I leaned back against the counter and took another sip, watching her over the bottle. “It’s probably nerves. Big day tomorrow. My first time starting.”
Her brows lifted like she’d heard that line one too many times. “You’ve played in bigger games. And your vitals were steady in preseason. This is new.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I had a bad smoothie.”
She didn’t laugh.
“C’mon, Doc. That was funny.”
“No,” she said, holding my gaze with a fierceness that had my stomach twisting. “That was deflection, which tells me I’m getting closer.”
I didn’t entirely hate that. I was tired of being alone with my thoughts all the time, but admitting the truth would be the endof my career. The gray area in between was where I remained, and I forced a smile, letting her comment roll off my shoulders.
“Deflection’s still a coping skill,” I said, smiling like it’d make all this better. “You of all people should appreciate the nuance.”
Sloane stared at me for a beat, her lips pressing together like she wanted to argue but wasn’t sure if it was worth it. Then she grabbed the bottle and took a long drink. Her throat moved as she swallowed, and I let myself look a second too long. Just one second. Enough to feel my pulse shift again. She had great skin, a pretty neck. God…how long had it been since I’d been with someone to be looking at a team doctor’s neck?
I scrubbed a hand over my face, hoping that’d knock some sense into me because I shouldn’t be thinking Mercer was hot.She was olderandheld my career in her pretty little hands.
“I don’t want to sideline you, Oliver,” she said, setting the bottle down, her tone more serious. “But if I don’t understand what’s going on, someone else will make that call. You know how this works.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, voice sharper than I meant it to be. “And I know what that call would mean. It’d mean everything I’ve fought for gets ripped away because I had a couple of weird readings on a tracker, so to answer your question, I’m fine.”
She stepped back, her expression unreadable. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
I knew that. But I didn’t want to talk about that possibility. Not the way she wanted me to. Not tonight.
I looked at her again and forced a smirk. “Can we go back to the part where you said I’m pleasant to be around? That was nice.”
She groaned softly. “This is impossible.”
“I’m not impossible,” I said, straightening off the counter. “I’m careful. There’s a difference.”
Her gaze stayed on mine longer this time. “Careful with your words, your symptoms, or the people who try to help?”
I grinned, stepping toward her until we were maybe a foot apart. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes. “You asking as a doctor or as my neighbor?”
“I’m asking as someone who needs to finish a report,” she said, but her voice was softer now.
“Do I get to read it before you send it?” I asked, teasing again. “Or is this one of those trust-the-expert things?”
“Do you trust me?” she asked, point-blank.
I should have said yes. It would’ve been the smart answer. The safe answer.
Instead, I broke the eye contact and picked up a rag to wipe the counter, to keep my hands busy. “I trust you’re good at your job.”
She let that sit for a second, then she picked up her tablet and pressed it to her chest.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Oliver,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound angry, but she did seem tired, and I didn’t want to see her go.
I didn’t let myself think of why. This woman could discover my greatest fear and singlehandedly ruin my career. She could write a few sentences in that damn tablet and destroy my dreams within minutes. Yet I didn’t want her to walk out my door.
“Do you want French toast?” I blurted out.
She paused and tilted her head like a cute little puppy. “The breakfast?”
“File this down in your notes, Doc, but breakfast foods are top-tier. There is no incorrect time to eat them.” I ran a hand over my stomach, noting that she tracked the movement with interest. “Stay and eat with me.”
