“Next station is baseline testing,” she said. “Down the hall, second room on the left. Don’t guess on the questions. They’ll know.”
Leo gave her a look. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is.” She grinned, messing with him.
Max pushed off the wall. “We’ll come with you.”
“Not necessary,” Leo countered.
“I’m bored.” Max shrugged.
“And I promised Aunt Sierra I’d show you around,” I said.
“My mom still thinks I’m a little boy,” he shook his head.
“Don’t feel bad. I’m thirty-three and my mother is always up in my business,” I assured.
Max laughed.
“As if your mom is any different,” I called him out.
“Solid point,” Max agreed.
Leo took the paper from Catherine. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
His gaze moved between me and Max. “You can both watch me fail a memory test.”
“It’s not a memory test,” Catherine sighed. “It’s a concussion baseline.”
Max nodded. “Fancy memory test. My cousin is smart. We have good genes in the family.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling again. I walked with Max and Leo, but before we left the room, I looked back. Catherine had already turned to the next player, her laptop open, pen in hand, professional smile in place. Luca was eyeing her like a puppy with a fresh contract. I told myself it didn’t matter.
“Are you and CC fighting?” Max suddenly asked.
“No. Why would you say that?” I asked him.
“No reason. Things just felt tense between you two,” he noted.
Fighting wasn’t the problem. Or maybe it was, because we were both fighting attraction, and that made things tense between us to the point that Max picked up on our sexual tension. Now Catherine was here, in my building, in my arena, in my world, looking like she had every right to belong in all of it. Which she did. That was the problem. I could handle wanting a woman I couldn’t have. I had discipline. I had years of practice not taking what I wanted just because it was in front of me. But watching Catherine earn her place, watching her stand there in scrubs with her laptop and her calm voice and her sharp eyes, watching her push back when I accidentally reduced her to her father’s name? That hit deeper than lust. And lust was already killing me. Catherine Davis was off-limits. If I was smart, Iwould accept that fact. It didn’t matter that she stirred things inside me I hadn’t felt in over a decade, or maybe ever. None of it mattered. I was a father with a daughter who depended on me. I couldn’t upend my life for a simple crush.
CHAPTER 7
Catherine Celia
Billie Rose was going to kill me if I wore jeans. She had made that clear in three separate texts, one voice note, and a final message that said, Catherine Celia Davis, if you show up looking like you’re heading to rounds, I will personally drag you back upstairs and dress you myself. So I stood in front of my closet on Thursday night, wrapped in a towel, staring at my clothes like they had personally betrayed me.
I had been working with the Blaze for a few days, and my entire wardrobe lately consisted of scrubs, leggings, and whatever didn’t need to be ironed. I pulled out a short black dress and held it against my body. It felt like a little much, but I put it on anyway. The dress had thin straps, a low back, and hugged me in a way that made me very aware I had a body underneath the scrubs I’d been wearing all week. I left my hair down in loose waves, added gold hoops, a little mascara, lip gloss, and heels. Then I took a picture and sent it to Billie. Her response came instantly.
Billie Rose: THANK THE LORD.
Billie Rose: That dress says you’re single, hot, and emotionally unstable in a fun way.
Me: You’re exhausting.
Billie Rose: You’re welcome.