“I always keep it in the glovebox,” he replied, crouching beside me calmly.
He scooped up some arnica gel.
“This might be cold,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to mine for permission.
I braced myself.
The gel touched my side, cool and gentle, but his fingers? Warm. Focused. The kind of touch that lit a trail through my ribs. My body flinched, not from pain, but something else entirely. Something dangerously close to want.
I forced a smirk through the tightness in my chest. “I guess I’m lucky. Sheryn would’ve killed me if I showed up black and blue tomorrow.”
“I happen to know your dress covers this nasty one,” he said, tapping the edge of the bruise.
I let out a dramatic sigh. “So helpful.”
“What about the rest? Think makeup’ll cover it?”
“I can work some magic,” I said. I wasn’t Sheryn-level, but I could fake my way close enough.
Just then, he pressed a little too hard.
“Ah!” I hissed, flinching.
“Sorry! Too much?”
I should’ve said yes. Instead, I let out a breath and shook my head. “No. It’s good. Really.” I looked at him. “How’d you learn this?”
“I used to play hockey in Utah. The team physio taught me stuff.”
“Taught you? Or was he just showing off moves while twisting you into a pretzel?” I didn’t buy the casual answer. Because damn, whatever Noah was doing felt ridiculously good.
“Taught me.”
“Huh. Must’ve been a quiet season for the team. Guy had time to run a massage school on the side?”
“Well…” He shrugged, and a slow smile bloomed. “I owned half of the club. He was obligated to do what I asked.”
My eyebrows rose. “Youownedthe club? As in, the Utah team? NHL and all?”
He nodded, and I stared past him to the parking lot, where his truck sat quiet and unassuming. It was a GMC that had seen a few years.
It didn’t add up. But I liked that it didn’t. I liked that he could’ve arrived in something flashy, but didn’t. That he didn’t feel the need to explain or prove a thing.
He wrapped the gel in gauze and taped it off with steady hands, hands that lingered just a second too long. Or maybe I imagined it.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He looked up then. And for a beat, we just…looked, heat thick in the air, neither of us moving. One shift, one breath too deep, might tip us into something we couldn’t undo.
But he didn’t make a move. And neither did I.
Still, every inch of me remembered where his fingers had been.
And I wasn’t sure that was something makeup could hide.
He stood up. “You’ll be okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thank you. And please…don’t tell anybody.”
