Page 29 of Sporting Goods

He didn’t need to say it. But his reason was clear. We were helpinghim.

“Is that all?” I blinked, wondering what possessed me to ask that.

The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes washed over me again. “What else would it be?”

I pushed off the board. “You were never going to take payment from me, were you?”

“No,” he answered without a breath.

“Fine. Let’s finish your sessions. But I have a condition.”

“For free lessons?”

“Have a seat on the bench and take your shirt off.”

He laughed. “I’d much rather do that in the bedroom.”

“I want to look at your arm.”

His smile faded instantly and his tone shifted. “Forget it.”

Fine. Different approach. It was completely out of character, but he’d turned off in such an instant, I was afraid I’d miss my chance. “Ouch. If you don’t want me touching you, you could just say so.”

“Oh I want you touching me, dove.” His eyes moved to my hands. “Just not as a doctor.” He skated off the ice and I followed.

“Good thing I’m not one.” I pushed him onto the bench on his ass, perhaps a little too hard.

“Ow. Hey when you’re done manhandling me, I have something else you could take a look at.”

I released a breathy laugh and blushed. “Sorry.”

Despite his earlier protest, he lifted the shirt over his head.

My breath caught. I took three too-brief seconds to take him in. Perfection all over. His shoulders, pecks, torso. I focused on everything but the arm I needed to. A tattoo extending from the top of his right shoulder blade ran down to his wrist. I’d worked with patients with tattoos before and usually looked right past them, as if they weren’t even there. But this one…I wanted to see. Examine every inch of it.

Understand it.

Clouds wrapped around the base of his forearm. Flowers were tucked above with light rays shining upward. Then there were other various overlapping ink marks that I didn’t even try to make out on my own. “What are these?” I traced a finger around his bicep. Not the one that needed attention.

“Pucks.”

“And the rest?” I asked, gently lifting his other arm to feel for tension. I watched his face closely for signs of pain.

He winced slightly. But it wasn’t from pain. It looked more like a painful memory than something that was physically hurting. “The rest…is none of your business.”

His arm still rested in my hands. With pressure, I traced my thumb starting from the forearm and working up, feeling for any unhealed tears. “You always been this pleasant?”

His voice was coarse. And sexy as hell. “Only to people who poke at me like they know what they’re doing.”

I was used to the PA ‘not a doctor’ comments and typically brushed it off without a flinch. But this one hurt.

I dropped his arm. I’d need cooperation to know how much damage he still had. And he clearly wasn’t going to give it to me.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

I sighed, settling down to remove my skates so I could get out of there. “It’s not good news. Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do for major assholes.”

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