Page 22 of Major Penalty

Dr. Mathews reaches me and claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Black. Have fun.” He smiles, walking past me.

The door swings shut behind him, leaving us completely alone. Irene recovers fast, plastering on a smile and flipping up her tablet.

“Good morning!” she says brightly, moving like she’s suddenly all business. Like she’s not thinking about what I did to her after the game. But I see everything. I see the way she won’t quite meet my eyes, the way her fingers tighten around the pen, the way her cheeks turn pink.

“Good morning.” I take a slow step forward.

She’s nervous, yet she’s pretending to be professional. And I’m trying my best not to imagine all the other guys who came here before me, who got to feel her hands on them first. Fuck, now I’m thinking about it. The thought sticks in my head like a thorn.

“Alright,” she says, flipping through her notes. “Let’s get started.”

I sit down on the examination table as she sets her pen down.

“You can just sit—” She turns to face me. “Oh, right.” She lets out a small laugh before she takes a step closer.

I don’t say a word; I just sit there, bracing myself for her touch.

She takes a step closer and another until she’s standing right between my legs, close enough that I can feel her warmth. My eyes go dark, and for the first time, I reallylookat her. Not just the surface, but every little thing I missed before—the flecks of green in her eyes, the way her lashes catch the light, that little beauty mark above her left eyebrow. A tiny dot on the right side of her upturned nose makes my lips twitch.

She used to have a nose ring.

Her sweet scent is faint, but it hits me like a drug, and I have to fight the urge to lean in. My muscles are already reacting to her. I hate how easy it is for her to mess with me without even trying.

“Let me know if anything feels tender or painful, okay?” Her voice is steady but softer now.

I give her a nod, still studying her face, taking in every little detail and trying to make my mind remember where I’ve seen it before. I don’t like not knowing, not remembering, and not being able to tell if she’s really someone I’ve seen or if my mind is playing tricks on me. If I’ve really seen her before, wouldn’t she remember me, too? Or am I the only one deluding myself with potentially false memories?

Her hands move up, and I’m already tense, bracing for her touch. My pulse speeds up as her soft palms land on my shoulders, feeling for any tightness or pain. There isn’t any—just the burn of her hands on me.

I’ve lost count of how many of these exams I’ve gone through. This one is torture.

Her fingers press into the muscle in my shoulder, and my chest tightens. Her touch is measured, gentle, and precise, but the fact that she’s touching me makes me lose track of what I’m even supposed to be doing here. I feel the heat of her touch where her fingers dig into my skin. She leans in slightly, her legs brushing against mine for the briefest moment, and I feel it in my core.

I feel her fingers slide over the muscles in my back, digging deeper into the tissue as she works through the knots.

“No pain?” she asks, moving lower now, trailing her fingers down my biceps, checking for strains.

“No,” I murmur, my voice coming out gravelly.

“That’s good.” She nods, stepping back. “Can you please lie down?”

I roll my shoulders back and brace myself for the moment she’s been waiting for. This is where she finds out just how bad it is. I already know what’s coming, and I’m dreading it. I’ve done this a thousand times before. The exams. The exercises. The stupid physical check-ups. I’ve been through it all. So why is this girl making me feel like a horny teenager who can’t wait to rub one out in the fucking bathroom after saying hi to his crush? This isn’t me. It never has been.

What the hell are you doing to me, little one?

I shift and lie back on the table, my back hitting the cool surface. I put an arm behind my head as I stare at the ceiling.

“Good,” she says, her voice still steady, her expression hard and assessing. She moves to the side of the table, standing right next to me. “Bring your knees up, please.”

I obey and feel the familiar pressure in my hip. No pain yet, but it’s slowly getting there.

“Perfect.” She nods. “Now, I’m going to put my fist between your knees, and I want you to squeeze. Okay?”

I silently bring my knees together, with her tiny fist balled up between them. I squeeze her fist, careful not to hurt her. My hip fights every second of it, but I do it.

“Can you do it harder?” she asks, looking down at me.

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