Page 63 of Fever Dream
“Nah, that’s alright,” Barlow says, jumping off the table. “I’m good.”
Harrison just sighs as he pretends to glare at me over the treatment bed. “You come back when I’ve finished with this diva, okay?” he calls after Rafi who is quick to retreat. Good rookie. “Happy now?”
“Deliriously so,” I grin, swanning into the treatment room like the diva he’s labelled me. I drop my shorts, pretending innocence as Harrison’s eyes widen, attention exactly where I wanted.
“Um,” he says.
“How are you at treating groin strains?” I ask, complete innocence at this end. Harrison catches on, that sexy smirk pulling up the sides of his mouth.
“Groin strain, huh?” he mulls, eyeing me like a medical specimen as he grapples for his professional hat. “Alright, on your stomach.”
“You sure? You did hear it’s a groin strain, right?” I ask, hesitating before climbing onto the bed.
“Yes, I heard you. We favour the holistic approach here, or did you forget?”
Well. Guess I just got played at my own game as I climb onto the bed, on my stomach. As requested.
Casey’s warm hands find the backs of my thighs and I cannot rein in the groan that leaves my mouth. Damn he has magic hands.
“Are you sure I can’t buy you?” I murmur.
Harrison chuckles as he presses in deeper. “Surely even you can see how that would be problematic, Case.”
“Oh,” I reply. “Is that because you had your cock in my mouth last night? And in the shower this morning?”
“Seriously, Casey,” Harrison murmurs, pinching my hip. “I can’t even deal with you sometimes.”
“Is it because it might make you feel like a sex worker?” I press, loving making him squirm like this. “Because there’s nothing wrong with being a sex worker, you know. Oldest profession in the book.” I know he’s antsy because the door is wide open, but I can see the hallway from the bed and I know we’re fine.
“Casey I am literally begging you to be quiet right now,” he hisses.
“What will you give me to make me be quiet?” I ask, spying leverage when it’s handed to me on a platter.
“Anything. Except for money as I don’t have enough of that.”
“Iliterallyjust offered to pay you for your services so you can’t go crying poor now,” I laugh.
“Fine,” Harrison grumps. “How much?”
“Nah, I don’t want your money, baby. Can it be something sexual instead?”
“Anything,” he repeats, quick as a flash.
I can only smirk. “Okay. Deal.”
Looks like I won this round after all.
Well, that is until Dean Hampton passes by and spies me getting my cheeky extra treatment instead of running laps out on the field like I’m supposed to be.
“Calloway, what the hell are you doing in here?” he demands. “Hurry up and get out on the oval. Where you’resupposedto be.”
And that would be fine as well if it were not for the fact that Harrison’s hands are just that wonderful that I now have a slightly bigger problem at hand—and I’m very clearly only wearing jocks. I’m aware this problem is all of my own making, but I was expecting to tease my sexy physio, not deal with the frustrated head trainer.
Dean starts asking Harrison for an update on Briggs’s latest scans and I cough as quietly as I can to catch Harrison’s eye. His acting skills need a little work as he zooms in on my prominent dilemma while I perch on my hip, my back to Dean. But he recovers some as he reaches down to quietly pass me my shorts while engaging Dean in a lively medical discussion.
I pull my shorts on as unobtrusively as possible, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean leaves the room, barking out orders tohotfoot it to the oval, Calloway. I pinch Harrison’s hip on my way out the door, finding him smug as a bug as he stares back at me.
“Lifesaver,” I whisper as I head for the field.
