8. Stuff I Do When I’m Nervous

EIGHT

#8 Bite my nails. Stop it its so gross

Iexpected him to leave after that. I'd completely ignored his question, and let's be real: emotions aren't the hottest thing in the world, especially not to a man in the middle of a crowded bar where people came to escape things like insecurities and sadness, not to embrace them.

But Nathan stayed put on his favorite barstool, now sitting on his jacket while he held the scotch I knew he'd never finish. He was completely unaware of the effect he was having on nearly every woman within a five-foot radius, all of whom were openly eyeing the way the hot doctor's biceps stretched the confines of his scrub shirt.

I'd noticed too. Just like I'd noticed the way his butt filled out the otherwise shapeless blue pants. And the way his forearms had flexed when he'd held my hands.

I didn't want to notice.

But I did.

And now, I wasn't mad at all, and I couldn't understand why.

All I knew was that as I headed for the stage entrance inside Tom's office, it was Nathan Hunt's beautiful brown eyes I continued to see. They were so warm, making me wonder about the rest of him. The way those broad shoulders might feel if I burrowed into them. How those arms might protect me from the rest of the world. If his breath might whisper warmth over my neck and ear as he stroked my hair.

In other words, I was even more ridiculous than usual, now fantasizing about a hot, pretentious doctor just because he had said the magic words no man had ever said: "I'm sorry."

Pathetic.

In Tom's office, I climbed the stairs that crisscrossed the wall, finding the door that opened to my assigned platform on the other side. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Caught up in Nathan's and my conversation, I hadn't even warmed up, hadn't even stretched. I was about to dance for the first time in months, completely cold.

Another dancer named Ella waved from where she was about to go on. "Hey, Joni. Glad you're back!"

I waved, though nerves danced in my belly, and my legs felt like a baby deer's. "Thanks, me too."

As I stepped out onto my platform, I couldn't help but steal glances at Nathan sitting at the bar, though now he was rotated outward to face the dancers. He sat straight and tall, a beacon of stability in the midst of all the chaos.

A remix of "Rhythm is a Dancer" by Snap! poured through the speakers, its strong baseline drowning out my thoughts and thrumming through my body. Tom had a thing for nineties electro-pop, which made people take to the dance floor like this was the Roxy, not a lounge that technically had no cabaret license. I started to twist and turn, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me. The stage lights from behind me transformed me into a seductive silhouette, a snakelike seductress moving for the audience's pleasure.

I spun and writhed, eager to show off. Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. My body was remembering its tricks, sliding into the movements like riding a bike. I didn't have to be the sad, shitty bartender right now. I didn't have to be that sad girl with nowhere to live and no real life to speak of. This was who I was supposed to be, so why had I thought I couldn't do this anymore? The pain in my knee was barely a twinge.

I could do this. I was doing it. I was killing it.

I was falling to the ground.

With a vicious stab, my knee gave out just as I was playing with a pirouette-like move. I stumbled against the rounded wall of the platform and fell to the bottom, clutching my knee as pain scissored through me. I only narrowly missed rolling off the tiny stage completely, though I barely would have noticed.

Fuck, it really hurt.

"Joni!"

Nathan's deep voice thundered over the bass. Seconds later, he was there, hopping up onto the platform, lifting me into his arms, and cradling me against his chest.

It was even warmer and more solid than I could have possibly imagined.

"Honey, goddammit. Are you all right?"

Tom appeared below us, worry crinkling his brow. Behind him, some of the bar patrons were pointing and laughing, even though they hadn't stopped dancing.

"I—oh my God, it hurts!" I pulled my knee to my chest.

"She needs ice and elevation," Nathan told him. "Where can I bring her?"

"Back into my office. Second door off the bathrooms. I'll send someone back with a bag of ice."

Nathan carried me easily down the steps and into Tom's office, where he set me on the worn sofa in the corner. We were soon followed by Tom, who handed Nathan a bag of ice.

"I have her," Nathan said as he removed his coat and laid it over the back of the couch.

