CHAPTER 5
harrison
W e do not keep it on the DL. At least that is the only conclusion I can draw when I wake up the next morning, face smooched up against a cushion on a sofa in a house I have never been in before. My head pounds and I swipe at the dribble leaking from the side of my mouth.
I remember finding that cute little pub overlooking the Harbour yesterday afternoon.
I also remember the hoots and hollers Casey and I attracted when we wandered in looking like something out of a bad Australian movie.
And then there was that group of guys who recognised Casey and wanted to buy him a drink.
And that two drink limit was very swiftly swallowed up by more free rounds and I’m pretty sure there might have been shots at one point?
I have no memory of where we ended up or how we even found our way back to wherever we are. Casey’s place I presume.
I sit up with a jolt, head throbbing and stomach protesting as I grab hold of my head. My t-shirt is stuck full of those little clip-on koalas, the ones I bought Casey yesterday, while that ridiculous hat with the hanging corks he bought me sits on the floor at my feet.
“Morning,” I hear from the direction of the stairs.
I swivel my head that way to see Casey coming down the stairs, dressed only in a pair of blue and white stripped loose boxers and his blonde hair mussed from sleep.
Even after a big night on the town the guy still manages to look like sex on a stick as my eyes get trapped by those delicious abs.
Shit. I really need to stop looking at Casey this way. He is supposed to be my patient. I am pretty sure I spent half the night dreaming about having him underneath me.
“What time is it?” I ask, trying to ignore that distracting body as he comes into the living room and sits down heavily beside me on the sofa.
“Late enough that we’re going to be in trouble,” Casey groans, falling back against the couch. My dick perks up as his arm brushes mine and I try to surreptitiously adjust myself while Casey’s eyes are closed.
“I might have a plan to get us out of that,” I reply, thinking hard. Well as hard as I can with my brain still pounding at the base of my skull and Casey’s distracting body barely inches from me.
“You do?”
“Yeah. An off-sight excursion,” I say, moving my treatment plan forward a couple of days. “And if that fails maybe you can try batting those eyelashes at Coach again. That never fails you, right?”
Casey lets out a laugh, those eyes opening up to meet mine.
Damn he is gorgeous. And yesterday was a big, big mistake.
It’s not going to help either of us if we keep on getting closer like this, not when I am already this close to crushing on him.
Looking is one thing but now, well, now I am well and truly heading into murky waters.
Yesterday was so much fun. Casey is such an awesome guy to be around and I loved seeing a bit of Sydney with him. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.
But I am having trouble keeping my dick from getting hard every time he is in my vicinity and now I’ve somehow gone from spending the day sightseeing with him to spending the night on his sofa.
Time to put those professional barriers back up in place.
“Well, those lashes got us a whole heap of free drinks last night if memory serves,” Casey smirks, laying his hand on his glittering abs.
“Those lashes got us in a whole heap of trouble more like,” I can’t help adding.
“Hey, these lashes might have got us the first few rounds, but your luscious curls got us the rest,” he chides, knocking his knee against mine and leaving it there.
Does he honestly have no idea how flirty he is with me?
Gosh, he kills me. Though to be fair, Casey has no idea I am into guys but seriously, for someone who claims to be straight, he sure knows how to pique a guy’s interest.
“Oh, so this is all my fault, huh?” I return, knocking his knee back with mine.
“You know what they say, Harry,” he answers, that gorgeous grin on his face. “It takes two to tango.”
And now he’s gone and given me a nickname.
As if things aren’t difficult enough between us as they are.
I come from a very proper English background where nicknames are not a thing.
At home I very much answer to Harrison .
Sometimes it’s even Harrison James but absolutely never Harry .
Even at work I am either called by my full name or, more often than not, my last name.
Of course, Casey would be the one to get under my defences like this.
“I may have lost most of memories of last night, but I am almost certain we did not tango,” I offer half-heartedly.
“Never too late to start now,” he jokes. I let out a breath, that image now firmly planted in my mind with him dressed in just his stripey boxers. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Let me just send off a text to Ben and then we can hit the road,” I say, pulling out my phone from my back pocket to do just that.
“On our excursion?” Casey asks.
“Yes. On our excursion.”
“You do like to keep a guy in suspense, don’t you?”
“It’s literally my favourite thing.”
“Ha. I like you, Harry,” Casey smiles serenely, causing my heart to stutter hard in my chest. “I’ve got a feeling you and I are going to be best friends.”
“Oh, is that what you think?” I return, shifting slightly in my seat at his casual reference to us and our future relationship. The way he said you and I . It’s doing things to me.
“Course. Don’t you feel it?”
Well I feel something, that is for sure, but I am not about to tell him that. “What if I already have a best friend?”
“You’d never cheat on me, would you, Harry?” Casey asks, still in that jokey way that’s sending all of those pesky mixed signals straight to my brain.
Straight. The guy is straight. Dammit.
My phone pings and I rip it up, grateful for the distraction.
“Right, Ben’s given the green light so we’re all good to go,” I tell him, leaving his last little quip well and truly behind.
That seems to sober him up and he sits up straighter on the sofa, causing those abs to ripple and contract and drawing my ever-reliable attention their way.
