Page 70 of The Backup Plan

Who was I kidding? Problem not solved.

More like the problem is now staring at me, causing heat to coil low in my stomach, and I hate it. Hate that my body remembers the feel of his hand on my back. I have to remind myself to breathe. I loathe that I’m suddenly hyperaware of the way I’m standing, the way people are noticing, but more importantly the way his eyes track me like I’m the only thing in the room worth looking at.

This is far from imagined.

This is chemistry. And chemistry is dangerous when you pretend it doesn’t exist.

So, I do the only thing I can.

I go cold. I throw myself back into the world that Jared created for me where work was the only thing worth thinking of. I straighten my spine. I don’t smile at him. Instead, I start walking again toward my office and my other patients waiting for me, but not before I give Lucas the same look I give every other athlete in here—professional. Neutral. Distant.

If my body insists on reacting to him, then my mouth, my expression, my actions, won’t.

And whatever this is? I can control it. Will control it. I have no other choice.

“Morning, Doc,” Tyler says as he hands me the daily Rebel injury update and protocol list. I glance at the paper list and its summary of cases in front of me and know I’ll get more of the details when I log in.

“Morning. Thanks for this,” I say, lifting it up in acknowledgment.

“Always,” he says. “Coach added Nixon to your caseload. MCL strain in the knee. All his scans are in the portal for you.”

“So it was that bad, huh?” I ask. He’d been helped off the field last practice. I was hoping it was nothing but a bad hit that stung too long. Clearly it wasn’t.

“Yeah. He’s not too happy about it.”

“When are they ever?” I smile. “I’ll get him back to new in no time.”

“I have faith that you will. Coach said he put him on your schedule at 10:15 if that works for you.”

“It does.” I glance at my watch. That gives me twenty minutes.

“Great.” He pauses like he’s going to say something and then stops.

“What is it?”

“For what it’s worth, everyone’s saying great things about you. The players like you. Coach is impressed with how you seem to be everywhere all at once.” He glances around like he’s trying to make sure no one else can hear him. “That’s not the norm. Not when you have all these people and different personalities in one place.”

“Thank you,” I say as my throat clogs with emotion. “That really means a lot to me.”

“It’s not an easy thing—walking in here and being respected—but you’ve managed to do that.”

“I appreciate you letting me know. Truly.”

“Of course. Have a great day, and let me know if Nix gives you any trouble. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when he’s hurt.”

“That’s just par for the course,” I say.

I part ways with Tyler, feeling good about myself. It’s not like I need someone to let me know I’m doing a good job and fitting in here, I can gauge that pretty well myself, but it is nice to hear it regardless.

I take a few minutes to put my lunch in the staff lounge refrigerator and grab a cup of coffee, then I walk into my office with my head down as I review the slowly growing list of injuries Tyler handed me.

A few new ones. Others have been cleared to play. Nixon is the only one who’s been moved under my name for care. Today’s going to be—

“Missed you on our runs the past few mornings.” Lucas’s voice is gravelly with a questioning tone and is most definitely not what I expected to hear when I enter my office.

“Argh.” I yelp and startle so badly that it’s amazing my coffee didn’t spill over the side of my cup. “Luc—what are—why are you in here?”

“I have an appointment with you,” he says nonchalantly, his eyes lighting up with amusement for the smile he’s fighting.