Page 8 of Not Falling for the Forward
I almost asked Aimee to find her, she’s one of those psychotic girls that can find out your auntie’s, cousin’s, dog’s, dad’s name by just seeing their profile picture. But that would have led to too many questions, then it would have ended up in the family group chat and mum and dad would have been planning a trip back over from Spain to meet their future daughter-in-law.
So, I’ve had to wait five weeks to see her. If she's not here today though, I think I might have to go with theInstagramthing.
I don’t know exactly what time the first aiders get in, but I know they are usually here early to be on site if any staff get injured before the fans arrive. I know this because the week after I sent one of them to the hospital, my first stop when arriving to the stadium was their first aid room to see how she was. It wasn't the finest reception I've ever received when entering a room.
“Hi, I’m Jack,” I introduce myself as I half enter the little room whilst keeping the door open with one foot.
“We know who you are,” the older woman from last week is here, fab. Her white hair isn’t tied up today and it’s covering her face whilst she leans over a bag. I imagine she’snotsmiling at me.
“Okay, cool,” I reply awkwardly. “Umm…”
“Hi, sorry about her. You maimed one of our best volunteers last week, I’m Dave,” the bald man from last week holds out his hand, I take it and shake, he’s got glasses on today and the black frames really suit him. “This is Gemma, she’s rather fond of Emily and less so of the volunteer that's replacing her on today's game, but that’s an internal issue. Howcan we help you, Jack?” He asks with a smile. Well, at least one of them likes me.
I try to give Gemma one of the cocky smiles I’m known for, it usually helps get people on side, but it goes unnoticed as she is still yet to look up from the bag of equipment she is checking over. “Yeah, about last week…” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly unsure as to if I should have even come here to ask what I want to know. “Is Emily okay? Did she break anything?” I realise the implications of what information Dave has supplied, “Shit. Is that why she's not here today?”
“It’s none of your business Jack Cartwright!” Gemma snaps her head up to glare at me. “And that language is not becoming of a professional athlete and role model.” I feel a flush start to build in my neck. She's not wrong, I’ve been called out plenty of times in the press for my language, but it’s been a long time since someone has told me off to my face. “Sorry.” I say lowering my eyes, suddenly back to being the seven-year-old boy I used to be, about to have my mouth washed out with soap and water by my grandmother.
“Sorry mate, we can’t really tell you much apart from what she's told us,” Dave claps me on the shoulder like we're old friends. “She's doing fine, at home and she's got the next couple of weeks signed off so her nose can heal.”
My eyes fly up to meet his as questions run through my mind, “I BROKE HER NOSE!?” I cry utterly devastated.
“Enough!” Gemma almost shouts, waving her hands and flying at myself and Dave, “He’s already told you too much, confidentiality still exists Dave. Even to your heroes.” She gives Dave a look that I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of. He just rolls his eyes. Brave man. “Good luck today,” she says in my direction as the door, I didn’t even realise I was now standing outside of, promptly slams in my face.
I shudder at the memory.
I knock lightly on the first aid room door as I slowly open it and take a deep breath, suddenly nervous as to who or what might greet me on the other side.
I'm met with one of the best things I have ever seen.
Emily is on her tiptoes, bent over the patient bed, bracing her weight on one arm whilst reaching to wipe the white board on the wall above it. She turns her head to look at me, shock widening her green eyes. Her mouth forms a little O shape and shit, if that doesn't give me visions of what those lips would look like around my dick. I bet I could make those wide eyes water.
Shit, I'm a prick for thinking those things, but I can't help it, she is utterly stunning. Even in her green and black uniform. Her chestnut hair is in that tight ponytail she normally wears it in, flowing straight down her back. She has very little makeup on but what she does wear only enhances her natural beauty. And the way she is bent over that bed…
Thank fuck she knows first aid, because I’m going to need serious medical help.
All the blood has left every organ in my body and made its way to my cock.
***
Emily
“Oh. Um, hi.” Ooh words, I’m sure I used to know some. “Can I help?” There we go.
I straighten from where I’m prepping the allocations board for today's match. I'm the most senior clinician today so it's my task to assign roles. I put the white board cloth down and stare at Jack Cartwright, awaiting his response.
He is stone still staring at me for a second then he shakes his head and smiles at me like he's happy to see me. As if he even knows who I am.
“Hi, it's Emily, right?” I blink, momentarily stunned. Okay, maybe he does know who I am. He lifts a tattooed arm and does a little awkward half wave motion. The corner of my mouth lifts involuntarily at thought of Jack Cartwright being awkward.
“Um, yes?” It comes out as a question, although it isn't one. I’m pretty sure that is my name, it has been for the past twenty-eight years, anyway. How he knows my name is more the question.
“Sorry, I'm Jack.” He says and reaches his awkward wave hand out for me to shake.
“I know.” I smile, moving around the patient bed to take his offered hand. It is surprisingly soft and completely dwarfs mine.
I look up and at him and I am shocked at how much taller he is than me, he must be six three or four, that can’t be very aerodynamic on the field. His gaze is fixed on my hand, that he still hasn’t let go of, a small crease forms in between his brows. Can he also feel how much bigger his hand is than mine? Is he looking at the faded tan line where my ring used to be? Can he feel how sweaty my hand is getting? Damn, I hope he doesn’t notice the sweaty hand.
He looks up, catching my eyes that are already transfixed on him, and a small smirk crosses his perfect mouth. I almost melt into a puddle on the floor having that smirk trained on me.
