Page 105 of Puck Prince

A moment later, my teammates are moving out of the way as several medics and trainers surround me.

They go through the motions as I grit out, “I’m fine. It’s just my knee.”

“Can you sit up?” one of them asks.

I try, but it’s rough. I prop myself up on my elbows while they examine it.

“Can you bend it?”

I can, but fuck, it hurts.

“That face says it all,” one of them adds. Somehow, that fuels me. A surge of defiance floods my veins, amping up my adrenaline, and I move to stand up. They advise against it, but I ignore them, pulling myself to my feet.

The crowd claps, and the announcer speaks up.

“Well, folks, we might still have our center. He seems to be alr?—”

I collapse.

Goddammit.

I slam my fists down on the ice. Then I hear her voice. “Move. Everyone, move! Boys, get out of my way. You, too, Lance.”

Callie appears beside me.

“Hold still,” she commands.

“Nice to see you, too.” I grimace. “You just skip on out here in your Nikes? How very Callie of you.”

“You just trying to walk off an ACL injury so you can finish a game you’re already losing? How very Owen of you. Now, relax and let me look at it.”

I’m not in the mood for her salt, but at the same time, it’s a nice distraction from the pain. Or at least, it redirects the pain to my heart. This woman seems to have my composure in the palm of her hands these days.

“We gotta get you to my office,” she decides. “Now.”

There’s no sense in fighting her, so I let the medics help me off the ice. They take me to the training room and lay me down on a massage table. It isn’t until then that I realize how labored my breathing is. Sweat drenches my entire collar.

“Of all the games you come to, you had to catch this one?” I tease, my throat dry.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I did.” She is already working to get my gear off so she can better examine me. “You’re going to have to take your pants off.”

“On a first date? Never.”

She shoots me a look to kill, and I smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” I tug at my waistband. Shimmying out of pants while you are on a table and your knee is screaming is easier said than done, though. Callie has to help me.

I think about anything except the obvious as she slides my pants down one leg and then the other.

Once I’m in my boxer briefs, she gets to work. Her hands are cold against my hot skin, which makes it impossible not to think about where and how she’s touching me.

“If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask,” I joke.

Callie rolls her eyes without looking at me. “I think you might actually be okay. Maybe a sprain at most. I was worried you tore your ACL, but I don’t see the signs of it. Does this hurt?” She massages a spot below my knee cap.

“Not really.”

“This?” She moves above the knee.

---