Page 7 of Mother Pucker

Shayla digs her fingers into my thigh hard, and I practically growl from the pain, but a laugh tumbles out of me just the same. I’m happy to see I finally get a smile out of her, too.

I decide to answer her earlier question. “My muscles have been a little tight over the past few days, but I’ve never hurt it this badly before.”

She asks me to bend both my legs at my knees, and I try to do so with a slight wince, when Shayla’s hands catch my leg–one on my thigh and the other on my shin–to guide it up. They’re soft but sure, and despite the fact that they look delicate, they’re surprisingly strong.

She puts a fist in between my knees and asks me to press against it, noting the way my thigh trembles. When she helps me lower my leg again, her pinky grazes the boner that refuses to disappear–despite her insinuation that she could break my dick–making me take in a quick breath.

Shayla’s eyes widen for a second, and she pulls her hand from my thigh like she’s touched hot coals. “Sorry, I . . . uh . . .” She clears her throat. “It looks like you have an adductor strain, though I recommend getting an MRI to be sure. But, as long as you haven’t torn a muscle, which doesn’t seem to be the case from my observation, you’ll need four to five weeks of physical therapy and rest.”

I stare at her for a moment, processing her words and trying to forget about my boner. I knew I’d be out for one game, but I hadn’t expected that long. “I don’t have four to five weeks to rest, Doc. The season is about to start, and I can’t miss any of those games.Wecan’t afford for me to miss any of those games. That fucking Cup is going to be ours this year.”

Shayla stands before holding my elbow to help me into a sitting position. And though I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own, I don’t mind having her hands on me a little longer.

She scoots back, putting a bit of space between us, before picking up her vibrating purse. “I understand that, but that is the risk you run with dangerous sports. Your body will need time to heal. I would suggest one week completely off the ice, and then your physical therapist can help you get all your movement back and strengthen those muscles by designing a plan that works for you.”

“Isn’t that what you are? My physical therapist?”

Her eyes narrow. “No, I’m just here as a favor to Beckett Langfield and happen to be a physical therapist, but–”

“Well, I’d like you to be my physical therapist.” I voice the request before I’ve even had a chance to think about it.

“That’s . . .” Shayla shakes her head. “That’s not really how it works.”

“Why?”

She takes an exasperated breath, as if I’ve asked her why two plus two is four. “It . . . it just doesn’t, Mr. Parker. You’llhave to find someone else. I’m sure your team has some physical therapists who could help you.”

I rise to my feet, fumbling slightly as I take a step toward her and she takes a step back. “I don’t give a shit. I’d likeyouto help me.”

“I . . . I can’t.”

I add in a sweetener to help her come up with a better answer, but for the life of me, I’m not really sure why I’m even insisting that she give me the answer I want. “I’m willing to pay you whatever you ask for. Fuck that, I’ll pay you your yearly salary for each session.”

A gasp leaves her lips, her head reeling back in confusion. “Mr. Parker–”

“Call me Rowan.” I give her another smug grin, knowing she’s considering my offer.

“Okay. Rowan, that isn’t a good idea.”

“Why?” I ask again.

“I have a full list of clients and–”

“Transfer them to another therapist.”

She scoffs, “Mr. Parker–”

“Rowan.”

Another audible breath. “Rowan. That’s not how I conduct my business, and that’s hardly your decision to make.”

Her eyes trail up and over my chest, taking in the little divot at the bottom of my neck, flaring when they drop to my pecs. For the second time today, I find her studying me like I’m something to be cataloged and dissected. And in spite of her words, I know she’s attracted to me.

A frown pulls her lips as she finds my knowing smirk before she looks away. She hates that she can feel whatever this pull is, too.

I risk another step forward. “I’d hate for you to be the reason the Bolts lose their chance to win the Cup this year.”

She wraps her arms around her chest, giving me a condescending look, despite the fact that her purse is still buzzing. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

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