Page 33 of The Flight Risk

“Yeah. Just strained a muscle in my upper thigh.”

“So…your groin?” I say, and unfortunately, I can’t stifle the incoming smirk.

He deadpans. “I’ll be fine. It’s happened before.”

“You don’t look fine. Here, sit down. I’ll get an ice pack. Also, do you have any tape?”

He sits on the couch and grunts out a pained laugh. “Tess, the very qualified trainers on site already taped up my…groin area.”

“Okay, snarky pants, well can you at least lift your leg by yourself or do I need to help you elevate it? C’mon, chop chop.” I drag the pillow I was leaning on moments before closer to him, tap on it twice then put my hands on my hips, waiting for him to follow directions. And my goodness, the way he is looking at me right now. In equal parts annoyance and admiration. It’s doing silly things to my body. Sending tingles from my head down to my toes.

“Have you always been this bossy?” He cocks an eyebrow while still maintaining that knee-weakening expression on his perfect face.

“Since the moment I was born, I have been told.” Before he can give me any more crap or excuses, I help him lift his leg on top of a pillow. “Should I turn on ESPN to see the highlights or do you want to tell me what happened?”

His big, strong hands cover his face. “It’s just an occupational hazard. It happens every once in a while. I was trying to defend the goal and over-extended one way and then the other, and the next thing I know, there is this shooting pain in my upper thigh and let’s just say I’m glad I wasn’t mic’d up. It wouldn’t be a good look if the starting goalie said the amount of ‘fucks’ that came out of my mouth.”

I walk over to the freezer to get an ice pack for him and meander back to the couch. I can’t very well tell him that I love when I hear that word come out of his mouth. Ever since he said it before he kissed me, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. “Occupational hazard,” I quip back. I kneel down beside the couch and place the ice pack on the injured area. “You didn’t do all those stretches you learn in yoga before the game?”

He shifts slightly when the ice pack makes contact. “Of course I did. Just comes with the territory. I have to spread my legs pretty wide to defend the goal.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He blushes at my comment and directs his eyes down toward his injury. I realize that my hand is still holding onto the ice pack and is maybe an inch away from another part of his body I’ve been fantasizing about since I walked in on him showering. I attempt to retract my hand but he firmly grabs it, keeping it in place. It’s my turn to shift my body awkwardly. His warm, rough hand feels so good and I fear the effectiveness of the ice pack is going to be moot if he continues to keep his hand on mine.

“Don’t.” He squeezes my hand as I melt.

I look at him. All the pain in his eyes from before has vanished. “Don’t what?”

“Move your hand.”

So I stay there kneeling at his side while we watch a whole episode of Modern Family. Oakley laughs at the jokes, specifically the Phil ones, which are my favorites too.

I swallow hard. How does this man expect me to have my hands on him and not want to do R-rated things to his body? This is the most self-control I’ve ever practiced. I feel as if I’ve been deprived of human touch for years. Because I’ve been deprived of his touch. I knew that once we crossed that line in the doorway of that closet, things would never be the same between us.

The ice pack is now officially ineffective and I need to put it back in the freezer. “Do you need me to massage it for you? I’m no masseuse by any standard, but I do know about the RICE method and you should apply some compression. Unless you have some compression shorts you want to put on. You probably do because you are a professional athlete. I’m just a girl who does her hot girl walks and almost dies at hot yoga.” I’m rambling because I’m nervous. Oakley does something to me that transforms me into a blubbering mess. I’m not cool, collected Tess Lewis. I’m tripping over my own words and making a fool of myself Tess Lewis.

He squeezes my hand again. “That would be great, thank you.” I get up and stretch my body. I forgot what I threw on after work–my favorite cropped sweatshirt with lounge pants. I catch Oakley scanning the exposed part of my torso and he shifts his position again, clearly squirming at the sight of my bare skin. Some fantasy must be flashing before his eyes because they’ve grown dark. The emerald is almost nonexistent. I sense that he is feeling just as deprived as I am. Welcome to the club. I hastily walk over to the freezer and place the ice pack back on one of the shelves. The cool air feels so nice on my blazing hot skin.

I head back to my spot on the floor. Before I kneel down again, Oakley places a throw pillow down. He’s so fucking nice. “How are you real?” I ease my knees onto the cushion and gently place my hands on his thigh.

He chuckles. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when you do things like you just did. Place a cushion down for me so my knees don’t start hurting when you’re the one who’s hurt.” I apply more pressure as I rub along his injury. His body tenses a bit with that small change, and the fact that I’m getting dangerously close to another part of his immaculate body, is only strengthening the tension. “You let me and Lottie stay with you and complicate your pristine, bachelor life.”

“Neither you nor Lottie complicate my life, Tess. You’ve enhanced it.” He makes a hissing sound when I go deeper with my fingers. He says, “To be honest, I’ve been really lonely since I moved from Chicago. It’s been a huge shift for me.”

“You seem really close with the guys from the team.”

“Well, yeah. But a lot of that is just shooting the shit. Sometimes we talk about deep emotional stuff but for the most part, it’s about our games and just…guy talk. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice and I need that type of connection. It helps me with my social awkwardness.”

I open my mouth in pretend shock. “You have social awkwardness?” That elicits a smile from him and my entire body warms up. How is this man still single? It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe it’s because of his social awkwardness. Maybe some women don’t know how to handle it. But it’s the thing about him that makes him the most interesting to me. He is an enigma. And a hot enigma at that.

“Ha ha.” His fake laugh still evokes a ridiculous reaction in my body. I continue massaging him, noting that this is the most non-sexual massage I’ve ever performed on a guy, but it’s also the most electric I’ve ever felt at the same juncture. “Anyway,” he says, “you both have brought life into my home. The chaos is nice.”

“You aren’t upset that I leave dishes in the sink or my jackets all over the couch or currently your bathroom counter is covered in all my skincare and makeup products?” I cringe at the list I just uttered and feel the immediate need to deep-clean his entire house.

“No.” He says it as if that’s the only answer in the world. There is no gray area. “I don’t really get upset at the small things.”