Page 42 of Goalie Secrets

The worst part? It’s theonlyroom.

“I’m calling the owner now,” Jeremy announces, angrily punching his phone to open the app. Because his face is lit up by the screen, I see his distressed wince. “Two rooms. Not two bedrooms. Shit.”

“As in a kitchen and a room,” I state in disbelief. We had both misread the description.

Two rooms and one bed.

“It’s fine, Jeremy. We’re only here till the morning,” I rush to say because there is no other option available. If the universe is conspiring to put this goaltender and I in precarious situations involving basements and tight spaces, so be it. It doesn’t have to result in any indiscretion, right?

Suuuure.

“I can sleep on the floor if that makes you more comfortable.”

He’s studying my features to assess how upset I am. That bit of consideration lowers my guard.

“We flew out here to diagnose your hip, not to make it worse by lying on a concrete floor.”

“Obviously, I’d take the blankets and leave you to freeze,” he quips.

“We can share the bed and the blankets,” I state casually, pushing past him to check the bathroom which is sparce but clean enough. Resigned, I grab my bag. “I’m dying for a shower. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?”

“No problem. I’ll be checking out this state-of-the-art entertainment center.” His voice drips with scorn and resignation.

Locking myself in the bathroom, I take an inordinate amount of time to shower. Processing the last eight hours calls for this bit of privacy because, wow, that was an eventful day.

Dr. Leroi’s clinic featured some of the most advanced biomechanical assessments that I’ve seen up close. I would love to pair that technology with rehabilitation protocols specific to EDS. Recalling Jeremy on the treadmill, it strikes me that the potential for hip dysplasia would be disastrous for his career. But I keep it to myself. We’re gathering detailed evidence and important data to customize our approach to his pain management. No need to get ahead of myself.

“Yes!” I hear from beyond the door. “Fuck, yeah!” The outburst sounds so victorious, I have to smile. Curious about what made him cheer, I rush to slip back into my dress pants and button-down shirt.

“Did you find a second bedroom after all?” I ask jokingly after opening the door.

“Better.”

“The porn channel on this fine entertainment center?” The words come out before I can censor myself. I just spent days with Ashley, and that’s exactly the kind of crass joke she’d make.

His mouth gapes open and eyes darken. “Dr. Kapur, that is an exceptionally inappropriate suggestion.”

“It was a guess, not a suggestion,” I say nonchalantly, ignoring the heat on my cheeks.

“If I knew it was an option, I’d have checked.” His lowered voice matches a sly grin.

My skin prickles with awareness but I quell my reaction. “It’s not an option. Are you going to tell me what you’re so happy about?”

“PBS is showing a best-of-Broadway concert. It’s for one of those fundraising marathons.”

“Scoot over!” I practically lunge at the bed, settling in so I can lean on the headboard. The television shows two hosts gesturing at the staffed podium behind them. This must be the break in the concert when they flash telephone numbers and offer tote bags.

“What did I miss?”

“Lea Salonga’sLes Mis.”

“Oh, man. She’s my favorite Eponine.”

“Me too. The first time I heard her sing ‘On My Own,’ I cried like a baby,” he admits.

Surprised to hear a man express the same vulnerable experience I’ve had, I raise a brow.

“What? I’m only human,” he states with a shrug, leaning back on the headboard beside me.