Tyler
I almost fucking kissed her.
I swear to God, if Ted hadn’t knocked, I would’ve. My mouth was already lowering to those perfect, rose-tinted lips, my hand already pulling her closer. One more second and I’d have known what she tasted like.
And the worst part was that I think she was about to let me.
Fuck.
My chest was still heaving, not from the stormer of a match I just played—that was the furthest thing from my mind right now—but from her.
The scent of her still clung to me. That addictive spicy warmth that made my throat go dry every time I tried to swallow.
That look in her eyes when she told me I wasn’t finished, when she said it like she meant it.
Nobody’s ever done that for me before. Nobody’s ever pulled me back from the edge of a freefall, told me I was more than the screw-up I keep proving myself to be.
I’ve endured years of coaches yelling, fans booing and the press dragging my ass through the dirt. But one look from Orla and I didn’t want to smash a racket or punch a wall or go find a bottle, or a bimbo, to forget in.
I just wanted her. I wanted to bury myself in her until the noise shut off. I wanted to hold onto her belief in me like it was oxygen. I wanted to be better. Fuck, I was ready to be better if it meant she’d keep looking at me like that.
What the hell was that?
I’ve never cared about consequences, not once, but with her, the only consequence I cared about was never getting to feel her mouth on mine.
And right now that thought was enough to drive me insane. What the hell was she doing to me? I’d gone my whole career running on adrenaline and anger, and she’d undone me with one near-kiss. I almost felt stupid.
I pressed my hand to my chest, like I could calm the riot under my ribs.
Sweat still clung to my neck. I could still feel the imprint of her wrist against my thumb.
Christ, if I closed my eyes, I could feel her.
The warmth of her breath between us, the way she’d leaned in before Ted’s stupid knock shattered everything.
I dragged in a breath and pushed myself off the locker-room bench, every muscle in my leg screaming like it wanted an apology I didn’t have time to give.
Ted had told me to meet him in the Clubhouse with the head of player liaison, he’d already gone ahead.
I’d said I’d follow once I was done with press, which…
fuck. I couldn’t tell you a single thing I’d said to those journalists after that almost-kiss.
My brain was offline; my mouth had been running on a confused, lust-drunk autopilot.
My leg throbbed with each step up the stairs, but I forced my stride even, refusing to limp. The place was mostly empty now, edging toward seven, the roar of the crowd long gone,
I spotted Ted at a corner table. He stood when he saw me.
“Tyler…hey. You remember Gwen?” He gestured to the brunette woman sitting next to him.
I did. Sort of. Her face was familiar from press conferences and draw meetings—one of the few people in the LTA who didn't treat me like a walking PR nightmare. She stood to shake my hand, an amused glint in her eyes and a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth.
“Nice to see you again,” I said.
“You too.”
Right. That smirk was suspicious.
Ted gestured to the table. “So. I know it wasn’t the result you wanted, but kid, you were on fire today.”
Gwen nodded. “You gave poor Jordan a scare. And with a hamstring like that? Impressive.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t feel impressive.”
“Give yourself credit Ty,” Ted pressed on. “I’m not sure what’s changed in you lately but we’ve been talking to Alan and the sponsors. We think it’s time to go full-time on your rehab. You play like that injured? You get this recovery nailed, and you’re unstoppable.”
I blinked. “Full-time?”
“We’re putting together a small physio team for the U.S. tour,” Ted explained. “Your sponsors are backing it. They want a dedicated lead to travel with the team.”
No way. Three weeks ago, the sponsors had been itching to drop me like a ton of bricks. Now they were funding a team? That’s when another thought hit me.
Orla.
No hesitation. No debate. I didn’t want anyone else, didn’t trust anyone else.
The thought of some stranger’s hands on me, some faceless physio barking orders, made me wince.
With her, it was different. She knew me already and my body already knew her, probably more than I’d ever let anyone know.
She cut through all the bullshit. Ted didn’t know it but she was the whole damn reason I was playing like this right now.
I opened my mouth, ready to say her name, already picturing the eyeroll she’d give when she realized I’d picked her but Gwen beat me to it.
“Oh! I actually know someone perfect. My friend, Orla. She’s been managing a physio team here, loads of experience. I think she’s been treating you?”
That explained the smirk. She knew.
My face must’ve given me away, because Gwen’s grin only widened.
“She’s good,” she added. “Smart. And you already trust her. She knows your injury. Which is half the battle.”
Ted clapped his hands once. “Perfect. Can you ask her to meet with Alan and myself tomorrow? Bring her details.”
“Of course,” Gwen said smoothly.
I just nodded quickly. But inside, I was still hearing her voice from earlier. If you let me do my job, I’ll get you through this.
Fuck, I hoped she’d say yes.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t just need a physio. I wanted her. On the road. In my corner. In my life. And the thought she might say no terrified me more than losing ever could.