Page 11

Chapter eleven

Rebecca

Knock, Knock.

“Come in,” I say, not bothering to look up from where I’m inputting notes about a player I just finished a PT session with.

I know it’s Holt based on the scent that fills my office. I’m not sure if it’s his cologne or body wash, but whatever it is, it’s the same woodsy smell that engulfed his bedroom the other night.

Now I’m remembering what happened afterward.

What I’ve deemed the ‘Great Towel Incident’.

Him in a towel. Me tripping and falling.

Him catching me and losing his towel. Feeling his semi-hard cock pressed against me.

Wondering what it would feel like buried between my legs.

How nice it felt to be nestled against his chest, the full heat of his body around me.

I bet it would be even better to have him hovering over me in bed.

Staring down at me with those piercing blue eyes.

A throat clearing has me meeting said blue eyes.

Eyes that look tired and like they’re hiding hurt or anger, perhaps both.

I swallow, hoping my thoughts aren’t visible on my face; they are certainly inappropriate thoughts about a patient.

But as long as I stay professional and don’t act on them, no one will ever know what I’m thinking.

“Hi. Sorry, I thought I had more time,” I tell him.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his athletic shorts, rocking back on his heels. “I’m early.”

“We can get started now. ”

I push back from my desk, snagging my notepad and a pen before heading out of my office.

“How are you doing? How’s the hip?” I ask as we make the short trek down the hall to my treatment room.

“Better.”

I smile. “That’s great to hear. How’s your daughter?”

“Good.”

Guess we’re going with one-word answers today. Fun.

I use my key to let us into the room and hold the door open for him. He walks past me, brushing against my arm, and I hope he can’t see the goosebumps that break out where his skin touches mine.

By now he knows the drill and lies face down on the table. We go through a series of stretches for his hip, glute, and leg. I tuck my feelings and thoughts about him away, and focus on being his physical therapist. On keeping things professional.

“Your range of motion is better, so whatever else you’ve been doing, keep doing it. But let’s err on the side of caution and continue these sessions for a few more weeks,” I tell him, scribbling notes.

“Thanks,” Holt says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m taking a leave of absence from the team. That way I can get settled with Hazel. It’ll also give me extra time to make sure I’m recovered.” He gestures to his hip.

“Makes sense. I’m glad you’ll have the time to bond with her.”

“Thanks.” He turns to head toward the door.

“You’re welcome. And if you need anything”—I pause, and he peers at me over his shoulder—“you know where my office is and where I live.”

“Yep,” he grunts before walking out of the room.

I blow out a breath. That went well, I think.

I don’t really know because I can’t quite get a read on him, but even with his grumpy exterior, I like him.

I want to get to know him better. I might even have a tiny crush on him, but what woman wouldn’t?

He’s hot. He’s a hockey player, which a few months ago I wouldn’t think I’d find appealing—all the fighting and cursing—but I do.

There’s nothing I can do about these feelings, though, except ignore them and hope they’ll go away.

I will not dwell on the way he looked when he answered his door, sans shirt, and holding a tiny baby.

Pushing thoughts of a shirtless Holt out of my mind, I focus on cleaning up the treatment room then make my way back to my office.

I’m barely logged back into my computer when there’s another knock on the door.

I furrow my brow. No one else is on my schedule for today, and it’s too early for Sutton to be asking me to lunch.

Something she’s done every day this week, which I’ve now come to look forward to.

“Yeah,” I call out.

“Hiya, Doc.” The guy—pretty sure it’s Weston Reynolds, one of the defensemen—flashes me a grin.

I sigh but don’t bother correcting him because I’m sure the next time he sees me, it’ll be back to Doc again. I’m coming to accept that’s what everyone is going to call me. It’s still professional-ish. And I’m tired of correcting them. Pick your battles, right?

“What can I do for you?”

He drops into a chair on the other side of my desk, props his arms on his knees, and stares at me.

“Reynolds?”

He clears his throat, staring at me. “Haven’t had time to talk with you yet.”

