Chapter 16 - Reese
Reese
“What, no flowers?” His smile was the same, if only a little pale around the eyes.
The obnoxious pressure cinching my chest all day thinned to a whisper. A smartass this quick couldn’t be in that bad shape.
“Why would I bring flowers to someone who isn’t an invalid, and is also perpetually fine?”
He didn’t show it, but I could tell by the approving glint in his eyes I’d scored some extra points. Theo held the door open with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Touché, Hopper, touché.”
The place was huge, which was one thing, but the tasteful decor is what really threw me.
His apartment looked like it had been lifted straight from one of those interior design magazines always piled high at the doctor’s office.
It was also squeaky clean, and not just for a guy living on his own.
Part of me burned with delayed mortification at the state of my apartment when he’d come around the other night.
Nowhere near this put together, and decidedly quaint, in keeping with my measly salary.
I turned on the spot, half-expecting a butler to emerge from a hallowed hall somewhere and call us through to the esteemed dining room. “Jesus, I suddenly feel underdressed.”
He ran a hand through his hair—still damp from the shower he must’ve taken not too long ago, but before my mind could fully delve into that mental image, he said, “If you consider the women I usually bring home, you’d find you’re entirely overdressed.”
His face did something strange, and I couldn’t really tell whether he was going for sensual, smoldering, or downright dirty. Either way, the look disappeared as soon as I burst out laughing.
“I don’t know about your shoulder, but you clearly took a serious knock to the head last night,” I said. “You should get that checked out.”
“I guess it’s serendipitous you’re here, then, Doc.” Our eyes met, and heat crept up the back of my neck. “But also,” he went on, “you make sweats and sneakers look hot, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about the dress code.”
For some reason, the way his eyes raked over me made it feel like he was looking through my Surge uniform instead of at it. I willed myself to ignore the effect that had on me, at least for the moment.
“You weren’t at training.”
Where he’d been lost in thought somewhere around my chest area, Theo’s gaze now snapped up. The first sign of a shadow coasted over his expression.
“Yeah, well…” He gestured toward his shoulder. The tension bunched there was visible even through his t-shirt, and it threw his posture off just enough that someone like me would notice. “Is that what you’re doing here? Delivering a detention slip on Coach’s behalf?”
“What else would I be doing here?”
There was no immediate response, but his eyes lingered on my mouth, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. Which spoke louder than any words would have, all things considered. It kindled a warmth in me that flushed my face before snaking its way further south.
And of course, Theo noticed.
The air pulled tight as he approached, white socks padding on the mirror tiles, hands in his pockets to complete the suave swagger of it all. He was more dreamy when he wasn’t trying, but I’d never tell him that.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” His head dipped low enough so his breath played over my mouth, starting up a maddening tingle of anticipation just there.
God, did I ever?
Maybe he could give me one of his wordless answers. One that involved his lips this time. On mine. And maybe this time I’d press up to him so I could feel the heat of his body, my arms gripping his sho—
I shook my head abruptly, and moved over to the mantle lined with candid photos in mismatched frames and trinkets that all looked like they hailed from a bygone era.
Decidedly bougie. It felt weird. Like I was intimately familiar with only parts of him, and now came into contact with this whole other side of Theo Bouchard. Who he was when he wasn’t on the ice.
“Your shoulder.” I didn’t turn back. Instead, I kept my eyes on a miniature Steampunk-esque model made of brass. Still, I could feel him watching me. Could sense the shift in him without seeing it. “I need you to agree to the scan.”
“Again with the scan,” he sighed. “I thought we were past that.”
“No, we only got so far as me telling you to do it, and you saying you wouldn’t.”
“I won’t,” he replied with a shrug. “Because I don’t need it.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“No, that’s bullshit.” He pointed over my shoulder, making me turn back to the mantle out of curiosity. “This—my arm—is fact.”
I picked up the trinket I was staring at before, our conversation momentarily on pause. Closer inspection showed the intricate detail in its design. The brass housing held delicate rivets and gears, aged to a golden-brown patina.
