Page 35 of Whiskey Wednesdays

He nodded again. There were other scars on his face and body, and probably a few in the back I couldn’t see.

“Huh. Can I quiz you about your injuries and recovery methods sometime?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Titus was as tall as Connor, and he had a lot of muscle. He also exuded a “fuck off” vibe. But as an experienced athlete, he’d probably have some good insights.

“I’m going to be a PA, but I’m young and don’t have a lot of experience yet. I’d like to work on that.”

He studied me and folded his arms. I noticed he had a few scars on his knuckles as well.

I pointed to the scars. “I don’t know the hockey injury that would cause those.”

His fingers flexed. “They’re not from hockey.”

“Aw.”

He lifted his chin toward the locker room. “What did Coach Bailey do?”

I winced and scratched the back of my neck. “When I introduced myself to the team and told everyone to call me Isabella, he stepped in and told them they had to call me Ms. Cruz, and then insinuated I was going to be a problem.”

“Huh. What’d you do?”

“I told the team they could call me Isa if Isabella was too difficult.”

His lip twitched. “And that pissed him off.”

“Yeah. The team calls everyone else on the staff by their first name except him. He made it weird because I’m a female under forty.”

He started gathering up his sweats. “So what did the players call you?”

I smiled. “Isabella, and that Wyatt guy went with Isa.”

“Watch out for Wyatt.”

I nodded. “I figured. He gives off asshole vibes.”

His lip quirked. “I’ll talk to you.”

“Great.”

He picked the towel up off the floor and tossed it in the hamper, then walked out.

I watched him leave and noticed a long thick scar along his lower spine. I’d have to ask him about that injury as well.

Chapter 10

Over the next couple of weeks, I settled in. The pediatric clinic was similar to other doctor offices, only the patients were younger and funnier. There were a couple of chronically ill patients I saw regularly, and I started dropping in to visit them at the hospital next to the clinic a couple of times a week.

The sports medicine clinic was different from anything I’d done, but I liked it. Most of the players quickly got used to having me in the medical office, and I’d already treated several of them for strained muscles, foot fungus, and one broken pinkie finger.

But Wyatt still came in regularly and hit on me. That Monday, Titus had just gotten into his ice bath when Wyatt walked in and leaned against the counter.

I sighed. “Hello, Wyatt. Do you have a medical issue?”

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you doing?”

I cringed. “Sweetheart? My name is Isabella.”

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