Page 2 of The Hooker

He purses his lips and nods. “Fine, why?”

“Come to the medic room tomorrow and I’ll strap it for you.”

“Don’t need it strapped.” He glances around the room, his hazel eyes tightening with what I think is panic, but no one can hear our conversation over the noise.

“Come anyway. I’ll tell you about the shenanigans my niece has been getting up to.”

Hemi’s eyes trace my face before he gives a curt nod.

“That try in the last minute was a beauty,” I say, nudging his knee until a small smile appears on his face.

“She’s right. Didn’t record it though, sorry,” a woman’s voice says behind me.

Hemi grins at the woman who appears at my shoulder. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her eyeliner is the sharpest I’ve ever seen. She has the same eye colour as Hemi but hers lean more green, and despite the fact her skin is a few shades lighter than Hemi’s, you can tell they’re siblings as soon as you see them both smile.

“That’s because you only record when I wipe out.” Hemi stands and kisses her cheek, wraps a sweaty arm around her, which she shoves off, and turns to me. “This is my sister Charlotte. Charlie, this is the assistant physio Daisy.”

I shake her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Charlotte. I’ll leave you two to catch up, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” I raise my eyebrows at Hemi until he gives a grudging nod and turns to his sister.

I face the rest of the room and notice Alex staring at Charlotte but decide to avoid him while he’s sporting that intense look in his blue eyes. Entirely too scary to talk to him about Hemi right now.

I do a full round of the room asking about ankles, wrists, hamstrings, and shoulders, and make a mental list of who I want to see tomorrow to ensure nothing turns into an injury. I end up at Jamie’s cubby and raise my brows at him.

“You’re bleeding again,” I tell him blandly.

Jamie grins. “The colour of winners, Daze.”

“The colour of someone who needs to make sure it’s treated.” I stare at him, and he sips beer and shrugs his oversized shoulders.

“I’ll find someone in a minute. Help me out of this?” He tugs the tight jersey away from his skin and it snaps back sharply.

I sigh and nod. He sets his drink down and stands, bends at the hips, and sticks his arms out straight. I roll my eyes and reach for the bottom of the jersey. Brushing the heated skin at his lower back, I grab the jersey and tug. I yank as hard as I can while he edges backwards. I manage to tug it to his wrists and stumble as it comes free, catching myself on the table before I crash into someone.

Jamie sighs and shakes himself like a dog removing water from its coat, and collapses in his cubby, taking a sip from his drink.

Now bare-chested, he relaxes and I see the game drain from him. His skin, a medium brown colour that darkens in summer, is damp and his hair is an adorable dark curly mess from the rain, sweat, and bandage and tape around his forehead to protect his ears in scrums. Being the hooker means he gets bashed around a lot, and it’s common practice now to attempt to protect yourself. It also means his chest is thick and wide and his shoulders are broad, and his belly is slightly rounded, covering the muscle it takes to hold off grown men, but that’s neither here nor there.

He rips off the ear protection to reveal ears that carry the look of a teenage boy who didn’t listen to his mother and wrap them like he should have, and rolls his neck. He scratches at the dark stubble on his cheeks and sighs contentedly.

I suppress a smile. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s the knee?” The tape held up, and he was walking fine at the end of the game so hopefully it minimised the pain. He’s not injured, but playing for so long, especially his position that takes a lot of hits, takes a toll on your body regardless of injury.

“Feels good.”

“And the hami?” The hamstring is more of a concern at the moment. If it turns into a full-blown injury, he’ll be out. He stays quiet, his dark eyes skittish and shrugs, raking a hand through his curls instead of answering me. Well, at least I know where he’s at. “We’ll work on it tomorrow.”

He grunts and finishes his beer. Jamie stands and towers over me. My head comes to his shoulder, but he’s never made me feel small or less than.

“Can you take the tape off?” When all I do is stare at him, he pouts at me and says, “Please?”

A routine we do after every game. I don’t know why, but it works. I enjoy him sticking out his bottom lip, and I also enjoy ripping out his leg hair. I crouch in front of him and look up through my lashes. My eyes meet dark chocolate ones. I grasp the edge of the tape and rip. Jamie tenses and his nostrils flare. I bite my lip to hide my smile.

“You enjoy hurting me, don’t you?”

Clearly I don’t hide my smile well. “No, but I do enjoy that ripping out leg hair is apparently more painful than having men squash your head and have them pile on top of you.”

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