Page 17 of Challenge
She turns on her heel to face me. Her pointer finger is raised like a schoolteacher when she says, “There is absolutely no chance of you getting your balls wet if that’s where your mind is going, Camden Harris.”
My boisterous laugh is deep and genuine, and her eyes fly wide as she falls down on me and claps her hand over my mouth. “Careful. You don’t want Beardie to come in.”
Hearing her say Beardie is comedy at its finest, but there’s nothing funny about having her close to me again. She moves her hand off my mouth and eyes my lips, probably thinking about the kiss we shared earlier, just as I am. I bite my tongue to gain control. She’s even more beautiful up close as my nightlight reveals a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
She’s beautiful and funny?
I think I might be in love.
She pulls back and settles herself in the overstuffed chair beside my bed, scrolling through something on her mobile. I watch her while she wiggles to find a comfortable spot.
Being a professional footballer, I’ve had some majorly confident women throw themselves at me. They’re usually kitted out in flossy gossamer undergarments that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Indie, on the other hand, looks perfectly confident in scrubs and trainers. Maybe it’s the whole doctor/patient fantasy that gets me going, but I’d like to explore everything underneath that fabric.
Tearing my eyes from her, I flick the light off. The room is cast in complete darkness aside from the faint glow of the outside light streaming in through the curtains. She moves to deposit her mobile and glasses on the end table before slouching down in the chair.
One part of my brain wants to say so much—crack a joke about what kind of knickers she wears under those scrubs, or ask her if she wants a shag after all. But the other part forces me to remain silent. This whole thing feels platonic but strangely intimate. Hearing her soft breaths, smelling her fresh scent. Her general presence is…comforting. I actuallylikehaving her in here. But having a woman near me and not slipping myself inside of her is foreign to me.
A heaviness creeps over me at the realisation.
She’s a necessary distraction. Nothing more. I need her here because if she’s not here I’ll have time to think about what’s really going on with me. That scares me more than anything.
No matter how simple they say the surgery will be, it’s still surgery. I’m still getting knocked out. They act like this will make me good as new, but part of me fears that I’ll never get back what I’ve lost. I was on such a lucky streak prior to this. Then, in one quick instant, everything in my career came to a crashing halt. My positive momentum, thwarted. What if I never operate the way I did before? What if this is a slow decline to a sad, pathetic end?
At least if I stay broken there’s a reason for not playing well. If I’m fixed and sucking, then what?
“Are you actually scared?” Indie’s voice is quiet in the darkness, but it’s a question that speaks volumes to my insides. She turns her head and eyes me from the chair.
I swallow slowly before answering, “Yes.” It’s the first honest thing I’ve said in ages. I roll to my side so I’m facing her. I can barely make out the glossiness of her eyes.
“Is it for more reasons than just the surgery?”
Christ, it’s like she sees right through me. “Maybe.” The air is heavy with dread and fear and everything I’m too afraid to fully admit to myself.
She remains silent for a few seconds and brings her feet up to prop on the side of my bed. Her bright white ankle socks glow in the dim lighting. It’s a small movement but it feels meaningful, like she’s trying to get closer but not make it obvious.
“You don’t have a girlfriend, right?”
My stomach shakes with a quiet laugh. It’s such an innocent question dropped into such a heavy environment. “No. I’m afraid I’m not the girlfriend type.”
“I didn’t think so.” Her tone sounds relieved and it makes me scowl.
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” I’m more than curious about Dr. Prichard and the way he watches her when she speaks and touches her whenever he gets the chance. Plus, how he calls her Indie in front of patients really grates on my nerves.
I can see her smirk through the darkness. “No. You’re safe. It’s not a part of my plan. Not yet anyway.”
“Your plan? This sounds interesting.” I grin and see her chewing her lower lip while her finger wraps around a loose strand of her hair.
“Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”
It’s a promising sentence. “Let’s count on it.”
Then, as if her presence soothes my insomnia, my eyelids begin to droop. I think I see hers close first, so I allow myself to drift off to sleep, enjoying the scent of lemons clinging to my bed sheets.
MY ALARM ROUSES ME ANDI stretch, feeling blissfully rested. This is the first time in ages that I’ve been awakened without wanting to gouge someone’s eyes out. When I come to more, I see that I’m still in Camden Harris’ room. How is it possible I slept better in this chair than in the on-call room?
I glance over at the bed to see Camden’s hand draped over my ankles that are propped by his side. It feels a bit peculiar—his large hands clasping my narrow ankles. Almost like cuddling, which is not something I’m at all familiar with.
