Page 39 of Winter Break Up

But it’s not like I can stop. I’m an addict, a moth to a flame, a person who keeps getting burnt and then asking for more fire. Stopping is not an option.

“These smell so damn good,” Mercer mutters as he unwraps our sandwiches and sets them out on the rickety card table in the break room.

I grab us napkins and fill two mugs with hot chocolate because what is our ritual without the drink we love, even if it doesn’t go with our meal.

As I sit across from him, I don’t miss the way he’s rubbing his knee.

“You sore?” I try for nonchalant in my tone of voice, but I’m worried.

He shrugs. “This much physical labor would make anyone sore. I’m fine, the knee is fine.”

“But you would tell us if you thought it was too much work, right?” I know he won’t.

“Of course.” He grins, and we both know he’s bluffing.

“Let me massage it, work out the ache.” I motion for him to pull his pant leg up.

Mercer shakes his head. “Eat your sandwich, bossy.”

I take one massive bite and then scoot my chair around the table toward him. “Come on, boot up here.”

Indecision wars in those aqua eyes, but eventually, he hefts that muscled leg onto my waiting thigh. The weight of it isn’t uncomfortable, but it is heavy.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“And yet I want to.”

He’s sore, I can tell, and there isn’t anything more on this earth that I want than making him feel better. It’s like my heart and soul snap right back into Mercer-mode the minute they see him.

Rolling up his pant leg isn’t an easy task, but we work together to get it over his knee. Nothing looks out of sorts from the lens of my naked eye, which helps ease my worry a bit. I start slow, brushing my fingers gently over the skin before putting a little more pressure on his joints and muscles.

“Ugh, that feels so good. You’ve got magic hands.” His head drops back in agony and relief as I work at the strained muscles under his perfect, slightly tanned skin.

It’s really unfair, even if I reap the rewards, how gorgeous he is. His skin has that bronzed feature only someone who lives in a warm-weather state almost year-round can have. That blond hair is tousled and windblown from the snow, and it curls as he runs his hands through it. Everything about Mercer is super-sized, from his lean legs to those arms that make me feel tiny to the monster appendage he has hiding in his pants.

“Funny, I usually say that to you.” Even if I make myself blush from the innuendo, I can’t help flirting.

He tenses up a bit, and I know I’ve hit a spot that aches more than the other parts of his leg. Looking down, I see the scar from his surgery. It’s still pink, not yet faded to a silvery white from years of healing.

“It still hurts, huh?”

“Most days, no.” Mercer shakes his head. “But when I overwork it, I can tell it isn’t what it used to be. Not to say I’m not light-years ahead of the normal person in athletic ability or strength. I’m just reminded, at times, that I’m not as invincible as I once thought I was.”

“It must piss you off that teams wouldn’t just draft you.” Not a smooth way to bring it up, but I’ve been meaning to.

Mercer doesn’t mind people being blunt, though, so I don’t hesitate. I mean, I’m fucking pissed about it. Have been since it happened. Those front office soccer goons should have seen the potential in him even if he couldn’t play his senior year or make it to a training camp or combine. They should have had more faith in him, but then again, professional sports isn’t a business built on hope and faith. It’s built on money, statistics, prospects, and a lot of other factors that make mere mortal bodies seem invincible.

“Fuck yeah, it did. I was fucking livid for a good week after that. For all the work I’ve put in, for how letter of the law I’ve been in the eyes of the pro teams and the national organization, it was almost like a betrayal. But it wasn’t personal, so I can’t take it like that. This is a business. The sooner I got that in my head, the easier it was to move on and grind like hell to get into the league. It’s been my dream, my purpose, forever. Why the hell am I going to give that up just because a bunch of suits decided I wasn’t worth the financial risk? I’ll show them.”

His face is set in such determination that it inspires something in me. God, he’s formidable. If that had happened to me, I’d likely crumple. Hell, my mental state had been in shambles for something far less in the grand scheme of things. Mercer was so resilient that it made me want to be that way, too.

My hands drift higher, until I’m almost at the apex of his thigh.

Blue eyes blaze at me from half-mast as I rub his knee. “You trying to turn this into a happy ending massage? ’Cause that can be arranged.”

“Let me take care of you.” I hit him with another thinly veiled sex implication.

“Emily.” His voice is a warning, and it sends tingles down my spine.

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