I’ve been muttering out loud.
Just fucking great.
I fold my arms immediately, professional mask snapping firmly into place.
“If you’re here to flirt,” I say coolly, “you can turn around and limp right back onto the field.”
His smirk deepens.
“I’m here because Tank flattened me like a bloody bus,” he says.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He steps into the room anyway, ducking slightly under the doorway like the oversized menace he is.
“Now, Love, is that anyway to treat a patient?”
Up close, he’s even bigger.
And annoyingly handsome.
But he’s also right.Technically, he is my patient.
I point at the treatment table.
“Sit.”
He obeys, still watching me with that lazy, amused look.
Like this whole situation is entertaining.
“Where does it hurt?”I ask.
“Mostly my pride.”
“That isn’t a medical condition.”
He chuckles.
“Ribs took a knock.”
I press gently along his side, clinical and focused.
Professional.
Very professional.
I’m not even looking at his tattoos while I work.And he has so many of them.Sexy little designs that are always peeking out from his beneath his clothing.
I’m dying to see them in their completion, but that’s not likely to happen.
Unless Noah decides to streak across the field one day.
I have to blink against the mental image that just invaded my wandering mind.
My fingers continue to move over his side.He sucks in a breath and I pause.
“Yeah, right there.”
