Page 28 of Unwritten Rules
Fuck me. Now I’m the one blushing.
With my leg resting firmly against her shoulder, her right hand comes up to hold the heel of my shoe, while the other snakes around to splay out over my right thigh. Heat sizzles beneath her hand, seeping into my skin. My jaw clenches, and hands flex at my sides.
How can a simple touch from her send my heart into overdrive?
Clearing my throat, I watch as Tatum leans forward slightly, putting pressure on my leg, and in turn stretching the tight muscle. I hiss out a breath at the ebb of pain that shoots across my thigh. I know this is what needs to happen for me to get through this recovery, butfuck medoes it hurt like a bitch.
“How’s this feel?” Tatum asks, her voice soft and gentle.
Fucking painful. “Yeah, good. I can feel the pull.”
“Try to relax, okay?”
Nodding, I exhale sharply and blink at the ceiling.
The air between us is thick. It wraps around my chest, squeezing painfully and weighing heavily on my limbs. Needing to cut it, even if just to hear Tatum’s voice to distract me, I utter, “Feels kind of weird that we’ve switched positions.”
Tatum’s lips part, her eyes darting over to clash with mine. I bite back a smirk. I shouldn’t be putting notions like that out there between us, but I couldn’t help myself. Seeing her smile has my body feeling like I’m floating.
“You’re a menace,” she murmurs, cheeks turning pink.Again.
“Sorry, Tate, but you’re going to have to buy me dinner first. I don’t put out easily.”
Her lips quirk. “I think I have all the evidence to prove that you do in fact put out easily.”
Laughter bursts from my lips before I can stop it. I like that she can take the banter, and dish it out just as good. “You got me there, strawberry.”
Tatum holds me in this position for what feels like an eternity but is only thirty seconds, before she walks backward on her knees and lowers my leg down, extended. I exhale a sharp breath, fingernails digging into my palm.
“Are you ready to go again?” Her sweet jade eyes find mine, searching my face for permission to continue.
I nod, and manage to squeeze out, “Yeah.”
Tatum slowly pushes my leg toward the ceiling, resting it on her shoulder again as she resumes her earlier position. This is going to be a long session. Having her so close to me, her thighs brushing the back of mine and her hands touching my skin, is going to make me lose my mind. And I can’t do that with her. I told Tatum that we need to follow her dad’s rule, but the longer she touches me, the harder it’s going to be to keep my self-control intact.
“How’d you get the scar in your eyebrow?”
My eyes snap open—I hadn’t realised they were closed—and meet Tatum’s face peering down at me through her lashes. She offers a soft smile, one that has my insides simmering with heat.
I clear my throat. “You want to know about my scar?”
She shrugs. “I do. I noticed it the first night we met, and I’ve been curious about it ever since.”
I want to tell her that every person I meet has overlooked it, mostly because it’s not overly visible. But the fact that Tatum noticed it straight away after meeting me once has me wondering just how deeply she was viewing me, taking in every inch of me.
“Well, I got it during a rough tackle when I was playing with the U20s.” I still remember the day like it happened yesterday. The stench of the mud caked on my boots, calves and hands. It had been pissing down rain for days leading up to the game, making the field almost impossible to play on, but the game still went ahead regardless. “A guy accidentally kneed me in the face, which resulted me splitting my eyebrow. Not only did I have mud, grass and sweat clinging to my face, but I also had a river of blood pouring down the side of it.” Shaking my head, I exhale a deep breath as Tatum lowers my leg, giving me a brief reprieve before starting the stretch again. “We won the game regardless, but I was left with a lasting memory.”
Tatum’s face scrunches with what I can only assume is a grimace. “That sounds awful. Was it painful?”
“At the time, no. But afterwards, when I walked into the sheds, the adrenaline had worn off and the pain was unbearable. After a long stint in the ER waiting room, I went home with six stitches and a memorable scar to tell the tale.”
My breath hitches when Tatum lifts my leg onto her shoulder again, her hand bracing my thigh.
“If rugby is so dangerous, why do you play it?” she asks. It’s such a simple question, but it’s one that feels impossible to answer.
“It’s complicated,” I murmur, hands fisted at my sides. “My dad wanted me to play it, and eventually, I grew to love it.”
Tatum hums.