Tom looked him up and down, observing his scrubs. "Doctor, huh?"

"Surgeon."

Tom looked at me as he tugged on his mustache. "You good with this, honey? I gotta?—"

"Get back to the bar," I finished for him. "I'm fine. Go."

With another glance Nathan's way, Tom walked back up to close the door to the platform, then left the office. As the door shut behind him, it muted the music out front, enclosing Nathan and me in quiet for the first time since he'd walked in.

"Hold this on it." Nathan positioned a pillow under my knee, then placed the ice on top of it. He frowned. "I should probably take you to the hospital."

"Absolutely fucking not," I said quickly, despite the fact that pain was tightening my voice. "I mean, no, thank you. It's the same injury; I just shouldn't have danced. It will be fine tomorrow. Good enough to stand on, anyway."

Nathan did not look convinced.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you have any idea how expensive a trip to the ER is? Why should I do that when I have a doctor here for free?"

"Joni, I'm a plastic surgeon, not an orthopedist."

"Yes, I am aware of that, Dr. Hunt," I replied. "It was a joke. But seriously, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

I would be, too. The pain was already receding, and while, sure, I'd probably have a bit of swelling for a day or two, I'd be back on my feet in time to serve drinks and look pretty by Tuesday.

Just no more pirouettes.

Probably never again.

The idea was like a hand flattening me to the earth. Just like always.

"You said one thing."

I blinked as Nathan's voice pulled me out of the shadow. "Huh?"

"In my office." His hand was still settled on the ice pack, a solid weight that I swore burned even through the ice. "You said your body was only good for one thing, and now that's gone. What did you mean by that? What was the one thing?"

"Oh. Um. Dancing. Which I obviously can't do anymore." I gestured at my knee.

He looked a bit confused. "Then why did you agree to dance tonight?"

"It's not the same. Up there, it's just club dancing. We only have to look hot and twist around on the platform. I ended up like this because I tried something I shouldn't have." I pinked, not wanting to admit I'd been doing that partially to impress him.

"But before you could do it…whatever it was?"

I nodded. "I used to be a professional dancer. The kind people work their whole lives to become. I was supposed to debut in Chicago a few months ago, but my knee blew out right before my first night. Some luck, huh?"

Nathan's eyes brightened with sudden understanding. "You sustained an injury. This same one?"

I shoved his shoulder. "You don't have to look so excited."

That dimple appeared again. "I like it when things make sense. Even better when the problems is potentially one I can solve."

"Don't get your hopes up. Other doctors have tried and failed. I'm just trying to accept the fact that I'm washed up at twenty-four."

Nathan seemed to ruminate as he looked me over. His gaze, however, didn't burn like it did before. For the first time, he was actually looking at me with that evaluating expression I'd seen on other doctors' faces before. One that likes a challenge.

"And you thought I was shaming you for dancing however you could," he muttered. Then to me: "What happened?"

I shrugged. I always felt like an idiot trying to explain it. "I was in rehearsal and tried this move I had no business doing. I wanted to impress the director. Tore my ACL instead. That was last August."

I was embarrassed to tell him I had only understood half of what the doctors had told me. That when they gave me the papers following my surgery, I couldn't understand most of that either. But then, again, what normal people could?

"I was supposed to mostly recover in two months, plus a while for extra physical therapy," I said. "And it did get better. Enough that I can walk, obviously. And stand. And even do some easy stuff, like I did tonight. But real performance is out. I can't jump or run. I can't do any complex turns. I ruined it and lost everything."

"Who was your doctor?"

"Um…some guy at Mt. Sinai West." I shrugged.

"My practice uses their OR. What's his name? Maybe I know him."

I shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable. "I don't know."

"You don't know who cut into your body?" Nathan sounded utterly dumbfounded. A lot like my sisters, actually.

I buttoned my lips shut. "I was in a lot of pain, okay? And it was late, and I'm already bad with names. They just gave me someone there, then scheduled a surgery with someone different. Maybe his name was Carver? Clinger? I don't know. I haven't been back since."