“What the hell is this thing?” I fiddled with the small hand-crank protruding from one side. On top sat a miniature figure poised over a lever, and he rattled every time I messed with the crank.
“I just told you.” He was right behind me all of a sudden. “My grandfather’s prized possession. He called it the Bullshitter. Like this.”
His hand closed over mine and guided me through slow turns of the crank.
I would’ve been more fascinated by the tiny figure now tugging the lever back and forth, if Theo’s chest wasn’t pressed so close I could feel his heartbeat against my back.
Or if every exhale didn’t drift across my neck, setting goosebumps prickling in its wake.
I tried to focus on the narrow strip of paper unfurling at the base of the brass housing, I really did.
But Theo’s presence kept slipping in, and twisting my attention until it wasn’t mine to control anymore.
“See?”
A printing press. That’s what it was, essentially. A teeny, tiny printer.
“What does it say?” I tore the strip from the base and stared at the words as if I would magically gain the ability to read French through osmosis.
Theo chuckled softly. “Va chier. La vie est courte.”
I gripped the paper tighter, and took a step back to keep from shoving my tongue down his scrumptious, French-speaking mouth. He laughed again, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“It basically means, ‘Take a shit. Life is short’. Like I said… Bullshit.”
“Some heirloom,” I said with a breathless laugh, too hot, and too claustrophobic despite standing in the middle of a literal palace.
“Yeah. Heirloom.”
And the way his accent massaged the word, making it slide off his tongue all round and smooth and delicious…
No god, living or dead, could’ve helped the state I was in.
I’d suspected it for a while but there, in his living room, it became clear that my stake in this wasn’t just professional anymore.
Which is what steered me back to the reason I’d come in the first place.
“I don’t want to keep ignoring this,” I said, returning the trinket to its spot on the mantle and facing him. “And I’m saying this as— as not just your physiotherapist. I need the scan so we can know for sure what we’re dealing with.”
The tendon in his jaw twitched. “I’m not taking myself out of the game, Reese.”
“The way you’re going, someone else is gonna do that for you.”
He scoffed, pacing the area in front of the sofa. “Fights break out all the time. It’s part of the game. I’m not the first guy to get taken out.”
I was referring to him being traded, but clammed up. If he’d agree to the scan, then there was no reason for him to ever know about that.
“It… scared me,” I admitted quietly, the words barely audible. “When you collapsed out there. I don’t like how that’s partly my fault.”
His agitation with me grew soft at the edges. “So I was right about work not being the reason you’re here.”
I honestly didn’t know anymore. The lines were so blurred. I cared about what happened to him, and a big part of that was my job. But it was also more than that. More than my job.
“I just wanna do the right thing,” I replied.
He stepped closer, the air between us charged, and the tension I’d been holding in my chest all day twisted into something hotter, something magnetic. “You always this serious, Doc?”
I let out a defeated breath, every defense crumbling as he grabbed my wrist and fell back onto the sofa, pulling me after him.
My knees hit the cushions, and suddenly I was straddling him, the weight of him solid beneath me.
His hands cupped my hips, pushing me down until our bodies fit together with an insistence I couldn’t resist.
He tilted his head, brushing my hair back as his lips claimed mine, slow at first, teasing, measuring, and then—hell—deciding we didn’t have time for all this subtlety.
Heat spiraled up my spine, tangled with the pulse racing between my legs, and I realized the quiet truth I’d been sidestepping for too long: I cared about him.
More than I probably should. More than just as the hockey player whose shoulder I had to rehab as part of the job.
The kiss deepened, teeth and tongue dancing over careful edges as I rolled my hips once.
It wasn’t enough. The press of his chest, the burn in his hands as they guided me, the impossible way his body felt against mine.
The grind of my hips worked up a dizzying friction against the growing bulge in his pants, and coaxed a wanton moan to spill out of me.
I arched down, one hand finding the curve of his neck, the other ghosting across the tension that ran under the skin and muscle of his chest. There was fire there, yes, but there was also something careful, a tethered sort of trust. It didn’t surprise me.
Our connection was based on an implicit understanding that we had each other’s backs.
