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Jason looks startled. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t,” I say. “You weren’t always an asshole.”
He grins. “But always a dummy.”
I bite back a smile of my own. “Won’t argue there.”
I count his blood pressure and then remove the sleeve. Then I attach the stethoscope. He’s wearing a white knitted sweater, and it’s going to be hard to hear anything through that. “Can you take off your sweater?” I ask.
He answers by lifting his sweater an inch. Nothing but bare skin underneath.
“Do you mind if I go underneath?”
“Go wild.”
I cup the stethoscope and rub it between my hands. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“It’s cold.”
Jason snorts a laugh, but he doesn’t say anything else.
Once I’ve gotten the temperature of the stethoscope up a bit, I roll my chair directly in front of Jason. His limbs are too long, and he has to splay his knees to make room for me. I slip the stethoscope underneath his sweater. His skin is warm, and I hear him make a small intake of breath—the metal is still a little cold, despite my best intentions—but he otherwise doesn’t complain.
I slide the tool up his chest and over his heart. I’m focused, zeroed in on the whump-whump beat.
It’s strong. Loud. And thumping quickly against his chest.
“Are you nervous?” I ask him.
His mouth screws. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Your pulse is fast—”
I stop my tongue. It hits me then. We’re so close like this. His heart is pounding. His pupils are dilated. His chest rises and falls in short, quick breaths.
Jason is not nervous. He’s aroused.
I know. And he knows that I know. I can tell by the spike of fear in his eyes. But then they narrow. “You’re doing it wrong,” he mutters.
His heart is hammering in my ears.
I suggest, “Try taking a breath—”
But Jason suddenly rips the stethoscope from me and throws it across the room. “This exercise is stupid!” he snaps. “Twelve-year-olds can play with stethoscopes!”
“Jason!” Dr. Esmerelda is livid. Her eyes are sharp, her mouth a thin line. “Don’t make me call your father down here, because you know I will. Outside. Now.”
Jason doesn’t look at me. He just snatches up his notebook and leaves, shutting the door hard behind him.
12
Kenzi
I’m too busy to notice Jason the first time he tries to get my attention. I’m belly-down on the bow of the boat reading Dracula and finding that Donovan’s mix provides the perfect background soundtrack to the erotic gothic classic.
Until over the edges of my pages, I see Jason’s bright eyes, cocky grin. His mouth moves, and I tug my headphones off my ears with “What?”
“Sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” he says. He’s holding a clipboard, which he taps with his pen. “I’ve come with official dock master business.”
