Page 42 of Irresistibly Risky

“Mr. Reyes, are you ready to get started?”

“Sure. Looking forward to it. I’m already a bit high from whatever this guy put in my IV.” He bobs his head toward the anesthesiologist as he scoots over onto the surgical table, and the anesthesiologist adjusts him until he’s where he should be.

“That was Ativan,” the anesthesiologist supplies.

“Right. It’s good stuff. I’ve never done drugs before. Not even when I was touring the world with the band. I’m starting to see the appeal.”

“Lie down, rock star.” Asher lies back on the table, staring up at me with the world glowing in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

“I prefer it when you call me player.”

“I’m sure you do,” I quip. “I think I like you on drugs better than when you’re sober.”

“If I forget to tell you later,” he murmurs just before the propofol is pushed into his IV. “You’re unbelievably sexy right now—even with your mask and hair thing on—as you tell everyone what to do and run the whole show. I might have a very serious thing for you, Doctor.”

Everyone laughs, including me, and then the bright white liquid is pushed through his line, and a few seconds later, he’s out.

“Well, he’s a charmer,” Chandra exclaims.

“You have no idea,” I tell her. We run through our Time Out, making sure we have the right patient, the right surgery, and the right part of his body that we’re operating on, but before I make the first incision, I call out, “Alexa, play Central Square.”

“You are not!” Jequai gasps.

I wink at him. “Oh, I am.”

My gaze shoots up to the gallery where Callan is watching, and I see him shake his head at me with a wry grin on his lips. I return the gesture with an unrepentant shrug and then ask for an eleven-blade as the pop-rock beat led by Greyson Monroe’s croony voice fills the room.

“Let’s fix the player up so I can be done with football.” I open Asher’s shoulder up and start inspecting my field. “Can you abduct and externally rotate the arm for me, please?” The circulating nurse springs into action, and once that’s done and I get a clearer look… I squint. And recheck what I’m seeing. Then, no joke, I make sure I’m in the correct shoulder, because I should not be looking at what I’m looking at.

“Oh, aren’t you a lucky man,” I muse, pleasantly delighted.

“What?”

“Dr. Jones, take a look and tell me exactly what you see.”

Jequai stares at the field. “Um. I’m not sure.”

“Oh, it’s there. Our MRI painted a completely different picture than what we’re seeing here.”

“Wait!” He stops me. “No labral tear! No AC joint separation either.”

“Nope.” I grin beneath my mask. “And do you see this?” I swipe my tool along the coarse, fibrotic tissue. “Way fewer adhesions than we thought, and they’re in a good place to be removed without disrupting surrounding tissue.” I blow out a breath. “Hey, Dr. Barrows?” I call out and then hear Callan’s crackly voice come through since he’s pressing the intercom button.

“Yes?”

“Would you like a look at this?”

“I would likely have no clue what I’m looking at. I did one ortho rotation in med school and then settled on emergency medicine right after.”

I laugh. “Well, your friend is about to love me. I just cut his recovery time in half, at least. There’s a very real chance he could return this season. There are no repairs to make. No tears. Just some minor cleaning up to do.”

“I’m pretty sure he loved you before this, but if that’s the case, you’re in some trouble now.”

Don’t I know it.

“All right, Dr. Jones.” I snort, and then quickly swivel toward Jequai. “Wow, that makes you totally sound like Indiana Jones. How did I never put that together until now?”

“You have no idea how many times I got that through medical school.” He laughs. “I would tell them I’m a Black Indiana Jones. Patients loved it.”

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