Читать книгу The Makeover Prescription - Christy Jeffries - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Kane was so engrossed in what he was doing, he had no idea how long Julia had been standing there waiting for him. He struggled to get those old feelings of embarrassment in check before turning away from the window and pretending not to care that she’d caught him completely off guard. Noting her surgical scrubs were covered by a soft purple cardigan sweater, he let out a breath, equally relieved and disappointed that she wasn’t wearing her exercise outfit.

“Hey,” he said, before coughing and clearing his throat. He set the paintbrush down in the tray and walked over to his iPhone to turn off his playlist. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“It’s seven o’clock,” she said, her green eyes round and fringed with spiky lashes.

Kane pulled his late Grandpa Chatterson’s antique gold watch out of his pocket and snapped it open—more as something to redirect his focus than to actually check the time. “Wow. I must’ve really been in the zone.”

At least, that’s what his dad called it whenever Kane would tune out the rest of the world to the point that someone could ask him if he wanted a million dollars and he’d ignore the question. His mom called it hyperfocusing. He called it a pain-in-the-butt symptom of his ADHD.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, but he noticed she wasn’t looking at him when she spoke. Correction: she was definitely looking at him, just not at his face. The skin across his bare chest tightened, causing his pectoral muscles to flex slightly. He remembered her list and wanted to suggest she add something about physical attraction as a quality she might appreciate in a man. Not that he considered himself all that attractive, but after several years of playing professional sports and living out of hotels, plagued by groupies and jersey chasers, he knew when a lady was sizing him up. Or at least when he hoped she was.

“That’s a decently sized incision, there,” she said. Not cut. Not wound. Incision. So maybe the doctor wasn’t sizing him up so much as taking a professional interest in his anatomy. An unexpected feeling of disappointment washed down his torso. “When did you have a full shoulder replacement?” she asked.

He squinted at his shoulder before looking at her doubtfully. Maybe she did know who he was after all. She’d have to be living under a rock to not know, but the few times he’d met Just Julia, he’d gotten the impression that was where she liked to keep herself hidden. “So you heard about my surgery?”

“No. I can tell from your incision.”

Of course she could. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked when he’d had it. Rather than making himself look like more of an idiot, he tried to concentrate on her words as she kept talking. “Your surgeon used the extended deltopectoral approach, which is normally only suitable for total shoulder replacement with an open reduction and internal fixation of a proximal humeral fracture.”

He ran his hand across the lower half of his face, but that didn’t make him resent her easy use of fancy medical jargon any less. “You sure like to use a lot of big words, doc.”

“Here,” she said, walking toward him. He tried not to flinch when she traced her finger along the pink scar tissue. “Your incision extends from the outer end of your clavicle to the coracoid and follows the medial edge of the deltoid muscle.”

She must’ve mistaken his annoyance for a lack of understanding since she was now restating the obvious as though he hadn’t been the one to undergo the procedure. However, he couldn’t be sure since he could barely hear her voice over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The soft caress of her cool finger was making gooseflesh rise on his exposed skin.

“Why would someone your age need such an extensive surgery?” she asked, and he could feel the warmth of her breath.

Would she believe him if he said “car accident”? Probably not. Dr. Smarty-Pants was proving to be too damn intelligent for Kane’s own good. But right this second, with her finger still tracing his scar and sending shockwaves throughout his body, he really didn’t want to think about the pissed off player who’d charged the mound and attacked him with a Louisville Slugger. “Random baseball bat injury.”

“Hmm.” His eyes were drawn to her mouth. She didn’t wear an ounce of makeup, not even lipstick, but the pink fullness of her upper lip was enhanced by the deep bow in the center. “That must have been quite a baseball bat. Still...”