Bianca
We’d flowninto Boston and just had our first game with the Enforcers earlier tonight, and I’d noticed Evan was favoring his shoulder even more than usual. I’d spent the last half hour convincing myself that athletic trainers checked on players all the time, and that this visit was nothing more than purely professional, even if it was almost midnight.
I’d been standing in the hallway outside Evan’s room for almost a minute, my medical bag clutched in one hand, as I raised the other to knock on the door.
I’d been behind the bench, and I’d watched him the entire game. I’d made a mental note of every wince, every moment he reached for his shoulder when he was off the ice, and every pass he’d missed. It shocked me that my father or Cooper hadn’t noticed. He was getting worse, and that was why I’d come down here. It had nothing to do with the fact that I hadn’t been able to get the look on his face out of my mind from Friday night. How he lingered in the hallway after we’d gotten home, gently smilingat me after he’d delivered me to the door of my bedroom after he’d saved me.
I lifted my arm, knocking on the door before I’d chickened out or before someone came down the hall and wondered what I was doing.
I was about to turn away when I heard movement and footsteps on the other side of the door, followed by a muttered curse.
The door opened and Evan stood there, shirtless, his gray sweatpants riding low enough on his hips I could see the vee, his dark hair still damp from his shower. A scene I’d seen a thousand times in the past weeks.
“It’s almost midnight, Alan.”
“I know what time it is. I…I watched you during the game,” I said, keeping my voice controlled.
“Yeah, we won. You saw me playing well,” Evan said.
“I saw you compensating. Let me look at your shoulder.”
“My shoulder is fine.”
“Callahan…”
“I said it’s fine,” he said, wincing as he lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair. “Thank you for your concern, but I need nothing.”
“The look on your face there was really convincing. Two minutes, Evan.”
“If it will make you go away, then you’ve got two minutes.”
He opened the door, stepping back, allowing me to pass him. I walked into his room, suddenly aware of the limited space and the intimacy of the room. I scanned the room — the beige walls, the horrible art, the king bed that was already turned down, a perfect mirrored image of my room a few floors down. I set my bag down on the desk, then I heard the door click shut.
I focused on what I was doing, not on the fact I was alone with him and that he was shirtless and I could see every definedmuscle across his back, or that he was wearing those sexy gray sweatpants so low I could see that deeply carved vee.
“So, how long do I have to live?” His voice was light but lined with tension.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself into work mode.
“Sit on the bed so I can check you out. I mean your shoulder, so I can check your shoulder out.”
I caught the hint of a smirk on his lips as he sat down.
“What’s wrong, Alan?” he asked as he took a seat. “Feeling a little turned on.” He chuckled.
I moved over to him, ignoring the fact that my face felt like it was on fire.
“I’m going to palpate the joint.”
“It’s about time you palpated something.”
I could feel him watching me, but I ignored him, focusing on his shoulder.
“Just tell me if anything hurts.”
I stepped between his knees, a place I stood for proper examination, yet tonight this felt different. I placed my hand on his shoulder, my fingers finding the spots I’d memorized in school, spots I’d examined on him weeks ago, only now his skin felt even hotter than before, making me instantly aware of the inflammation. I pressed into a couple of spots, feeling him tense.
“I need you to relax,” I murmured.
