Page 44 of One Last Rodeo
“You don’t have a passcode on your phone?”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile before she looks back at the screen. She taps a few times, her gaze intent. She's focused, the same way she is in the med tent when she's stitching someone up. A moment later, she hands the phone back to me with a nervous smile, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.
“Here.”
I look down at the phone. On the screen is a page I’ve never seen before.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s an app.”
I frown. “You downloaded an app on my phone? You trying to track my location or something?”
She laughs easily this time. “No. This app reads the scores out loud to you after each ride. It also repeats the judges’ notes and pointers and can even provide you with comments people have left online. I don't fully understand it yet, but it performs some sort of web-scraping for any sort of athletic event so that you can hear after the fact what happened.” She waves her hand like it's no big deal.
"We used it when I worked for the baseball team to recap while players were in recovery. Something about hearing things audibly a few times seemed to help the feedback sink in. It also follows web content accessibility guidelines, which means it's accessible for fans who want recaps on players stats and scores who may have a disability that prevents them from reading online."
She takes a deep breath and looks up at me nervously.
I stare at her.
“That way,” she continues, “you don’t have to worry about mixing up your scores, and you can still get constructive feedback without having to miss anything valuable. It'll help you... I think… the feedback. You'll know what to work on to improve your next ride, and what the judges are looking for. You can also text your grandma your score with confidence in case she misses an event.”
She pauses and looks at me with a smile. Something in my chest shifts.
I uncross my feet and stand taller, gazing down at her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to make of her. Because she didn’t have to do that. Didn’t have to remember that I sometimes misread the numbers, so I've stopped looking. Didn’t have to try to find a solution to make my life easier. She didn’t have to care about me.
And yet… she did.
And that is the part that’s going to fuck me up way more than the white lace lingerie under her shirt, or the memory of her tight pussy wrapped around my cock and the soft moans she makes when she comes.
She did this so I wouldn’t have to miss out. She did this to keep me safe.
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. I know I'm staring. Probably looking at her with confusion and admiration written all over my big face. Judging by the way her smile just dropped, I’m guessing I’m making her feel insecure now.
“I said don’t make it weird,” she huffs out and folds her arms across her chest.
“Sorry. I’m trying not to. Why did you do this?”
“Because it’s my job to make sure that you’re performing at your best.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s why.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s it, Jensen.”
“I think you care about me,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. I'm trying to be playful, but my voice is all husky. I thinkshe cares about me more than just a patient. I think Catalina likes me.
“We’re going to be working together for the next few months, and I care about all of my athletes equally.”
“I think you care about every patient you’ve ever had,” I counter.
Her lips press together, then she rolls them between her teeth—something she does when she’s trying not to react but almost can’t fight it.
“It’s true. You are not special in that regard.” She pauses for a beat. “But Idothink you don’t care enough about yourself. And that worries the people who care about you. Ultimately, I can’t force anyone to do anything. I'm just here to provide guidance. And think of this app as guidance. Learn from the feedback instead of ignoring it, and maybe it'll help your rides and keep you safe.”
I nod. “Thank you. This…” I swallow. “This means a lot.” It really fucking does.
