Page 7 of The Hooker

Daisy sends him away with tape on his shoulder and exercises to do after training she’ll check in on. “Jamie, up you come.” She pats the sanitised bench.

I hop on the bench and lie on my stomach so she can work on my hamstring. It’s not injured…yet. But I have a bad feeling and want to take precautions. It’s my weight-bearing leg in the scrum, and having that many dudes press their entire weight into my shoulders and down my legs, well, I’m feeling it.

She pushes my shorts up high on my right leg and tucks them under my thigh. The only reason I don’t get a semi is because I know the pain that’s coming.

Her hands land on my thigh, covered in a cream that smells like honey and herbs. She leaves the scent in my car, and one day I want it in my bedroom. The cream gives her hands slip, and she presses hard, pushing her hands to the bottom of my ass and dragging them back down.

“Ah, fuck,” I grunt. How her hands create that much pressure when she barely reaches my shoulders, I don’t know.

“One, two, three,” she counts down as she digs her fingers into me and then, merciful God, she stops.

My head drops and I breathe deeply like she always reminds me.

“Ready for another?”

“Yep.”

Her hands land closer to my knee and sweep up to my upper thigh, and she begins again. “Count for me.”

“One, two, three.” I wipe sweat off my cheek with my shoulder. “I still don’t understand how you make it hurt so much. You’re half my size.”

“Just because I’m not hooker size doesn’t mean I’m not strong.” She sweeps her hands up my thigh, and I tense.

“So you prove every day. Is it weird I like coming here?”

Daisy pauses in her torture. “To have this done?”

“Yeah.” A groan rips from low in my throat.

She huffs a tiny laugh. “It means you’re a masochist.”

I probably shouldn’t tell her I like coming here because it means she touches me. Putting up with her strong hands, literally rubbing out the kinks in my body, is a small price to pay to feel them on my skin.

“Your company makes it palatable.” I decide is a neutral answer and don’t say anything else.

“I’m glad I make it worth it,” she says deadpan, not realising that she does. She makes it worth it, gives me something to look forward to when I need the medic room.

After I don’t even know how long, she tapes me up, takes me through some exercises, and I head to training. I push Daisy into her compartment in my mind and focus on taping my ears to prepare for the day.

CHAPTERTHREE

Jamie

Daisy shuts the gate behind her with a wave, bags crashing against her thigh, and when I see her disappear into the house, I reverse out of her driveway and head down the street to park in my garage.

I leave my stuff in the car, too tired to deal with it now, and enter the house through the door in the garage, slipping off my shoes and rolling my neck. To cook or order food? I open the fridge and purse my lips at the offerings. Do I follow the nutritionist’s instructions or make my life more difficult tomorrow and go off-book? My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out, expecting the call to be one of my sisters or Mum. I frown when the screen lights up with Daisy’s name. Why is she calling me? She never calls me, and I saw her less than five minutes ago when I dropped her off.

I accept the call and don’t even get a word out.

Her tear-filled voice gasps, “I can’t find Westley.”

Tension shoots through me at the sound of her voice so distressed. I’ve never heard it like that before. Tight and high. “I’m coming up.” I grab my keys and slam the front door behind me.

I jog up the dark street and find her waiting by the gate, phone clutched to her ear, even though we haven’t said anything since I left and the only sound is our ragged breathing. I end the call when I reach her and take in her face. My chest clenches, and I fist my hands to stop myself from reaching for her. She looks awful. Pale and drawn, almost green, freckles stark against her skin, and her whiskey eyes are wide and glow with unspilled tears.

“I can’t find him, Jamie. He isn’t here. He didn’t say hi when I arrived like usual and wasn’t on his bed where Poppy leaves him.” Her voice grows tighter as she speaks until she can barely talk.

I take her phone from her shaking hands and ask, “Did you check Poppy dropped him off? She didn’t get caught up with anything?”

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