Page 41 of Rookie Recovery

Jamie could carry me to his office in his massive arms and nurture me back to health.

His mouth was open. Mirroring mine.

Further still.

His huge, solid body loomed over mine.

I was yelling.

He was yelling.

So much yelling—

“Get a room, guys!” Rowan said, barrelling into the gym, dragging Aaron and Zac behind him.

The room swam back to me with dizzying clarity. Jamie was on top of me, red faced, ordinarily flawless hair sticking out at wayward angles. He pounced to his feet and smoothed down his shirt, looking around the mat like he’d lost his keys.

If it weren’t for the fact we were both fully dressed, it would have looked unimaginably compromising. Exactly how it felt.

I gave the guys a smile and a wave. “Alright, lads,” I said, still flat on my back. I brought my knees up to hide certain involuntary bodily reactions that seemed to have developed during our little sesh.

Jamie scratched his temple, not quite meeting the eyes of the newcomers. God, I loved seeing him flustered.

He looked at me. “Get up,” he mouthed, his cheeks delightfully pink.

“Can’t stand up right now,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. I dropped my knees to the mat. “I’ve got a bit of a sitch going on.”

Rowan snorted. The three guys watched Jamie, waiting for his reaction.

“Jesus, well,” was all Jamie could manage. He looked around the gym floor again as though he’d forgotten something, pointed to me with both hands, shook his head, and headed for the gym’s double doors, knocking his thigh against the dumbbell rack as he went.

He paused at the door. Ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, Cap, I’ve got you down for a two o’clock. Still good with you? How’s your elbow?”

“Can we make it any earlier?” Aaron said. His face would have been deadpan if it weren’t for the tiny twist to the corners of his lips. “The others are getting here at two for a scrimmage.”

Jamie nodded, straightened his shirt once again, and left.

“Oh, my God,” said Zac, shooting Aaron a look that could only have one meaning: What did I tell you?

Eventually, I sat up and pulled myself onto a nearby bench.

“How’s the shoulder?” Aaron called out from across the mat. “You scrimmaging later, or still no ice time?”

I shook my head. “Not sure Sir Yes Sir will let me, but I’ll stick around and watch.”

Aaron flashed me a thumbs up, then immediately turned to the other half of his duo, and began—or continued—a conversation so low they might as well have been whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

Rowan dropped onto the bench next to me. “So, what’s happening with you and the doc?”

Well, that was the question of the century, wasn’t it? And the truth was, I had no idea.

I liked Jamie. Like, really liked Jamie. Like, starting to think maybe I wanted something more than a quick fuck against his physio’s table. Like maybe I wanted, I didn’t know … a date?

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About that body of his, and those tattoos, which he’d been hiding all this time. Well, I sort of guessed about the body. From the way his work shirts pulled deliciously over his chest. And those thick as fuck forearms he used to torture and taunt me in equal measures. But those tattoos. I could go off all Shakespearean about those tattoos if given half a minute. I would find out what they meant. At some point.

I couldn’t stop thinking about our hike, either, and our swim. How incredible his body looked in the lake, streaming with run-off, his marl-grey boxer-briefs rung through with water, clinging to everything, leaving very little to the imagination.

Okay, in all fairness, it was icy cold water. Even so, what I could make out was pretty damn impressive. I had not fared so well in those conditions. Once submerged, Little Bowie took his own hike, seeking warmer climes, into my body. My pasty British skin quickly adopted a Leo-after-Kate-let-go bluish hue.

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