“Oh-kay,” I drawl. “Is there something I can do for you?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I wanted to drop in and say hi.”

What the hell is going on?

“Wes, what the fuck, man? I thought we were going to work out.”

I peel my gaze from Reynolds to the door where Hunter is peeking into my office. He catches my eyes before walking over to where his teammate is sitting and nudges him in the arm.

“Are you bothering her?” He turns his attention to me. “Is he giving you trouble?”

“I’m not really sure what’s going on.”

“Wes,” Hunter prods.

Reynolds turns to Hunter and says, “Just being a good uncle and checking out the people who are going to be around Hazel.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Hunter must read the confusion on my face because he laughs and says, “My thoughts exactly, Doc.” He turns to his teammate. “And you, behave.”

Wes crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just worried about Holty.”

“Oh? And what can I do to help?” I ask.

Hunter blows out a breath and sits in the other chair. “We’ve been over this, Wes. He’s fine.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at the tone Hunter uses.

Wes shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been broodier than normal. Growling. Grumbling.”

“He’s going through a lot. The best thing for him is if you two are there for him. Supporting him however he needs.” I pick up the pile of papers on my desk and straighten them, needing something to do with my hands. This conversation is going in a strange direction.

“You’re his neighbor. How do you think he’s been acting?” Wes asks.

My heart skips a beat. “How do you know that?” I meet his gaze.

He tilts his head, studying me, and my internal alarm sounds. I don’t know the guy well, but I don’t like the gleam in his eye.

“Because they gossip,” says a voice from the doorway.

For fuck’s sake.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Wes says, turning toward the door where Holt is standing holding two coffee cups.

“I think we should go,” Hunter says, standing up and smacking his teammate in the arm. “Let’s go, Weston.”

“But—” Wes protests, glancing between me and the doorway where Holt is hovering.

“Now!” Hunter commands, glaring at him.

I can see why the rumors are swirling that he’s going to be the next captain. Wes mutters under his breath but does what he’s told.

Hunter turns to me. “Sorry, Doc. Forgive him. He likes to meddle.” He shakes his head, following his teammate out the door.

They pause, and a few words are exchanged between the three of them before they’re gone, and Holt steps into my office .

“For you,” he says, putting a coffee on my desk.

He shifts back, fiddling with the straw in the cup in his hand.

“What’s this for?” I ask, picking up the iced coffee. My preferred way of drinking it. How did he know?

He shrugs. “For waking you up the other night.”

“I already told you it’s fine.”

“In that case, it’s to apologize for being an ass earlier.” I open my mouth to tell him I didn’t think he was being an ass, but he continues, “And for whatever that one”—he gestures over his shoulder, and I know he’s referring to Wes—“said to you.”

I snort. I can’t help it. “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of the drink, which is made exactly the way I like it—with vanilla syrup and coconut milk. “How’d you know what my coffee order is?”

He gives me a small smile. “I asked Sutton. I’ve seen you two walking around with coffees, so I took the chance she might know your order.

” His gaze drops to the floor, and I squint.

Is he blushing? He clears his throat. “I should go. My sister’s home with Hazel, and I told her I’d be back an hour ago. ”

“Bye. Thanks again.”

He waves and backs out of my room.

I peer at the drink in my hand, trying not to read too much into it.

I can’t remember the last time someone bought me coffee, or anything, really.

Not only that, but he found out what I enjoyed and didn’t assume or guess.

This is all too confusing. Is he simply being nice like he said, or is there more to it?

He must realize we can’t be more than doctor and patient while I’m treating him.

Even after his treatment’s complete, we can’t be more than coworkers.

Maybe friends. Sutton is friends with the players and their wives, so it’s probably okay if I am too. But that’s all it can be.

I don’t know why I’m even thinking about it so much. I shouldn’t read into this. I’m sure he’s bought other people coffee before. Right? At least, that’s what I tell myself multiple times during the rest of the day when my attention strays to the empty coffee cup I can’t make myself throw away.