“Cool. I need a shower first,” Casey says. “You can use the one upstairs.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, not needing those images to add to the ones already circulating in my head. “I’ll shower when I get home.”
“Don’t be silly,” Casey replies, rising to his feet and hauling me up along with him.
Before I can protest any further, he’s shunting me up the stairs, his hands pressed to my lower back as I try to move faster to get away from his touch.
He pushes me all the way down a hallway to a nice, modern bathroom clad in grey tiles and a wooden vanity and then fusses about inside as he finds me a nice, fluffy towel to use.
“Need help getting those little koalas off your shirt?” he asks, holding back a smile as I glance down at my top, full of clinging little marsupials.
“I’ve got it,” I assure him, trying to get him to leave.
He finally seems to get the hint, and I close the door on him, relieved for this momentary distance.
I have half a day of treatment still to go with Casey Calloway and I’m not sure how intact my sanity will be at the end of it.
I am very quickly discovering that Casey might be proving to be too much of a good thing.
What I will say though is that his shower is amazing and I stand under the warm jets as my tired muscles soak in the water, my head clearing up at the same time.
That is until Casey barges his way straight back inside, arms full of clothes that he dumps on the vanity as I jump in surprise. I shift away from him, hoping he hasn’t copped an eyeful as he backs out of the room.
“I’ve left you some fresh clothes,” he calls.
“Thank you,” I grit out, looking over my shoulder to see him looking at me with amusement in his eyes. “What?”
“It’s cute how shy you are,” he laughs. “You forget I’ve basically grown up in locker rooms. Nudity is second nature to me.”
“How nice for you,” I return. “I, however, did not grow up in a locker room, so if you don’t mind …”
“Got it,” he grins at me, winking as he backs out of the room and closes the door.
Fuuuck. That was a close call as I look down at my hard dick, praying he didn’t notice.
***
“Ice rink?” Casey asks, looking up at the super dome we are standing in front of. He followed my instructions and is standing beside me in a pair of black sweats and a white, long sleeve top that squeezes across that lovely set of pectorals as he squints up at the building.
I am also in a pair of navy blue sweats and a white top, both smelling like the guy beside me in a way that is distracting every nerve ending in my body. I knew I should have insisted we drive by my apartment first so that I could put on my own clothes. This guy is going to be the death of me.
“Yep,” I grin, squeezing on his elbow as I lead us towards the revolving front doors.
“But why?” he presses, scratching his cute head.
“Because, dear Casey, if any sport knows about adductor strains it’s ice hockey,” I tell him as we step into the reception room. “It’s one of the most common injuries on the ice and that means the NHL has the best adductor intervention program in the entire world.”
“Really? I did not know that,” Casey says, glancing around curiously at the ice rink behind the thick Perspex wall.
“Really. We did a six-week intensive with the NHL while I was at Tottenham and I learned a lot from them,” I explain.
“I was planning on bringing you here next week but there’s no danger if we start today.
I’m planning on putting you on the ice at least once a week while we’re in the thick of your treatment so best get used to it. ”
“I’m listening,” Casey nods, his interest clearly piqued at the prospect of doing something completely new. I wasn’t kidding about this. Adductor strains are such a problem in ice hockey that the NHL run intervention programs to strengthen muscles and prevent injuries before they happen.
At the same time, there is no issue in applying it in Casey’s treatment program although I am reverse engineering it a little for him.
The NHL’s program keeps skaters off the ice, but I will be putting Casey on it as a way to strengthen those muscles and build them up in a way he isn’t used to.
Skating will also aid with his balance and realign his centre of gravity while also strengthening muscles that he doesn’t usually rely on for football.
Anything that aids future risk prevention is going to be useful for him. And the way he is looking out at the ice tells me he is going to bring his usual energy and drive out here too.
I’d scoped out this ice rink as soon as I found out where the Fever’s club rooms are located. It’s only a seven-minute drive away meaning I can get Casey back into the club’s ice baths and on the treatment bed without too much issue after we are done on the ice.
I leave him looking out at the rink where a mini class of preschoolers on block skates and penguin skate aids is taking place and pay for the hire of our skates. We are out on the ice within minutes, and I suck in a smile as Casey stumbles before I grasp him around the waist.
“Been a while,” he mutters, clearly unused to not excelling at something.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” I encourage, letting him hold onto me as we do a lap of the rink. Before long he is able to let go of me with only the occasional wobble and I smile as he sets sail.
“What’s the plan?” he asks, always needing to know where we are heading. It is one of the reasons I like to leave him hanging. It’s just too much fun.
“Not much for today,” I tell him. “Just get used to the ice skates and then next week we’ll bring out some hockey sticks and have some fun.”
“And by fun I presume you mean fun for you,” he smirks.
“Of course, Casey. What else would I mean?” I grin, trying to ignore the spark when he grips onto my hand and pulls me around the ice with him. I know I should let go, that I shouldn’t let him hold my hand as we circle the ice rink all alone now that the preschoolers have gone.
But I just let myself indulge in the feel of his hand against mine, just for a little longer, not even ignoring the sparks and tingles vibrating through my body as he slips and laughs again—the joy on his face almost too much for me to bear.