Page 13 of One Last Rodeo

Jensen leans in closer, and that’s when his scent reaches me—clean and masculine, like soap and heat. Nothing like my ex, whose cologne could knock someone out from twenty feet away. Overpriced nonsense meant to convince people he mattered just because he could afford something name-brand.

You're not supposed to wear any scents during surgery, but he broke the rules, and everyone let him despite the risk it posed to patients. Just like every other man I've worked with, no one said a thing.

Me, I never got to have my nails painted, hair was always kept neat, no perfume but my soap that I'd scrub my skin with religiously each morning. I guess in some ways working the Series has allowed me to let my hair down a bit in that regard, but old habits die hard, which is probably why I'm still dressed in my comfort color, black.

It doesn't show the blood.

If my ex was complicated, Jensen’s the opposite. Maybe a little rough like a cowboy who spends a lot of time in arenas. But I get the feeling that what you see is what you get with him. He’s probably had some wild rodeo nights working on the circuit. Likely sleeps around with different women in different cities but probably keeps things casual and doesn't have dark secrets hidden in the rafters like my ex did.

I hate that I'm a little intrigued and miffed by him. He's so wildly different from any man I've ever been even in proximity to, it’s almost bizarre sharing his company over a drink even if we’re supposed to be discussing his shoulder injury.

Which reminds me, he’s completely deflected from that conversation.

“You think I’m not taking advantage of the second chance I have?” he asks.

“I didn’t say that. I said that I think you’re being foolish with the second chance.”

His glare sharpens and then one of his big palms drops onto my knee, sending a shock through my core.

Normally, I’d pull away from him on instinct alone. Uninvited touch is an instantnofor me. Growing up, we didn't get a lot of hugs from our parents. Well, at least I didn't. By the time my youngest sister Isla came around, my parents were huggers and kissers which was a mind-blowing thing to witness.

But they respected the fact that I never wanted that from them and so I didn’t get any. I've often wondered if I didn't want physical affection, or if I just wasn't used to it and my reaction came across as unwelcoming.

Sometimes I wonder if that's why Davis cheated. If it was too difficult for him to love me because when he showed affection to me, I gave off the impression that it was unwanted.

I shake that thought out of my head. I refuse to blame myself for his affair.

I look down at where Jensen’s hand has landed and then back up at him. That’s when I note that when he touches me... I don't recoil. Instead, I find myself leaning in slightly. My muscles aren’t tense; they melt just a fraction.

His hand is warm. Huge, even for a rider who all seem to have large hands. Probably from gripping ropes tight enough to keep him from getting thrown into the dirt and trampled to death.

Right. Remember that, Catalina. This man chooses to work a dangerous job despite you stitching his heart back together. He could die any night because he’s a fool, and the surgery I performed would end up being all for nothing.

“I’m not being foolish,” he says quietly. “I’m living my life every day because at any point, I could die, and I recognize that. I'm honoring that. There are a million different ways to die. Riding’s just one of them.”

“You’re impulsive,” I counter.

“I’m not denying that.” His mouth twitches upward. “My grandma always said impulsiveness would be my downfall.”

“Your grandma sounds like a smart woman.”

That pulls an honest smile out of him, one that lights up his whole face.

Dammit. He has a nice smile. Straight, white teeth. Probably from mouth guards, not orthodontics, but it fits him. And that only annoys me more.

Why is he still sitting here? Why isn’t he offended that I just called him foolish,twice?I also practically said his job was stupid. Not something the doctor of a whole Series should probably be saying to her athletes, but I don't like lying or mincing my words. Idothink bull-riding is nonsensical. Along with most other sports.

“My grandma is smart. She reminds me a lot of you."

Why would he say that?

He continues, “You mentioned the fact that I should care more about the people who are watching me ride, that would be her. She’s the only one who cares. She taught me how to ride horses.”

His grandma watches his rides?

"And I know what I’m capable of,” he finishes. “I’m not gonna let a heart surgery sideline me. What would you expect me to do? Sit at home and do nothing despite being able to move my body just fine?”

“No,” I say. “I’d expect you to stop riding a bull for a living and find a better job.”