Page 35 of Player Misconduct
"Okay," he says quietly. "One night."
Relief and disappointment tangle in my throat. "Thank you."
His gaze drops to where my hands grip the sheet, then back to my face. "But we're making the most of tonight."
Before I can respond he's kissing me again, slow and deep and devastating… and I'm melting into it, into him, giggling against his mouth like a teenager instead of a woman with a medicaldegree and a half-dead fern living in my studio apartment window.
He pulls back just enough to reach for the nightstand. I assume he's grabbing another condom from, but then I notice there aren't any more sitting there. Instead, he swings his legs off the bed and crosses to his duffel on the chair.
"Are we out of condoms?" I ask, completely sex-drunk and dreading the idea that our fun is over.
"I've got more, don't worry," he says over his shoulder.
I hear foil tearing in the dim room and then he's back, settling between my thighs, making me forget my own name for the fifth. Or is it the sixth time tonight?
Darkness. Silence. The digital clock glowing 4:17 AM.
I wake with my heart already racing, adrenaline flooding my system before conscious thought catches up.
I fell asleep. After another round with Aleksi. I was so utterly spent, so flooded with endorphins, I just... surrendered. Passed out like my body finally gave up pretending it had any willpower left.
Now panic sharpens everything.
I should check. Assess. Do what I'm trained to do.
I mentally inventory my own symptoms first: No fever. My throat feels normal. No chills. No nausea. Breathing is steady: elevated only because fear hasn't learned to sleep. Pulse fast but strong.
Alive. I'm alive.
Then I register the solid weight of Aleksi's arm beneath my neck, his chest warm against my back.
But could he be—?
My hand trembles as I reach for his wrist. What if he's not okay? What if while I slept—
Warm skin. Strong pulse. Steady rhythm.
The relief nearly breaks me. I feel my eyes threaten to tear up. What if I made it and he didn’t. Could I live with myself for that?
No… I couldn’t have.
"We made it," I whisper to the dark.
"Were you checking my vitals, Doc?" His voice is sleep-rough and unfairly sexy against my ear.
I jump. "God, you scared me."
His other arm swings over me, tightening around my waist, pulling me closer. "Professional habit?"
"You do seem to make a career of making me worry out on the ice." My heart is still trying to escape my ribs.
"See, I knew you cared." I can hear the smile in his voice, and then kisses the side of my throat.
"Just as much as I care about anyone else on the team. Doctor's can't have favorites." It's 99% true but I'll never admit that my heart pounds a little harder when he takes a shift on the ice. I'll take that to my grave.
"Come on," he says in that sexy "just woke up" voice of his. "You have a little bit of a favorite."
"I can't and I don't. No special treatment. I make the same calls for each player."
