams reacted like this. My heart started to pound as she leaned over and placed the cold disc on my chest. She moved it down my rib cage, and I could feel the heat of her fingers. I wanted to grab her and pull her on top of me—she smelled like sweet shampoo and vanilla. But I only had one good hand, and she’d already made it clear what she’d do if I tried anything again .
She moved the stethoscope to my right shoulder and slid it along my bicep. I could hear my veins hammer from my pulse as her fingertips explored my skin. She traced over the tattoo covering my right arm .
She stepped back, wrapping the stethoscope around her neck again. “Your circulation is fine. And you have a strong heartbeat. I’m not worried about blood flow .”
“Oh, you never have to worry about that.” I waggled my eyebrows .
“I’m talking about your broken hand.” She glared at me .
“Come on, Doc. Just a little joke. Thought I’d break the tension from yesterday .”
“Mmmhmm.” She scribbled more notes. “As far as I’m concerned, yesterday never happened .”
“It was funny. Don’t you laugh ?”
Her eyes hardened. “I’m a surgeon. Your surgeon. And if you want to get back to football, then I suggest you take this more seriously and stop looking at me like that .”
“Like what?” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I’d never wanted to fuck a woman so badly. I didn’t know if it was her attitude or her body, but I had a primal need for her I’d never felt before .