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Her jaw drops in mock disbelief, and she pushes me playfully, both of us laughing.
Fuck, I like her so much.
“Anytime.” I repeat, pulling one of my cards and a pen from my chest pocket and turning it over to write out my personal number across the back.
It’s crossing a line.
It’s unprofessional.
I should shove the damn thing in my pocket, play it off, and walk out of this room with some shred of the typical doctor patient relationship intact.
I don’t though. Instead, I hand it to her, my whole heart lurching in my chest at the smile she gives me when she takes it.
Chapter Two
Delta
My first crush was on a boy named Jackson Peters. He’s on Dad’s team, but not nearly as talented as he is pretty. Sponsors love him and even though he’s never made the Olympic team, he has more contracts than some of the guys who have. Probably something to do with the flippy blonde hair and line of perfectly straight, white teeth.
I secretly adored him for years, my fourteen-year-old heart breaking when he asked out Anna Cohen right in front of me at the UK Ski and Snowboard Invitational. Nothing says normal childhood quite like getting your heart broken at an elite sporting event rather than the homecoming dance.
That crush was blown to pieces the moment Dr. Brooks Harrison walked into my exam room. After years of doodlingDelta Petersin all my notebooks, suddenly I wouldn’t notice if Jason was on fire right next to me.
Just like that, Dr. Harrison was the only man I saw, and it’s been like that for three years now.
Nobody who’s ever met the man could blame me. He’s hot. Like,hothot. All tall and broad shouldered with hazel eyes thatmake me feel warm and a jaw that always seems to have just the right amount of stubble.
According to an embarrassing amount of internet searches on him, he’s thirty-eight, which is a full eighteen years older than me. I should probably be put off by that alone but for some reason it only makes my attraction to him deeper.
It’s not like I’ve ever had much in common with boys my own age. When you’re trained from birth tofocus, the flighty and inconsistent behavior that is typical for most people my age gets tiresome fast.
Brooks isn’t like that. He’s like me, dedicated and focused, hardworking to a fault.
It’s not just that he’s gorgeous and hardworking though. I work with and see plenty of gorgeous, accomplished men and none of them make me feel even the slightest fraction of what Dr. Harrison does. I did a photoshoot for a cereal company with an Olympic swimmer,in his uniform, he’d flirted with me the entire time and I didn’t feel even the smallest flicker of interest.
I know it’s not going to happen with me and Dr. Harrison, I’m not an idiot, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting him.
He makes me feel good. Seen. I think he might be the only person in my life who is only looking out formeand my wellbeing. Our relationship isn’t contingent on how well I perform at the next invitational or how hard I work at practice. Dr. Harrison couldn’t give a damn whether I’m a gold medalist or not. He just wants me to be happy.
I can’t tell him some things though. Like about the nightmares I’ve been having that make me wake up in the dead of night, sweating and crying. Or that my workouts begin two hours before my training schedule says. Or that every single day I wonder why I can’t handle this like my Dad did, hating myself for my weakness.
A part of me knows it isn’t supposed to feel like this, but it’s not like I know how to live any other life.
I had a tutor through high school and ended up getting my GED early so I could train full time. I don’t have my driver’s license or my own apartment. I have no friends that don’t call my father “coach” and no life to speak of outside of snowboarding.
Except Dr. Harrison.
This is my life, though. I’m so much more fortunate than some, I have no right to feel this miserable. I have no right to want to quit. I have no right to wonder if I’m even good at this, or if all my success was just some weird fluke.
Like right now.
“Christ, DJ! Where was your head on that run!”
I brace my hands on my knees, gritting my teeth and willing the pain shooting through my right leg and up my back to recede. It’s only been a week since my last injection, and I’m normally good to go for at least eight.
This isnotgood to go. My leg feels like it’s being ripped out of its socket, and every single step sends a wave of hot, sick nausea through me.
This is bad. Really bad.
