Page 47 of Better Late Than Never

Worth it, though. So damn worth it. I could still feel everything we’d done, from my ass (which was a little sore, but not unpleasantly so) to that spot on my collarbone where his stubble had scraped just slightly.

Absolutely worth it, but not worth doing again. Not with what we’d both be risking. And hey, now I knew what it was like to sleep with a man, so at least I wouldn’t feel completely clueless with the next guy.

I don’t want the next guy. I want?—

I pushed myself up from my chair and headed out of my office. HM2 was just coming back with my coffee, which I thanked her for profusely. Then I headed down the hall to get my stupid ass to work, both because it was my goddamned job, and because I couldn’t think of any other way to get Alex off my mind.

Yeah.

About that last part.

Every other patient, it seemed, needed to go up to Radiology, and every time I submitted an order, my mind went back to that gorgeous corpsman. He might not have even been there today—there were two radiology techs, plus their supervisor—but the department may as well have been renamed“Where That Guy With the Miraculous Mouth Works.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled as I paused outside my next patient’s door.

I want you again.

I did. I definitely did. But I couldn’t have him, and I needed to move past him.

Thiswouldpass. It had to. I’d had a relentless crush on my neighbor after I’d moved into an apartment when Aimee and I separated, and I’d gotten over that eventually. Yeah, I’d jerked off thinking about him, and I’d forgotten how to speak a few times in his presence, but eventually, I’d gotten it through my stupid skull that it wasn’t going to happen.

I’d get there with Alex, too.

Except Orlando and I had never hooked up. To my knowledge, he was straight, and he’d never reciprocated. It was a lot easier to move on from someone who I had absolutely zero chance with, especially when I knew they weren’t interested in me.

Alex…

I had the marks on my hips and the dull ache in my muscles to remind me just how much he reciprocated my desire.

I also had a job to do, and I pulled my head together enough to school my expression and step into the patient’s room. All through the appointment, I was attentive and did my job, which in this case meant referring a young Sailor for physical therapy on his knee.

“The MRI looks good,” I told him after reviewing the images he’d had done at a nearby Spanish hospital. “No tearing or anything like that.” I flashed him a quick smile. “A few weeks of physical therapy should resolve the pain.”

The kid sighed. “I’ve got the PRT coming up. And I need to pass it with flying colors because Ineedthis promotion.”

“You’ll be able to make it up once you’re cleared for full duty.”

His shoulders sank, but he didn’t protest. I understood. The Physical Readiness Test was an important part of a service member’s score when they were up for a promotion. While being unable to participate due to medical reasons wasn’tsupposedto affect their rating, I’d been around long enough to know that it absolutely could. If a command had two equally excellent Sailors, but one had to sit out the PRT due to illness or injury, the healthy one was going to get the higher rating. Guaranteed.

I studied the kid. “When is your command doing the PRT?”

He thought about it. “I think six weeks?”

Pursing my lips, I peered at the chart notes and MRIs again. “Are you allowed to use the stationary bike instead of running?”

He nodded.

“All right. Go straight to the physical therapy department after this to get your appointments set up. Give it a couple of weeks, then startcarefullyconditioning on the bike. Follow up with me weekly, stick to your physical therapy, and we’ll reassess a week or two before the PRT.” I inclined my head. “Do notpush yourself too hard, or youwillhurt yourself enough to be on light duty with a PRT waiver for this PRTandthe next one. Got it?”

Brightening, he nodded again. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. And if it starts to hurt more, come back in.”

“Okay. Okay, I will. Thank you again, sir.”

I made a few more notes in his chart, sent the referral through to physical therapy, and signed off on his light duty chit before sending him on his way. I was confident he’d be all right by the PRT. He’d sprained his knee, but it was relatively minor, and the stationary bike would be a good way for him to rehab itandbe ready for the PRT. Well, as long as he didn’t overdo it, and I’d been a military physician long enough to know that was a distinct possibility. Twenty-something kids were immortal, and being in the military only made that worse.

Not that I’d learned any of that the hard way or anything, and I totally didn’t have the irritable knee and bitchy shoulder to show for it.

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