“And why do you need me? My schedule is really full. I doubt I have an opening.”
This was the part I had tried to figure out. What was I going to tell any doctor I asked to take Wes as a patient? Please take him, the sex is too amazing for me to keep him on my patient list. Please take him, I’d rather him rip my clothes off than be a respected surgeon. Or maybe I should say please take him, he’s the best fucking rock star in bed and if you don’t take him, I’ll quit my job to be at his beck and call. I closed my eyes, realizing I’d lost all self-restraint and respect. I was basically a quarterback’s whore.
“Well, to be honest, sir, I heard you were a big Wranglers fan and I thought you might want to work with Wes Blakefield.”
The older surgeon stopped in the hallway. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I don’t really know that much about football. and I know you do.” I was losing IQ points by the second.
“Do you have any idea what his passing record is? Or his quarterback rating?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue, and that’s why I thought this case might really mean something to you. You could give him the kind of care maybe I can’t.”
Dr. Evans adjusted his glasses. “I see. I see that you’re putting the patient’s interests ahead of your own. And I think that’s the right decision.” He nodded. “Yes, I’d be happy to add him to my list.”
I jumped. “Oh great! I can’t wait to tell him.”
His brow furrowed. “I think I can have my office call and schedule with him.”
I dropped the smile quickly. “Of course. You’re right. Thank you so much, Dr. Evans. I know he’ll be in good hands with you. And if you have any questions about the surgery, please page me.”
“Will do. Thank you for thinking of me, Dr. Ashworth.”
I headed for my OR prep room. “No problem.”
Step one of unchaining myself from my doctor-patient ethics was complete. I reached for the soap and started scrubbing under my nails as I prepared for surgery. This morning, I was reattaching a torn knee ligament.
I wondered how Wes’s morning was going with the team. He had mumbled something this morning about trying to get plays changed. I still didn’t know what that meant. With only one crash course in football and most of that spent naked on the couch, I wasn’t sure I had retained much of what he had said.
I began scrubbing my other hand, careful to trace all the creases in my skin.
I had spent two nights in Wes’s apartment. Of course, that meant I had to get up extra early to make it home and pick up clothes for work, but it was worth it. I was scared to death. Scared to be with him. Scared to not be with him. Scared that it seemed we were somehow igniting something between each other that could blow up in our faces.
But I couldn’t stop myself.
“Dr. Ashworth, the patient is prepped.” One of the nurses spoke to me through the speaker system.
I hit the button with my elbow. “I’m headed in.”
I pictured Wes one more time, then pulled down the shade, dividing him from the rest of my thoughts. When I was in the OR, I had to be the one in control. Not him. He could have that privilege in bed. Not here. Not at work.
I tossed my keys on the counter and heated up a bowl of soup for dinner. I should have brought some of the leftover Chinese food from Wes’s, but I was in a hurry this morning to make it to work on time.
I ate quickly, then walked to the shower, steeping myself in steam and heat. The first surgery hadn’t gone smoothly, and the ligament repair took an hour longer than I thought it would. After that, I had a surgery canceled because a patient refused to come to the hospital, and my third surgery of the day ended up being assisted by the head of my department, so I basically sat back and watched him do everything.
I was tired and annoyed, but the hot water felt good. I dried off with a towel and ran when I heard my phone buzz.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Doc.”
I immediately blushed. “Hey.”
“Are you going to watch the game tonight?” he asked.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Are you telling me I haven’t converted you to a football fan yet?”