Page 51 of Broken As Puck

She tried to stand up but flinched and dropped back onto her bottom again. “I might need some ice.”

“Do you want me to get the team physio to have a look at it?” Kim asked, pocketing her phone and doing something weird with her hands as if she wanted to offer one to Chelsey but wasn’t sure if it’d be appreciated.

“I’ve got it under control,” I assured her, then lowered myself so I could slide one arm into the space beneath Chelsey’s knees and shimmied it up slightly, so I was cradling her thighs. I wrapped my other arm around her lower back.

“What are you doing?” Chelsey demanded breathily.

I straightened, lifting her into my arms. “Taking you to see Lewis, the physio.”

Her eyes widened even further, and she looked like she might slap me but immediately realized she didn’t want to be dropped.

“You can’t carry me,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing.

“Can’t I?” I asked blandly. “It kind of seems like I am.”

Indeed, my legs were quickly eating up the distance between the stairs and the physiotherapist’s examination room.

She looped her arms around my neck. “If you drop me, I’ll⁠—”

“I won’t drop you.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not that heavy. I lift more than you most days at the gym.”

I actually rather liked carrying her. Her plush thighs were pressed to my arm, her lush ass to my torso, and I could smell the fruity shampoo she must have used earlier. I breathed her in, delighting in the moment. I doubted I’d get to hold her like this again anytime soon.

As I turned into the examination room and made for the bed in the center, her grip on me tightened.

“Do not let me go until I’m on the ground.”

I snorted. “I won’t.”

I’d hurt her enough. I absolutely wasn’t going to be the cause of more pain in her life.

“What’s happened here?” Lewis asked, rising from behind his desk. The physiotherapist was a lean guy who topped out at five foot eight. He propped his glasses up on his nose as I lowered Chelsey gently onto the bed, not releasing her until I was certain she was comfortable.

“I rolled my ankle,” she told him, her face flushed. “I could have walked here, but someone wanted to play at being the white knight.”

“And didn’t I do it well?” I teased, then added more seriously, “She tried to put weight on it, and it buckled.”

Lewis moved down the bed and stopped in front of her ankle. He reached for the bottom of her jeans. “May I?”

She nodded and he rolled them up enough to access her ankle. He carefully felt around, and when she winced, it was all I could do not to push him away from her.

He’s helping, I reminded myself.

He took hold of her foot and bent it this way and that, noting what movements caused her discomfort.

“It could be sprained,” he said eventually. “Let’s ice it and then I’ll wrap it just to give you a little support. Keep your weight off it as much as you can for the next two days.”

She sighed. “I can do that. I don’t think I’ll be leaving the office much.”

Lewis went to the small fridge-freezer, withdrew an ice pack, wrapped it in an exercise towel, and held it to her ankle. She pulled a face but didn’t complain.

“Will you be able to manage the stairs?” I asked worriedly. That was what had gotten her in this position in the first place.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, as if she didn’t have a track record of injuring herself on them. She twisted toward me. “Were you going to the gym?”

“Yeah. It’s a weight training day.”

“You can get back to that, then.” She smiled half-heartedly. “We’re fine here. I’m sure Lewis can help me back to my desk.”