Page 44 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Mmm,” I mumble, refusing to dignify that with an actual response.“Hop up, Storm. I want to look at that injury you’re carrying.”
“Still on that, huh?” he asks, although surprisingly, he does as he’s told. He even hikes his athletic shorts up high, giving me the access I need to his groin.
“I’m not likely to forget. You might have the others fooled, but I know you, Linc. I know the way you play.”
My hands are cold. Usually, I’d rub them together for a little more comfort for my athlete, but today, I don’t give him the courtesy.
“I always knew you only came to games to watch me play,” he states smugly.
“You wish,” I mutter as I reach out and gently run my thumb and forefinger up the adductor muscles on his inner thigh, watching him closely for a reaction.
When he doesn’t give me one, he smirks in accomplishment.
“Lie back, Storm. We’re only just getting started.”
“No problem, Doc.”
My teeth grind at his new nickname for me. I should probably be happy about it. It’s a hell of a lot better than babe.
It takes me longer than I was hoping for, but eventually, I find the spot that’s giving him issues.
“Motherfu—” He abruptly cuts himself off, realizing that I’ve just proven my point. And not only to him, but also to my colleague, who heard it loud and clear on the other side of the room.
Everything is fine, my ass.
“I don’t want to say I told you so, but?—”
“Just get it fixed up, Donnelly,” Linc demands.
His chest expands as he prepares to embrace what I’m going to unleash on him.
As much as I might want to be rough, I’m not. We need him healed as fast as possible. The Vipers are having a record season so far, and I don’t have any intentions of changing that anytime soon.
Other players come and go, but I don’t let Linc up for longer than I think he was expecting.
“When you get home, you need to ice this,” I tell him firmly when I finally lift my hands from his thigh.
“Yes, Doc,” he teases.
“I’m serious. I’m pulling you from morning skate tomorrow, and I’ll only let you play if I’m confident you’ve been looking after it.”
“You threatening to bench me, Donnelly?” he asks, his eyes wide with shock.
“You fucking bet I am. You’re going to lift that cup this year, Storm, but it won’t happen if you don’t let this heal. Monroe is waiting for me, but once I’ve seen him, I’m going to talk to Coach.”
“Well, shit,” he mutters, combing his still-damp hair back from his brow.
“What?”
“You’re even hotter when you're being all dominant.”
“Get your head in the game, Storm.” I take a step back, his eyes following. “And listen to me. I’m not having any of my athletes putting themselves at risk.”
“Okay,” he agrees, pushing to sit on the table.
“Okay?” I ask, blinking.
He never agrees with anything I say, so it throws me for a loop.
