Page 44 of The Offside Rule
Her cheeks went a little pink. That almost did me in.
“Had some trouble sleeping,” she said.
“Same.” I wanted inside her so bad that my hand wasn’t enough.
“What are you working on?” I asked.
She looked relieved to have a normal question. “Research project for school.”
I stepped a little farther into the doorway. “Yeah?”
Her eyes flicked to me. “You actually want to hear about it?”
“I asked.”
“People ask and then regret it when I start talking,” she warned.
“I’ll take my chances,” I replied. I was like a puppy dog when it came to her. Everything about her intrigued me, and that was a big problem. But it earned me a small smile. She turned the laptop slightly, though I didn’t move close enough to read over her shoulder. “I’m tracking preseason injury risk.” She smiled again. “Basically, I’m helping collect data on players coming into preseason. Prior injuries, mobility screens, workload history, concussion baseline results, strength testing, pain reports, things like that. I’m not diagnosing anyone or making treatment decisions. I’m assisting with notes and data collection under Dr. Patel and the team’s sports medicine department.”
I nodded. “And this is for school?”
“Partly. I’m dividing my time between the arena and Larkspur Medical Center so I can complete a summer project. If I can make something useful out of the data, it’ll look good on my CV. Maybe help with residency applications later.”
“Overachiever.”
She laughed softly. “I come from a line of overachievers.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
Her smile faded a little. “You do?”
“I grew up with Oli Russell as a father. People expect things from you before they know you.”
She leaned back in her chair, studying me. “Exactly.”
I looked at the laptop, then the papers, then the coffee she clearly hadn’t had time to finish. “Just don’t burn yourself out trying to prove something to people who already decided what they think.”
She blinked like she hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t either. But it was true. She looked exhausted, and something about itbothered me more than it should have. Catherine in the shower had wrecked my head. Catherine in that black dress had wrecked my self-control. Catherine tired and still working because she wanted so badly to earn her place got me somewhere else that was more dangerous because I could relate to her and feel for her.
“I’m fine,” she said, waving off the comment.
I pushed off the doorway. “I have my medical check-in. I better go.”
“With Dr. Patel?”
“Yeah.”
She glanced toward the hall. “Is it okay if I observe?”
Bad idea. Terrible idea. My shoulder gave a dull throb like it wanted to join the conversation.
“Sure,” I said, because apparently, I had learned nothing.
Her face brightened a little, which made the bad idea feel worth it.
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded. Her gaze held mine. Neither of us mentioned last night, and it was better that way because we almost crossed a line we could never uncross. The list of why we were a bad idea was long enough to wallpaper the whole medical wing.
