The sight of blood had never bothered me. It came with the territory of being a lifelong athlete. What did bother me was a woman in pain.
I carefully deposited Clarke on the lounge chair outside my trailer. Her muffled whimper had me dropping to my good knee in front of her. “Are you okay?”
“You really don’t need to do this,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sure it’s just a small cut, nothing more.”
“But are you okay?” With the tips of my fingers, I tilted her chin up until her eyes met mine, tears collecting in the corners. It didn’t escape my notice that she hadn’t answered my questionthe first time I’d asked. I got the feeling that people didn’t ask about Clarke’s well-being often.
Her lips parted. “Um, yes. I’m fine.”
Her eyes had doubled in size when my gaze met hers, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it. She kept them on me even after I reluctantly withdrew my hand from her face and came to my feet. I pretended not to notice when her attention drifted downward. I couldn’t blame her. She had a front-row seat to my towel-covered cock that was getting harder by the second.
Anything to distract her from crying, right?
I opened my door. “Stay here,” I said gruffly over my shoulder before shutting it behind me. This woman had ruffled my feathers more than I cared to admit in the last few days. No way was I bringing her inside my place. Not that the trailer had the space for multiple bodies to begin with. It was a struggle fitting my 6’4” frame through the doorway.
It only took a minute to find my travel-sized first-aid kit, another to throw on a pair of sweatpants that did nothing to hide the state of my arousal, and one more to catch my breath. Once I had my heart rate (and erection) somewhat under control, I opened the door.
Surprisingly, I found her in the exact spot I’d left her.
Good girl.
She scrunched her face up. “You couldn’t have put on a shirt, too?”
“Too distracting, blondie?”
“It’sClarke,” she said through gritted teeth. Annoying her was officially my new, favorite hobby. She waved her hand toward my torso. “And yes. You know darn well it’s distracting. You’re . . .”
“Cut?” I offered, a shit-eating grin on my face. Being a smartass had always come naturally to me, but Clarke brought it out of me in spades. “Chiseled? Rock-hard?”
Even in the dim lighting, I could make out her pinkened cheeks.
“Impossible. You’re impossible.”
“Unfortunately, I think you might be right about that one, blondie.” She raised a brow. “Clarke,” I amended.
It wasn't that I didn’t like her name. I did. I hadn’t been lying when I told her that it suited her. In a strange, “we call him Tiny even though he’s the biggest dude on the team” kind of way. Despite the soft Southern belle demeanor, this woman had sharp edges and a wicked tongue.
I squatted in front of her, wincing when my quads objected. I must have audibly groaned because she asked, “You alright down there?”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Hang on a second.”
I pulled the side table closer and took a seat, praying that the thing wouldn’t break apart beneath me. Her brows furrowed when I lifted her bloody foot onto my lap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyes tinged with suspicion.
“Hold still and let the doctor look at your feet.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“Close enough.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you didn’t finish college, so you couldn’t have gone to medical—” Her lips turned upside down. I didn’t miss the way her eyes widened.Caught.
“Ah, so you’ve done your research. What else did you find out about me?” She kept her mouth shut. “Shoe size? Hometown? Favorite food?”
I raised a brow, challenging her. And judging by the conflicting emotions washing over her face, I had a hunch she wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Twelve. Long Beach, New York. Spaghetti.”
