Page 37 of What Should Have Been Ours

I shake my head, already regretting this conversation.

“Besides,” Wes continues, stretching lazily. “If things go south, I doubt she’d be the heartbroken one. Something tells me that one would chew me up and spit me out before I even saw it coming.”

I huff out a laugh. “That’s what concerns me.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “And that’s what intrigues me.”

Before I can respond, he nods toward my face. “Uh, dude? You’re bleeding again.”

I frown, swiping at my nose again. Sure enough, fresh blood. Weird. I shake it off. “I’m fine.”

Wes watches me for a second like he’s about to call bull, but then the ref blows the whistle, and we both head back onto the field.

I push everything else aside—Gabrielle, the nosebleed, the heat creeping through my body—and lock back in. I have a game to win.

When this is over, I get to see her.

And tomorrow, she’s mine for the whole day.

* * *

The post-game energy is high when we all step into a local bar and grill in the city by the park. It’s the kind of place where nobody cares if you show up sweaty from a flag football game. The place is buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of shouting from a TV playing highlights from a real football game.

The team is still amped up from the win, and I barely make it to a table before I have a few guys patting me on the back, throwing out compliments about how I played.

“Damn, Hayes, didn’t know you had that in you,” one of the senior residents, Mike, says, shaking his head as he takes a sip of his beer.

“You were out there like your life depended on it,” another laughs.

“Maybe it did,” Wes chimes in, throwing me a knowing smirk before stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “Or maybe he just had someone he was trying to impress watching.”

I roll my eyes, shoving Wes’s shoulder. “Relax. You’re just salty that I caught more passes than you.”

Wes scoffs. “Please. You had, like, one good play. And now you’re acting like you carried the whole team.”

“You’re right,” I say, nodding. “You were the real MVP. We should build a statue in your honor.”

“Damn right you should,” Wes grins.

Before I can fire back, I spot Gabrielle and Kinsley walking back from the bar, carrying drinks. My eyes instantly find her, the way she moves, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she’s laughing at something Kinsley is saying. It’s embarrassing how mesmerized I am by even the most mundane things she does.

I don’t even hesitate, lifting a hand and motioning her over. “Come sit over here.”

Wes, ever the opportunist, turns to Kinsley, smirking. “And you, troublemaker. You can sit over here with me.”

Kinsley tilts her head, arching a brow. “Tempting, but I usually charge for entertainment.”

Wes grins. “Lucky for you, I pay and tip very well.”

Gabrielle shakes her head at them, clearly regretting those two hitting it off with each other, but slides into the seat next to me anyway. The second her body brushes against mine, I have to fight the urge to react. She’s warm, soft, and close—way closer than she probably realizes.

I focus on keeping my expression neutral, pretending like it isn’t all I can focus on.

As we settle in, I introduce Gabrielle and Kinsley to a few of the other doctors, making casual conversation. We talk about the game, hospital gossip, and then Wes starts up because he’s incapable of not stirring the pot.

He leans over and murmurs just loud enough for me to hear. “Did you mark this under ‘best day ever’ in your phone calendar?”

I shoot him a look. “Shut up, Wes.”