Page 76 of Wicked Scorn
“I’m sure, baby. It’ll take more than that to keep me down for long.”
“Miss, really, you need to leave.” The staff member tries again, tone growing more insistent. “This area is off-limits to?—”
I cut him off with a look that could cut glass, holding Oakley closer as if to shield her from the intruder’s words.
“She can be wherever the fuck I am,” I growl, low and dangerous. “Don’t let me catch you speaking to my girl like that again.”
The man’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t argue further. With one last disgruntled look, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the locker room.
Letting out a long exhale, I turn my attention back to Oakley. She’s watching me with surprise and fuck, that’s definitely love. I’ll never get tired of seeing that.
“I love it when you call me your girl,” she murmurs, one delicate brow arched.
I smirk, leaning in until my lips are a breath away from hers. “Just how wet did that make you?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I can’t stop my gaze from dropping to trace the movement. “Not at all.”
“Liar.”
“Where does it hurt?” There’s a tremble in her question that I feel down to my bones.
“Here.” I point to my thigh, then up to my chest. “But mostly here when you look at me like that.”
The words are barely out before I’m kissing her, hard and hungry. She rises up on her toes to meet me, kissing me back with eager desperation. My hand slides up into her hair, cupping the back of her head to angle her how I want.
We’re both panting when we finally break apart, chests heaving. Oakley blinks up at me with hooded eyes, lips parted and slick from our kisses.
“Ahem.”
The doctor’s pointed cough shatters the moment, and Iturn to glare at him over my shoulder. He’s got one brow raised, looking distinctly unimpressed.
“If you two are done?” He gestures to the exam table behind him.
Grinding my teeth, I give him a curt nod. Right. I still need an official diagnosis.
“Everyone out,” I growl, turning my glower on the few scattered staff members still lingering by their lockers. “Give us some privacy.”
They don’t need to be told twice. In a matter of moments, the locker room is empty save for me, Oakley, and the doctor.
“Up on the table,” the older man instructs with a sigh. “Let’s get you checked out and iced.”
Oakley steps back, giving me space as I ease myself up onto the padded vinyl surface. She hovers nearby, worrying at her plump lower lip.
The doctor works in silence, prodding and manipulating my leg through a series of tests. I grit my teeth against the flashes of pain, but otherwise don’t make a sound.
“Well, it’s not broken,” he declares at last. “Just a sprain or contusion. You’ll need to ice it and take it easy for a few days.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a look.
“That’s not a suggestion, Blackwood. You push it too hard, and you’ll be out for weeks instead of days. So take the rest while you can get it.”
Grumbling under my breath, I nod my reluctant agreement. He’s not wrong. I know if I try and push too much it’ll only end up worse in the long run.
“Good.” He pats my good shoulder. “Now get dressed and get out of my locker room. You’re done for the day.”
Swinging my legs over the side of the table, I get down and make my way over to my locker, limping to avoid putting toomuch pressure on my left leg. Oakley trails behind, her presence a comforting warmth at my back.
I tug on a clean pair of joggers, then reach for a t-shirt to pull over my head.
