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His eyes close. “I took a hit. Fuck.” His eyes pop open, and he sits up in a rush. His hand goes to his temple, and he grimaces. “My head.”
I hop off the bed and step back. I wring my hands, then cross my arms to hide my nipples. “I can get you a painkiller. Let me get you a painkiller.”
He throws the covers off and slings his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s okay. I’ll manage.” He takes a deep breath and pushes to his feet. He sways for a second, his hand at his forehead.
I put a steadying palm on his shoulder. He outweighs me by a good eighty pounds. I can’t stop him if he goes down. “Please, Hollis. Let me help.”
His fingers grip my wrist. The electric zip slams through my veins and turns my body into a live wire. He exhales harshly, and his gaze is slow to lift from the floor. It pauses at my chest, where my traitorous nipples perk against the thin fabric. His jaw tics, and his throat bobs.
His eyes close again. “I need you to go, Princess.”
“But I—” My gaze drops, and my breath leaves me. “Oh.” It comes out sounding halfway to a moan.
Hollis is wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. White boxer briefs. And they do absolutely nothing to hide the morning wood he’s rocking.
“Now, please.” His voice is rough as he releases my wrist.
“Yes. Right. I’m going. I’m sorry.” I hustle my ass out of his bedroom. My hands are shaking as I rearm the alarm and quietly let myself out. I’m equally shaky as I let myself back into my dad’s place. I don’t rearm the alarm there. Instead, I get all my crap from my old bedroom and pull on a hoodie to hide my nipples. I take the elevator back to my apartment.
I should not get out Batdick. I should not get myself off to the fantasy of Hollis pulling me into bed with him. Kissing me. Touching me. Filling me. But I do.
CHAPTER 6
HOLLIS
“Warming the bench for two weeks over a mild concussion? Is that necessary?” I’m pissed this is even a conversation.
“I’d rather have you out for two weeks now than during playoffs because we didn’t make the right call,” Coach says. “Why don’t we reassess next week?”
I rap on the arm of the chair. It’s hard to argue with his logic, especially since it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck. “A week.”
Coach’s expression turns empathetic. “I know this is frustrating, Hollis, but I don’t want to take unnecessary risks.”
“I appreciate it.” And I hear all the things he doesn’t say. Me being on the ice right now is a liability. I don’t want to screw over my team, but this is a giant step back. I’ve worked too fucking hard to come back this season in top form. “Shouldn’t Doc have the ultimate say about when I’m ready for the ice?”
“He will.”
“Good. I have physical therapy in twenty, and I want to make the most of it, so unless there’s anything else, I’m heading out.”
“We’re good here.”
I spend two hours in physical therapy, followed by a session with the massage therapist and acupuncturist while the rest of the team practices. I’m stiff, achy, and uncomfortable. My shoulder feels off, and my neck is sore.
After that, I run into Flip while I’m waiting for Roman. He looks like a bag of shit, and I’m probably the last person he wants to see, but he heads straight for me, anyway.
“Last night was my fault,” he says immediately. “I let Grace get under my skin, and I should know better. I’m sorry, man.”
I hold up a hand. “Your penalty isn’t the reason I’m injured.” It is a contributing factor, though.
“If I hadn’t been in the box, you might not have been on the ice,” he argues, determined to be the martyr.
“I was distracted.” Thanks to my ex showing up as a surprise. “New York exploited a weakness. Whatever the deal is with Grace, get your head around it so it doesn’t impact your game play in the future.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “That guy runs his mouth all the time.”
I nod. “You let it get to you. Block out the noise. Head down and focus on the game.”
“He just knows how to hit my Achilles’ heel. How long are you off the ice?” he asks, changing the subject.
