Chapter 13
I feel like this is the time when I’m supposed to level up my offense.
Or is it defense? Is that even the correct word in this situation?
Whatever. From the moment I walked in this door and saw him with his bum arm and then all the work he had done to his apartment today for Mason and for me, I’m having an impossible time reminding myself why I shouldn’t strip naked and climb on top of his dick to see if it finally understands the assignment.
Only… he legit had surgery this morning.
A surgery I performed on him.
And now I’m sleeping in his house. In a room as far away from his as physically possible. With my son in his own nursery somewhere in between that.
It hasn’t been a full week, and yet my entire world lives, breathes, and speaks the name Asher Reyes.
Asher watches me feed Mason, sits in the corner while I give him a bath, and then kisses him goodnight when I go to put him down. There are cameras in the corners of both the playroom and his bedroom. Cameras I didn’t notice until this very minute.
“Do you have cameras like this in my bedroom?” It’s meant to be a tease. A joke. But the idea of him having a camera in my bedroom and watching me in there—other than being sick and horrifically invasive—suddenly makes my skin hot.
He’s winding down on his meds, dark purple circles ring his orbs, and with that, he gives me a withering stare as if I were serious. “Of course not. I meant to give you the username and password earlier, but I forgot.”
I turn back to Mason and make sure he’s comfortable in his new crib, with his new nightlight casting multicolored zoo creatures on the pale gray walls.
I kiss him goodnight, but Asher can’t even drag himself away from the wall to do it.
He’s in pain and feeling the after-effects of the anesthesia, and seriously needs some sleep.
I walk over to him and take his good hand. “Come with me.”
“I know how to put myself to bed, Doctor.”
Oh, he’s a grump, isn’t he?
“Please?” I ask, throwing his favorite word back at him.
He immediately hunches his shoulders like a bear and allows me to lead him across the apartment—which is ridiculously enormous—over to his side where his bedroom is located.
I take him into his room, knowing full well I should retreat now, but also knowing I won’t.
He had surgery this morning. Is down a limb. And is in visible pain.
We bypass his bedroom and go into his bathroom.
“Face me.” He does instantly, and I work his shirt over his head and down his shoulder as gently as I can.
His shoulder looks okay. Not amazing. But okay.
Beneath the Dermabond are dissolvable sutures, and right now, I don’t see any issues that require immediate attention.
“Do you need help brushing your teeth?”
He scowls at me. “No, Mommy. I can handle it.”
“I already told you, I’m never going to call you Daddy.”
Finally a grin, but it doesn’t last, nor does it meet his eyes.
“Pain scale?”
“Five.” Which is likely an eight for a normal human.
“Medication?”
“Unwanted.”
“Not even for me?”
“You don’t strike me as the pill-popping type.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He curses, his chin pointing toward the ceiling. “Fine,” he snarls. “A half.”
“Brush up, and I’ll be right back.”
I pad out into his kitchen, find the prescription bottle, and break one of the tablets in half.
I glance down at myself and quickly peel off my bra.
I’m going to share a bed with Asher Reyes tonight because something inside me doesn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone.
I drape the bra over the back of the barstool, and then after I fill a glass with ice water, I bring it back to him.
His eyes scour me, rough like unpolished gems, but when they land on my pert nipples, realizing I’m no longer wearing a bra, his entire disposition alters.
“Take this for me,” I ask, holding out the tablet and glass of water for him.
He hesitates, almost glaring at me now. “You know how badly I want you, and you’re using that to your advantage.”
I continue to stare up into his eyes. Eyes that manage to make my insides squirm, even when he’s hurting and angry. “Possibly. But right now, I don’t care.”
He snatches the half tablet from my hand, pops it in his mouth, and then takes the glass of water and swallows down the pill with a giant sip.
“Done.”
“Good.” I grin. “You’re a grumpy patient.”
He sighs. “I don’t… I don’t feel well.”
I cup his face and drag his forehead to my lips.
“No fever. But I’m a little worried. Maybe you simply did more today than you should have, or maybe something else is going on.
I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to stay with you tonight, and tomorrow if you’re still looking like this in the morning, I’m going to write you a prescription for an antibiotic. ”
“I’ll risk an infection if it gets your lips on me again.”
“Don’t tease, Asher. This isn’t a joke.”
