Page 55 of The Dating Coach
"Your ribs," she gasped, pulling back.
"Worth it," I assured her, then proved it by kissing her again.
When we finally made it to the parking lot, my father's car was gone. Good. I had more important things to focus on – like how Gemma's hand fit in mine, how Mia hugged me carefully but fiercely, and how Karen declared, "About fucking time you stood up to your father," with her characteristic subtlety.
Back at the hockey house, Gemma fussed over me, helping me settle on my bed and adjusting pillows and ice packs with medical precision. "You should rest. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor yet," I pointed out, catching her hand before she could retreat.
"Close enough." But she let me tug her down beside me, careful of my injuries. "That was stupid, you know. Playing through that kind of pain."
"You were watching," I said simply. "I couldn't quit with you watching."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she said, but her eyes were soft. "Also possibly the sweetest."
"I'm excellent at dumb but sweet," I agreed, then groaned as shifting sent fresh pain through my ribs.
"Okay, that's it. Sleep. Heal. We can talk tomorrow."
"Will you stay?" The question came out more vulnerable than intended. "Not for... I just sleep better when you're here."
She hesitated, and I could see her internal battle – the careful boundaries we'd maintained for months warring with the shift that had just occurred. Finally, she kicked off her shoes and curled carefully against my uninjured side.
"Just sleeping," she warned. "You're injured and I have an early practice."
"Just sleeping," I agreed, already drowsy from painkillers and the rightness of her weight against me.
Chapter 25: Gemma
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up from the bottom of a warm lake. The first thing I registered was the solid warmth beneath my cheek – Liam's chest, rising and falling with steady breaths. The second was the golden morning light streaming through his windows, which meant...
"Shit," I muttered, carefully extracting myself from the tangle of limbs we'd become during the night. My 6 AM practice started in forty minutes, and I was in yesterday's clothes with bedhead that defied physics.
"No," Liam mumbled, eyes still closed as he tried to pull me back. "Stay. Skip practice."
"Can't skip," I said, but I let myself be tugged back for a moment, weak to his sleepy persuasion. "Some of us aren't star athletes who can coast on natural talent."
"I don't coast," he protested, cracking one eye open. "I work very hard. Ask my ribs."
The bruising across his torso had darkened overnight, purple and black painting abstract art on his skin. I traced the edges carefully, medical interest warring with something softer.
"Does it hurt?"
"Everything hurts," he admitted. "But this makes it better." He caught my hand, pressing it flat against his chest. "Last night..."
"Was nice," I finished, because it was true. "But I really do have to go. Coach will murder me if I'm late again."
"Again?" His grin was far too knowing. "Gemma Spears, have you been distracted lately?"
“Shut up,” I muttered, smiling as I searched for my shoes. “Some of us have demanding, handsome idiots who insist on injuring themselves and needing medical attention.”
The words slipped out without thought, and I froze. Liam's eyebrows shot up, his grin turning absolutely wicked. Before he could comment on my very revealing word choice, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Practice," I said firmly, pulling away. "I'll come by after?"
"I'll be here," he promised. "Probably haven't moved. Very injured. Might need extensive care."
"Drama queen," I accused, but I was grinning as I slipped out.
