Page 20 of The New Guy
“I’d probably deserve it, though.”
He ignores that and begins palpating the muscles surrounding my hip. They include, of course, the muscles stretching around to my ass, and the ones in my groin area. But his touch is firm and businesslike. “Any tenderness here?”
“Some,” I admit.
He wears a thinking man’s frown. “Roll over for me. Let’s work on that IT band.”
In spite of the tension between us, his touch relaxes me almost immediately. I’ve been an athlete all my life, and we’re used to a certain amount of handling. But I’m still human. The touch of another person on my sore spots feels like relief. I let out a little grunt of satisfaction as he begins to loosen me up with soothing fingers.
“When these muscles get tight, they can make the hip joint less fluid. That can make your bursae more susceptible to inflammation.”
“Okay,” I grunt as he moves his hands in a new spot.
“This hurt?” he asks.
“No,” I lie. But then I reconsider. “Well, somewhat.” It honestly feels great, and I wish he’d never stop touching me. He leans over me a few more degrees, and I get a whiff of piney cologne and peppermint.
When I steal a glance at his face, I see his brow furrowed in concentration. “No heat on this—only ice,” he says. “You’ve probably been told that.”
“Yeah.” I try not to groan as he presses his strong hand against another stiff spot.
“Don’t let up on your anti-inflammatories. You’re not sensitive to them, right?”
I shake my head. “Advil is life.”
“Agreed. See? We have one thing in common.” He flashes me a quick smile that I certainly don’t deserve.
I’m willing to bet there’s a bunch of things we have in common. But I keep that idea to myself.
“Look,” he says. “I reviewed the tape of this injury, and the hit didn’t look that hard. But the hip is a vulnerable joint.”
“Right,” I say, trying not to gasp as his hand strokes my thigh muscle.
“And your chart doesn’t mention any history with this hip. But you just got here a month ago so I gotta ask.” He looks me right in the eye. “Hudson, is this a chronic injury?”
“Nah,” I say immediately.
His hands pause right in the middle of this life-giving massage. “You sure about that?” he asks quietly.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck. “Well, it’s happened before. Uh, twice. The first time was from a big hit last fall. I was out for three games.”
The expression that flashes through his eyes is disappointment. And I hate it. I couldn’t even tell you why, but I don’t want Gavin Gillis to think badly of me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
He sighs. “Why would you hide that from the people who are trying to heal you? It’s only going to make our job harder.”
“Because I can’t afford to be seen as a liability.”
He licks his lip, like he wants to say more. Then he resumes his excellent ministrations to my stiff muscles. “Do us all a favor and just tell the truth, Hudson.”
My blood pressure spikes. “Are we still talking about bursitis? Or, like, my whole life?”
“Yourhip,” he says through clenched teeth. “You’re the only one here who keeps bringing up that other thing.”
He’s right, but now that I’ve finally gathered myself to apologize, he’s letting me twist over it. “I’m sorry I bailed on you, okay? I should never have left that bar with you in the first place. It’s not something I usually do. But I was just so…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence.Attracted to you. Tempted by you. “I’m just a hot mess.”
His brow furrows. “But why? Is there more to the story?”