That we’d reshape the rules to suit what we wanted most. And now, with me gasping for breath against his relentless mouth, we both wanted more.
He bucked his hips and drove the hard ridge of his cock for closer contact, and I silently cursed the layers of clothing that kept that from truly happening the way it should’ve.
A surge of wetness pooled out of me and ruined my underwear, and still, he didn’t stop.
His grip tightened as he dragged me back and forth over his hard-on, biting my lip through a strangled groan that was either his or mine, I didn’t know. And I didn’t care.
I peeled out of my jacket, and lifted my t-shirt over my head, my hair falling over my shoulders.
His eyes greedily tracked my movements, coming to rest on my bra.
With the lightest of touches, he brushed my hair out of the way, then dipped his head.
I ran my fingers through his hair, holding on, holding him in place, as he sucked and teased my stiff nipple through the flimsy fabric.
The heat of his mouth mirrored the fire raging in my core, my clit pulsing for him.
I threw back my head, rubbing myself against his dick as he savored me, rough and needy. This was it. This was what all the weeks of wanting came down to. I squeezed my eyes shut, melting into the feel of him, the light buzz vibrating through me… It grew louder, harder—
“Shit.”
When his lips finally pulled back just enough to let me breathe, I felt raw and unsteady. I could feel the lingering friction as my hips still pressed down, a cool sense of loss scaping over my hips as he released me.
“Wh—?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up with an apologetic look. The source of the buzzing. “Sorry.”
My laugh was a little shaky, a lot breathless. And when he made to toss the device aside, I stopped him.
“It could be important.”
He tossed it anyway, the phone landing with a dull thud beside us on the sofa. “This is more important.”
“Smooth, but no. You missed today’s training, and Round 3 starts in a couple of days.” It took a lot, but I swung my leg over and landed next to him, handing his phone back. “Check it.”
“I liked when you were less bossy. Oh, wait, that was never a thing.” He snatched the phone and sighed through the message. Then he gave me a deadpan look.
“What? Is it McAvoy?”
“You just interrupted a steaming hot make-out session… for Hunter,” he said, this time leaning over to put his phone on the coffee table. “He’s just making sure I’ll be there later.”
“Van der Berg’s farewell.” I’d forgotten.
Theo settled back into the sofa, one hand stroking himself through his sweats. His eyes burned right through me. “Now that we have that out of the way…”
But I shook my head, making a grab for my shirt. “I can’t. Sorry. I—”
“You can’t? Are you kidding me?”
I wish I were. But no.
“I have to pick up the cake, and still go home to get ready…”
“There’s a cake?”
“There’s a cake.” I stood up, straightening my shirt. The sticky wetness between my legs, along with the lingering ache in my core, made it that much harder to back away from him. Now it was my turn. “Sorry.”
Theo pouted, his bottom lip sticking out, and he threw in the most dreamy puppy dog eyes to go with it.
My stomach flipped over itself. I was crazy.
That was the only explanation. I’d officially lost my mind, and now I was stuck making stupid decisions, like walking out on what I was sure would’ve been the best sex of my life.
My gaze flicked down to his crotch, the bulge of his cock taunting me, and I bit my lip.
“I’ll let you scan any part of me if you stay,” he said, reading my inner turmoil. “Let me do… my version of an internal exam, if you get what I’m saying.”
I knew he was trying to be sexy, but that was the problem. He was trying. Cute, but missing the mark he was aiming for.
“I get it, but also, it’s not doing what you hoped it would,” I said, holding back my laughter.
He stood up with a deflated groan, his tented pants betraying his vulnerability in the moment. “Fine, but you can’t control what happens in my head after you leave.”
The suggestion sent an agonizing heat through me. Touching himself with me in his head… It got me wet just thinking about it. I felt myself about to give in, to forget the cake, the farewell, all of it, and just lose myself in him the way I wanted.
But his phone buzzed again, and common sense rushed back in. I picked up my jacket and made for the door before I got any other bright ideas.
“You’re the worst.”
“Yeah, well, you asked for it,” he called after me.