Their lack of faith says more about them than you.
Dangerous warmth spreads through my chest.
I barely know this man. He could be anyone: a catfish, a creep, someone playing games. But his words burrow deep to places most interactions in my life don’t bother to reach.
I drive home in a daze, the memory of King’s messages keeping me company through traffic.
***
The next morning, Dr. Logan leads me through the facility, explaining the schedule he’s arranged. I’ll be conducting cognitive assessments with players in rotating groups, starting in two days.
The testing protocols are extensive: reaction time, memory tasks, balance assessments. Everything designed to establish a baseline before any head injuries occur.
We round the corner into the training area, and I stop breathing.
The gym smells of the distinctly male combination of sweat and expensive cologne that doesn’t belong together but works anyway. The steady clang of weights hitting the rack punctuates grunts and trash talk. A protein shake bottle rolls across the floor, abandoned.
And there, dominating the space like he owns it, is Declan.
He’s shirtless and glistening with sweat, doing pull-ups with an ease that should be illegal. His muscles flex under tattooed skin.
His jaw is set in concentration. But there’s something almost lazy about the way he moves, like this workout is a warm-up rather than actual effort. Several other players work out around him. But Declan is impossible to miss.
Those green eyes find mine across the gym.
The pull-up bar might as well not exist. He drops down with cat-like grace, landing on his feet without breaking eye contact. His chest rises and falls, abs contracting with each breath.
Reaching for a towel hanging nearby, he drags it across his neck slowly, deliberately.
Heat pools down in my stomach. My eyes follow the movement until I remember that I’m in public and people might be watching. My eyes snap back to his.
A smirk appears. The one from the therapy room. The one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Dr. Chandler?” Dr. Logan’s voice sounds distant. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I tear my gaze away. “Just reviewing the protocols.”
But Declan is still watching me. I can feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing.
Stay professional,I remind myself.Keep your distance.
Except when I risk another glance, he’s still staring. Electricity waves run through my skin.
I force myself to listen to Dr. Logan instead of fantasizing about those rippling muscles.
I can’t allow this connection with Declan to grow.
It’s a desire I can’t afford to have.
6
DECLAN
Kissable Lips
“The Ashford charity gala is non-negotiable.” Gregory Stallworth’s voice carries across the white restaurant booth like a verdict.
He puts his raw steak in his mouth, then closes his eyes, savoring his first taste of the meat.
