Gone are the Covey U branded polos with leggings.In their place is a low-cut, slightly see-through shirt with silky shorts and flip-flops.
Her hair is in a long, messy braid, stopping right at the crest of her tits, and she has no makeup on.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, taking in the hottest thing I've ever seen.
Is this what Ally Hart looks like going to bed?
She glares at me, taking me in with utter discontent.“Hard pass.I already know what you’re working with.”
Lie.I might have intimate knowledge of her, but she has no idea what I'm working with.
Still, I like her feistiness.More than the pain in my leg will allow me to think about in this moment.
“This better be real, Cross.I got out of bed even though I need to be with a practicum at 5 A.M.tomorrow.”
The tiniest hint of jealousy seeps through my veins.I knew she would have to take on other patients, but I don't know...I thought we had something special.
“I’m wearing a shirt.Isn’t that proof enough?”I shift a little, but that only makes me wince.
“Potentially,” she eases out, narrowing her eyes.After closing the door behind her, she slips out of her flip flops and makes her way to me.
Placing her bag on the coffee table, she kneels beside me, her hand touching my thigh.The second her hands touch my muscles, I swear the screaming pain stops, replaced by other intrusive thoughts.
Stop thinking about it.Stop thinking about how good she looks like this.Stop believing that for one second her fingers will go under your shorts and help you in other ways.
She presses down on my thigh, and even when I take in a sharp breath, she acts completely unbothered.Who knows, maybe all her clients think about her like this.
All her clients—fuck.That makes me so mad.
“This place is a mess,” she says flatly, not looking up and sounding utterly bored.“Please don’t tell me this is how you live normally?”
A mess?It’s notthatbad.There are only a few shirts lying around.
“I’m sorry,” I say.“I’ve been pretty busy winning games to vacuum.”
“Why aren’t you living in the dorms?Wouldn't that be less upkeep than a place like this?”
“What dorms?The hockey ones are currently getting renovated for Scott Hendricks’s son, Scotty.The kid’s joining the team next year, and we can’t have Mr.Reality TV star living in anything less than the perfect dorm.”
Her hands move away from me and she opens her bag, completely unbothered by my little monologue… As per usual.This girl gives no fucks.
“Where does it hurt?”
I point to the inside of my thigh, just above where she’d taped earlier.She presses her thumb into the muscle, testing—
“Fuck—” I flinch so hard my hand shoots out to grip the arm of the couch.
Her expression shifts in surprise.
“Shit, Cross, you weren’t kidding.”
“I never kid about my thighs.”
She doesn’t laugh.She’s too busy working the knot with firm, even pressure, muttering under her breath about men who never listen and hockey players with death wishes.
“Why didn’t you tell Mark it was this bad during your session?You shouldn't have played tonight.”
How did she know I played?Was she watching?
