“We did have hover boards,” Kaden says. “But they banned them from almost everywhere because they kept exploding and catching fire.”
My eyes light up. “You’re kidding? Hover boards! Like—”
“No,” he says. “Not like in the movie. I don’t know why they called them hover boards, really. They were just like...really crappy scooters with no handles. You stood on them and moved slowly around. On wheels.”
“Oh,” I say, deflating. “What cool stuff is there, then?”
Kaden pulls out his phone. “You fell asleep in 2010, so...damn, if it had been a few years earlier, I could have wowed you with an iPhone or something.”
He pockets his phone.
“What can the new iPhone do?” I ask.
“Let’s see…” he says, pulling his phone back out.
He holds a button down, and there’s a chirping sound.
“Siri,” Kaden says. “What appointments do I have tomorrow?”
“You have a robot assistant?” I ask, sitting up. The blanket falls down, and my big boobs—still at least covered by a hospital gown—spill out. I pull the blanket back up against my chest.
“Tomorrow you have ‘walk with Rose Dorner’ at 10 a.m., ‘lunch’ at 12:30 p.m.…”
“Got it,” Kaden says.
“‘Poker’ at 8 p.m., ‘UFC’ at—”
“Siri, chill out!” he says.
She keeps going until the whole day’s schedule is announced.
“I guess robots aren’t going to be taking the world over quite yet,” I say.
“I’m honestly surprised she even understood me. I usually have to repeat myself three or four times. I guess she wanted to impress you.”
“You play poker?” I ask.
He grins. “Yeah, I was pro for a while—”
“Wait,” I say. “You went from pro poker player to brain surgeon? How does that even happen?”
“I didn’t want to go into debt for medical school,” Kaden says. “So I saved up the money for it all upfront.”
“You paid for medical school just with poker money? Isn’t that like hundreds of thousands of dollars?”
A tattooed, poker-playing brain surgeon. It’s going to take me a while to figure this guy out. Not that I’ll mind spending more time with him. I keep feeling like he’s so much older than me. He looks like he’s in his early thirties, which feels like more than a 10-year age difference...but then I remember I’m actually twenty-five. Not eighteen.
“Yeah,” Kaden says. “It took me a few years, but I was pulling in crazy cash in pro poker. More than I needed. So I invested it.”
“Why not just keep doing it then?” I ask. “You could have just done it a few more years and retired early.”
He shrugs. “I always wanted to be a doctor. It wasn’t really about the money. Even if brain surgery had paid lousy, it’s what I wanted to do.”
I smile. “Well, you’re really good at it.”
“Tell that to Dr. Bell.”
“I did,” I say, winking. “I think I helped save your ass.”
He laughs. “You one hundred percent saved my ass, Rose. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me,” I say. “I was repaying my debt to you. You’d already saved me, so I just...paid it back.”
“Well,” he says. “We’re even then, aren’t we?”
“I’m not even with everyone,” I say.
He leans in closer to me. “What do you mean?”
“Dylan,” I say. “I can’t help but feel...he was always smart. I think he gave up everything for me. He’s a barista. When I fell asleep, he was looking at going to Harvard.”
Kaden bites his lip. “You can’t blame yourself for any of that, Rose. You didn’t ask for the wiring in your brain to suddenly go bad. It just happened. I’m sure Dylan did what he wanted to help. You didn’t force him. You’re his sister, and he loves you.”
No one will tell me what happened, but I can piece it together. Mom and Dad decided to spend all their money on my treatment, and there was nothing left for Dylan. Then Dylan decided to work instead of go off to school. They probably all thought that I’d wake up soon, and by the time Dylan realized I wouldn’t wake up, it was too late for Harvard and the money was all gone.
“So,” I say, trying to shift the conversation to a less depressing topic. “You’re an ex-pro poker player, and you play with your friends? How is that fair?”
Kaden leans in closer to me, until I can see each hair of his stubble and can smell his masculine scent, and whispers, “Can you keep a secret?”
I nod. “Sure, I mean, of course I can.”
“I play with other doctors and hospital staff—nurses, EMTs, a bunch of people. Poker just ended up being what everyone does to hang out with each other. It’s a ton of fun...and so I lose on purpose.”
“You what?” I say, my voice rising.
“Shh,” he says. “I seriously don’t want anyone to find out. I played under an alias back before poker players were on TV and stuff. No one knows I used to be a pro, and they think I’m one of the worst players at the table. I just have fun shooting the shit, even if it costs me a few hundred each time we play.”
“You could at least win sometimes,” I say. “To make up for your losses…”
He shakes his head. “It’s either all on or all off with me. If I started winning hands, they’d see how much I’d been faking all along, and it would ruin poker night.”
“Honestly, Kaden,” I say. “I think everyone would think it’s hilarious. You should just sweep the game one night, then tell them how long you’ve been faking it. How long have you—?”
“Five years,” he says, laughing. “For as long as I’ve worked here, for as long as I’ve known you.”
“I can’t believe you’ve known me for five years,” I say. “It feels sort of like I just met you.”
“Sort of?” he says. “You did just meet me.”
I look down, not sure how to respond, or how to word it. “It’s just...there’s just this feeling I have that I have known you. Maybe part of my brain knew you were there, or that you talked to me. You don’t really feel like a stranger to me.”
Or maybe we have a connection. Maybe there’s some serious chemistry between us. It’s not at all like with Ryan, or any of the boys I dated in high school.
As much as I want to stay up talking to him, I’m starting to feel tired. My vision is getting blurry, and I keep rubbing my eyes. My body is begging me to go to sleep, but my mind is terrified.
“You should sleep,” Kaden says, as I yawn. “I’ll be right here. Once you’re asleep, I’ll make sure it’s a natural sleep—I’ll closely monitor everything.”
“I’m really afraid to,” I say, yawning even more.
“Don’t be,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing.
I suddenly imagine him giving me a massage until I fall asleep. If I could lay on my stomach and have those delicious surgeon hands kneading and pressing into my body, I could definitely fall asleep without…