Page 52 of The Au Pair Affair

Until the moment the doctor said those two magical words to him—“muscle strain”—Burgess had no idea of the ton of bricks he’d been carrying around on his shoulders. Holy fuck. His back still ached like nobody’s business, but knowing he wouldn’t require some bullshit surgery or a magic concoction to numb the pain, the relief made him feel like a new man. And there was no better timing than finding out the day before the Bearcats season opener.

He had Tallulah to thank.

Instead of being in the dark and worrying that a single hit was going to put him down for the count, confidence was already beginning to flow back into his veins.

Although, his former confidence had definitely begun its triumphant return last night in the kitchen when his au pair had very nearly jumped his bones.

Hard as it was to admit, Sig was right.

It paid to go shirtless.

Burgess slid off the doctor’s table, both of them laughing over the way it groaned beneath his weight, and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Thanks for the great news, doc. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

“Anything for my favorite Bearcat.” Why was the guy frowning after delivering the world’s most welcome diagnosis? “Listen, Burgess. I feel the need to inform you that this isn’tgreatnews, although it might seem that way compared to, say, a herniated disc. But if you don’t rest the injury, it could get worse. You’re going to compensate for the pain out on the ice and that could lead to injuries to other parts of your body. Knee, shoulder...”

“No, I hear you.”

Spoiler: he wasn’t really hearing him.

Muscle strainwas all Burgess heard.Halle-fucking-lujah.

“I highly suggest you speak to the team’s trainers about physical therapy to keep the muscle from stiffening and to strengthen the ligaments surrounding it,” continued the doctor. “In the meantime, I can prescribe something to lessen the pain—”

“No thanks, doc. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll handle it.” He shook the man’s hand again, ignoring the concern etched into the man’s forehead. Doctors were paid to be overly cautious, that was all. They didn’t understand an athlete’s capacity to overcome minor shit like this with the power of adrenaline and will. Burgess had those things by the bucketload, especially now that he knew his body wasn’t falling apart. “Thanks again.”

Burgess walked out of the building in Back Bay and found himself...

Extremely interested in getting eyes on Tallulah.

It was just after lunchtime. Lissa was still in school and he didn’t have practice tonight, meaning he didn’t have to rush home and change. He was free.

He slipped his phone out of his coat pocket and looked at it, wondering if it was wise to call Tallulah. Maybe a better ideawould be to let things happen the way they’d been happening. As in, taking his shirt off in front of her in the kitchen. That seemed to be the way to go. Let her get used to him. Let her come to him.

But nah, he was a fucking hockey player.

She’d given him an opening and it went against his nature not to take it. Despite Tallulah’s claims that she wanted to help him get back out on the social scene and meet new people, she’d offered him her mouth in the kitchen. And he might not be an expert on the opposite sex, but an unsolicited massage fromthiswoman seemed like a good sign?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Burgess shot Tallulah a text.

Burgess:Good news from the doctor.

Tallulah:WHAT? TELL ME.

Shit, he was smiling like a goddamn clown. Someone passing by in a white sedan rolled down the passenger window and stuck their head out, yelling, “Sir Savage!”

He lost the smile and put on the most terrifying expression he could muster, earning him a furious round of honks and cheers from the occupants of the vehicle.

Bostonians, man.

They loved a villain.

Burgess:Just a muscle strain. I’m golden.

Tallulah:That’s amazing. SO MUCH YAY. No more massages needed, I guess?

Burgess:Actually, the doctor said massages were vital to my recovery.

Tallulah:Sounds sketch.

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