His gray eyes hold mine. “Who said I was kidding.” A silent exhale. His shirtless body practically against mine. His fingers run along my cheek and through my hair, making me shudder ever so slightly. “Are you sleeping with me tonight, Doctor?”
Doesn’t he know I’m risking it all right now? How questions like that only make this worse for me?
“Yes, but sleeping is all we’re doing.”
“Even so, I’ll be dreaming about you in bed beside me. And it won’t be PG-13.”
“Keep it to yourself, player.”
I snatch his toothbrush and brush my teeth because mine is on the other side of his condo, and right now, I don’t feel good about leaving him.
“Can you pull up Mason on the app? It’s his first night in a new place.”
He unlocks his phone and taps the camera app. The feed of Mason comes through, and he’s out. He’s a good sleeper, and I know he won’t wake again until around seven. After that, we climb into his bed, in the dark, but I can feel it. His quiet grunt. The tense way his body shifts under the covers.
“You wake me if you need me. Promise?”
“Promise.”
Those are the last groggy words he utters before he passes out.
* * *
I checked on Asher twice overnight. He felt warm to my lips somewhere around 1:00 a.m., and I got up and called in a prescription to his pharmacy that I plan to pick it up for him once they open.
Thankfully, he was sleeping soundly, though his body was tense.
I think the player overdid it yesterday and it caught up to him, but I also think he’s brewing a minor infection I want to get rid of before it turns into something more.
An infection is not only serious, but it could also hinder his recovery.
My lips gently press against his forehead.
He’s still asleep and feels relatively cool.
In addition to getting his antibiotic today, I’ll also get him a damn thermometer.
As I slink out of his bed and silently pad from his room, I glance around his condo, peeking into rooms as I pass them.
A theater room. A gym that’s twice the size of the apartment I had in Miami.
An office. A library. I shake my head. This place is a lot.
He’s a lot.
A celebrity. A quarterback. And now I not only live here with him, but he’s my son’s father.
There is so much to figure out with that, but no matter what he says or how he looks at me, I need to create an emotional divide between us. He’s already pushing me. Hell, a few simple pleases and that molten gaze on me, and I let him bring me to orgasm in his dining room.
He makes it easy to fall into him. He makes it easy to forget the dangers he poses.
But what happens when he grows bored of the chase? Of playing the game? What happens when he breaks my heart? It’s a risk I can’t take.
I shoot out a quick text to Limbick, letting him know I’m monitoring our VIP patient today because I’m concerned there might be a minor infection brewing.
That’s another thing. My job. Right now, it’s all about Asher and his football team.
The sooner I can get him healthy and back where he belongs, the sooner I’ll be done with that assignment—with freaking Joe Cardone—and I can get back to my life.
My job. I can move out of here, and we’ll fall into a normal routine.
I just have to get there. Hold on and be patient a little longer.
I find my bra still slung over the back of the barstool in the kitchen where I left it last night, and I snatch it quickly, swinging it from my fingers as I head toward my room.
A room I haven’t even checked out yet. A room I’m a little terrified to see if it’s anything like what he did for the playroom and Mason’s room.
I need a shower before Mason wakes up. I also need to get that app Asher has on my phone.
Just as I pass the entrance, the front door swings open, and I freeze as Callan and Greyson walk into the condo and then shut off the alarm that starts to buzz.
They freeze as well, the three of us staring at each other until, in unison, both of their glances snag on the bra dangling from my fingers.
I turn seven thousand shades of red. I haven’t even met Greyson Monroe yet and only met Callan yesterday. Plus, I work with Callan at the hospital, so there goes any professionalism I had going.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I squeak out, balling the lace up in my hand to hide it.
Considering I’m wearing leggings and a rumpled shirt, and my hair is very obviously sleep—or something else—tussled, I doubt I’m selling it.
“Uh.” Greyson clears his throat, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “We wanted to check on the patient.”
Callan is fighting his smile. “Yes. Before I have to head into the hospital.”
“He’s still sleeping.” And if I thought I was red a second ago, I’m a freaking fire engine now because I’m holding my bra and just admitted to having knowledge of Asher in his bed.
Greyson wipes at the smile on his lips. “We’ll, um, we’ll wait then.”
“If that’s okay with you,” Callan tacks on.