Page 24 of The History Between Us

To say he was irked would be an understatement. I got a very stern talking to like I was a rebellious teenager all over again.

I’m paying the price for it this morning, though, that’s for damn sure. My shoulder is throbbing, and I swear it’s more swollen than usual, but I could be paranoid. In either case, I’m kind of freaking out. What if I set myself back even more? Inthe light of day, with a clear mind, I know it was a stupid move. Really fucking stupid. But last night… Fuck, I don’t know. I felt hopeless. A voice in the back of my mind kept chirping at me, feeding me my worst fears.

You’re never going to recover in time to compete next season.

Your competitors are out there scoring and getting further than you.

They’re all going to surpass you while you sit at home and wither away.

You’re never going to be good enough.

Why is it that our worst critics are always ourselves?

I’m sitting on my bed with a heating pad on my shoulder when a knock sounds at my door. “Come in,” I call out, thinking it’s probably my mom checking on me since I haven’t left this room at all this morning. Imagine my surprise when the door opens and in walks the last person I ever would’ve expected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

William leaves the door open as he steps into my room, a broody, bored expression on his face, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “Your father called me to come check you out.”

Huffing out a dry laugh, I say, “Is that right?”

He presses his lips together, probably realizing what he just said. “He said you were working out last night and may have hurt yourself.”

Realization dawns on me, and it feels like the wind has been punched out of me.God-fucking-damnit.“Why the hell would he call you? You’re not even my fucking doctor anymore.”

I don’t miss the twitch in his jaw or the way his nostrils flare. “Well, I would imagine that, unless you told him, he probably doesn’t know I’m not your doctor, Colt. I don’t make it a point to discuss my patients with their parents.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” I scoff. “So you wasted your timecoming over here.”

“You’re not fine,” he argues, stepping farther into the room. “There’s a heating pad draped over your shoulder.”

“I’m a little cold.”

“Right.” William rolls the desk chair to the side of my bed, dropping down into it. The rich, mahogany scent of his wafts over to me, and I hate how much that smell excites me. I’m in no mood to see anybody right now, or be told what a fucking idiot I am for going against doctor’s orders. “Since I’m already here, how about I take a look at it?”

Biting down on my molars, I glance over at him, and I’m taken aback by the concern etched in his features. “Yeah, okay,” I murmur, taking the heating pad off and setting it in my lap.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” he asks, and the deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. Swallowing thickly, I nod, sitting up to maneuver the material up and over my head without agitating my shoulder. I must not do a very good job at concealing my discomfort because William reaches for the hem, stopping me. “Here, let me.”

I freeze, hand still gripping the hem of my shirt as my heart thunders in my chest. We hold eye contact for a long, tense moment before he nods, and I drop my hand. With the utmost gentleness, William lifts my shirt, knuckles lightly brushing against my abdomen as he pulls my good arm out first before dragging it over my head until he’s able to slide it easily off my injured arm. Setting the shirt in my lap, his eyes find mine again. He pauses, but I don’t know why. For permission, maybe? I tuck my chin in a quick nod, and then his fingers are skating over my skin as his gaze averts to my shoulder while he examines the area.

Silence surrounds us as he gently pokes and prods the area,somehow managing to not hurt me in the process. His fingertips are featherlight against my skin, and my heart is beating so hard I’m certain he can hear it from where he’s sitting.

“What kind of exercises were you doing?” he asks. When I don’t answer, I feel his gaze on the side of my head. “Colt.” My name is a throaty growl that sends goosebumps over my skin.

“I tried lifting a little weight,” I mumble.

His blues slice over to mine for half a second before he focuses on my shoulder again. “You know better than that,” is all he says, and I’m torn between feeling scolded and being turned on by the tone he’s taking with me. Imagining him saying those words in a different setting, with much less clothes on. “Why’d you do it?”

My throat tightens, and I don’t bother answering. I can’t. There’s a gentleness to the question that I wasn’t prepared for.

Touch tender, yet firm, the pads of his fingers press into the flesh around my shoulder, massaging lightly. It sends electricity through my body, and it makes my breath come out harsher. It feels good, and I know it’s more than just the massage. It’shim. His hands on my body, his gaze so focused on me.

“Does this hurt at all?” he asks, voice throaty and hoarse all of the sudden. The sound is fire through my veins.

“Nah, it feels good,” I reply honestly.

My heart pounds an erratic beat against my rib cage, my skin lit up under his touch. I feel it everywhere. William looks up from where his hands work the muscle, darkened eyes meeting mine again, and I swear he feels it too. It’s in the way his throat works as he swallows, in the way his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted. And then his fingers stop moving, and somehow he moves a little closer. So close I can feel his hot breath fan my face. So close I can see the way hispupils dilate when they dip down to my mouth.

Time stands still, the entire world fading away as I see the desire swirling in his gaze. He wants to kiss me. “Colt,” he whispers, the restraint fading with each passing moment. It’s palpable.

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