Page 59 of Going All In

“No. I think I should know more about what you’re going to school for, aside from that long degree title.”

She laughed. “It’s not that long.”

“Clinical epidemiology research something; it’s a lot, and honestly, it’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” she said, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

“I never asked why you chose that field of study. Or what it means, really.”

“I’m focusing on studies regarding brain plaques and how they develop in relation to dementia.”

Yep. She was way too smart for him.

“It sounds important to you. My grandfather had Alzheimer’s, and it affects so many people, but of all the things you could study, why that?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Um, okay. You’re actually interested? Usually people’s eyes glaze over when I talk about it.”

“I’m curious. I might not understand it, or have a clue what you’re talking about if you go into specifics, but…” He paused as she tilted her head and observed him. Was it too much?

“You know, it’s good for our story,” he finished, and fucking hell, it was like a tiny bit of light dimmed from her eyes. He wanted to take the words back, but the look was gone in an instant. Maybe it was just the lighting.

“Right. Our story.”

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I genuinely want to know,” he said, linking their fingers across the table.

“Okay. Well, paternal grandmother, had dementia and she passed away about five years ago. It was really bad. She was almost a different person toward the end. My maternal grandfather has Alzheimer’s now. It’s sad, but not like it was with my grandmother. It’s so prevalent, and I don’t want to think about the chances of me getting it, but facts are facts. I’m just trying to figure out how to get involved. Maybe find out why certain people react differently with the disease. How is their brain different? How is one person happier or blissfully unaware while someone else gets angry? And how brain plaques figure into that, if they do at all.”

There was a sadness in her tone when she talked about her family, but not a resolve. He could hear the hope in her voice that she could help or learn or something. And frankly, it was hot.

Fucking hell, man. Talking about dementia was not hot. Should never be hot.

Maybe someone should examine his head.

“Did I lose you?” she asked, cutting through his wildly inappropriate thoughts.

“What? No. It’s actually interesting and I don’t know too much about it. I had a great-aunt who passed away when I was younger. She was eighty-five and had Alzheimer’s for a long time. My mom talked about how my great-aunt’s personality changed toward the end.”

“It’s fascinating to me. Is that morbid?” she asked, fidgeting with the lid of her cup.

“No. It’s something that, in the end, affects so many families. If you’re passionate about your studies, that means you’ll work even harder to get your answers. It’s important to pursue jobs or degrees that we love or are interested in. It makes a difference. You have this. I have hockey. Not that they are in any way the same.”

“Yeah. Thanks for actually listening to me about it. So I had a very busy week. More research and working on my final projects for graduation. And working here and running a study group and TAing.” She stopped and laughed. “And watching your games.”

“I knew you liked hockey.”

“I mean, it’s okay,” she said nonchalantly.

Damn, she was adorable.

“You’re such a liar. You love hockey now. I knew it would happen. How could you not love the best sport ever?”

“I do love the best sport ever. Tennis,” she said, a tiny smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth.

“Hockey is superior, and you know it.”

She laughed. “We can agree to disagree.”

He twined his fingers through hers on top of the table, and she stiffened.

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