Nathan's big brown eyes somehow grew even bigger, magnified through his lenses. "What do you mean, you haven't been back since? What about follow-up? Post-op, physical therapy, future prognosis?"

I resisted the urge to turn away. "I missed an appointment, and they never rescheduled. I did see the PT for a while, but my insurance lapsed after I had to leave the show. Maybe you can afford a hundred and fifty bucks an hour for some massage and exercises, but I can't. Not with my income of three hundred bucks a week. Four if I'm lucky."

Nathan studied my knee under his broad hands for a long time. I took the time to study those hands. Surgeon's hands. Strong, yet dexterous. Steady and capable, just like the rest of him.

I bet he didn't struggle even a little to finish high school, much less college and medical school and whatever else he had to do to become a doctor. I bet reading books was as easy as breathing to him and that he could listen to his professors and remember everything they said. I bet he'd never had to beg anyone for work and live above his sister's auto shop just to survive.

Right now, Nathan seemed to be taking several deep breaths, clearly oblivious to the roller coaster of shame my brain was riding. Finally, he released my knee and sat back on his haunches.

"Well, your knee didn't heal correctly. ACL repair can take up to a year to recover, but I wouldn't expect a little turn like that to flatten you. You shouldn't be in this kind of pain after so long."

"No, I shouldn't," I said, pushing myself up on the couch. "Which is why I'm taking up another profession."

He surveyed me critically. "You mean taking off your clothes? Do I have to point out that exotic dancers probably do the same thing you just did to hurt yourself?"

The fact that he said "probably" didn't escape me. Probably. As in, he was guessing. As this beautiful, wholesome man had never set foot in a place like Diamonds or its owner's dirty gambling rings and probably never would.

I didn't hate it.

"I am aware of that," I said. "Which is why I would just be serving drinks. If I take the job. But it's still an industry built on tips, you know, so looking hot is going to earn me something more."

Something like realization dawned on his face. "Ergo, a breast augmentation."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Nathaniel. You saw what I have—or, you know, don't have—down there. It's a good investment."

"An investment."

"Yeah, an investment. You're repeating yourself again. Why do you do that?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times before shoving his hand back through his hair. His other tell—one that seemed to be motivated more by aggravation than nerves. It made the curls bounce pleasantly and, for some reason, made him even more attractive.

"I do that when I'm trying to understand something difficult," he said finally. "An investment in what?"

I sighed. "People—and by people, I mostly mean the ones with testicles—like to look while I serve them drinks. Bigger tits, bigger tips, or so I've been told. You follow?"

His brows were furrowed so hard they basically made one across his handsome forehead. "How much?"

"How much for what?" I replied, more than ready to leave. My knee was numb, and I was cold. I didn't like the third degree from my own grandmother, and I sure as shit didn't like it from a guy who thought rescuing me from a fall gave him the right to interrogate my life choices.

"How much more would you make with larger breasts?" Nathan's full mouth twisted like he had eaten something sour. "Have you calculated a clear difference? How long would it take you to earn back the cost of the surgery? Is that number accounting for your other expenses?"

"I don't know, all right! A while. Six months, probably. But it doesn't matter because I need the extra money right now, and I wouldn't have had to sell my life away to pay for the stupid surgery to begin with. It was a dead end, just like everything else."

I turned my face toward Tom's cluttered desk. Nathan didn't need to know how horrible those questions made me feel.

"Why?"

It was so Nathan. Short and to the fucking point.

I swallowed. What did it matter if he knew the rest of it? No doubt he already thought I was pathetic. Just like everyone else.

"Because I'm basically homeless," I finally admitted. "Five days ago, I had to move into the break room in my brother-in-law's body shop until I can figure out something else. If I can figure out something else."

It was the first time I'd said it all out loud, just like that. And I'd never been more humiliated. Because it wasn't like I was confessing to one of my dancer friends, people who also barely had their shit together and who could just as easily end up in a situation just like mine. Nathan was a doctor. He lived in a fancy building on the river. He was clearly someone who'd had his shit together for years, probably his whole life.

"What do you mean, if?"

I sighed. There it was. The disbelief. Or maybe the realization. Everyone who knew me went through one stage or the other.

Usually, I was a good mimic. I had five siblings to learn from, after all. I knew the expressions Matthew wore when he was figuring something out, or how Marie, the consummate wallflower, appeared when she was listening really hard. I'd heard Frankie jabber on about books enough that I could nod along when people mentioned titles that I knew. I could generally pretend to be competent in polite conversation, at least to the point where people didn't generally know the truth.

But when anyone took the time to peek behind the curtain of my daily performances, they would always find the same thing.

Frenzy.

Chaos.

A complete and total mess.

I didn't know why I hated more than anything for this doctor I hardly knew to discover what everyone else already had, but I did. I really did.

Two fingers slipped under my chin, forcing me to look up. But when I finally managed to drag my gaze back up to meet his, there were none of the emotions I had feared. He didn't tell me I was an idiot or spoiled or that I needed to focus or grow up finally or any of the other things I'd been hearing for days and weeks and honestly my entire life. There was no pity. No disgust. Just open curiosity while he listened and then considered my story.

"I don't believe the word is if you find a solution to your problems," Nathan said with his particular brand of steady, no-nonsense factuality. "It's when. It's how. I don't know you well, but I believe in you."

I blinked. And stared. And wondered how in the hell I'd never heard anyone say those things before to me, but the reality was, I hadn't.

And so I did the only thing that made sense in my addled, confused brain.

I blinked at the handsome doctor who said I was perfect, who said I was worth believing in.

And I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

At first, it was a little like kissing a mannequin. A very warm mannequin with soft yet firm lips that gradually came alive under mine as I nibbled at the bottom one. Automatically, my tongue slipped out to meet his, and before I knew it, I was pulling him on top of me, threading my fingers into his curls, moaning into his mouth, and enjoying the way a deep groan emerged from the bottom of his chest as he gave in at last.

His lips met mine again in a way that was concentrated yet relaxed, full of the same intention that had filled every unmasked look, every direct question he'd given me. Nathan kissed me with purpose that was wholly within his control but also feral. Kind and still bordering on the edge of wicked.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense, quivering like a bow waiting to be released.

I wondered what would happen if he did.

The thought made me shiver from head to toe.

Then he stopped. I tried to keep him with me, kissed along that impossibly sharp jawline, attempted again to suck his bottom lip between my teeth.

"Joni." Nathan's breath was warm against my cheek, slightly heavy, his voice a little hoarse as he managed to detangle my fingers from his shirt collar. Gradually, he unwound my arms from his neck and set my hands back in my own lap so he could sit up again on the edge of the sofa.

Realization flooded me. My stupid, rash decision making. My idiot brain.

"Oh, shit," I said. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You were just—you rescued me—and then you were here—and you listened—and you were actually nice, and?—"

"And you're overwhelmed," Nathan completed kindly as he adjusted his glasses. "Maybe in a little shock, too. It's all right. It happens."

Through his lenses, I was surprised to find, once again, no sign of judgment. A little surprise, maybe. And an admittedly swollen mouth. Just kind understanding and a clear head while he looked me over with the same clinical expression he'd worn when he examined my knee.

Doctor Hunt. Nothing more.

I slapped my hands over my face. I wanted to shrink into a ball and roll away. I wanted to hide under my covers and never come out. Even if they were the ones in the breakroom.

"God, I'm such a mess," I moaned. "I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. See, this is why the question is if. Because this is what I do in a crisis. I kiss the nice doctor instead of thanking him like a normal human. I make rash decisions instead of acting logically."

"I don't, though." When I peeked through my fingers, Nathan tipped his head to one side. "As it happens, I've been told I can be too logical at times. But maybe that would be helpful right now."

"Oh, yeah?" I mumbled. "How?"

I watched as he rubbed his chin, then pushed his glasses up his nose again before saying the very last thing I'd ever thought I'd hear.

"You need a place to live. And as it happens, I need a new roommate. Therefore, you should move in with me."