Orla
I woke in his bed. Again. It seemed to be becoming a habit I had absolutely no intention of breaking. I hadn’t expected to feel this safe in someone’s bed again, but there I was, waking up in Tyler Reed’s arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
In fact, I hadn't even seen the inside of my own room since we touched down. My suitcase was probably feeling as lonely and neglected as the ‘Professional Boundaries’ section of my contract.
The early light slipped around the edges of the blackout curtains, casting a soft, honeyed glow across the expanse of his chest. It was a devastatingly romantic sight, as if the sunlight had decided to worship the lines of his body before I even had the chance to open my eyes.
Memories of last night unfurled in my mind, warm, wicked and very detailed. Shit, did I really give Tyler Reed a blowjob on a hotel balcony?
My hands flew to my face, my palms hot against my cheeks as the sheer, unadulterated audacity of it hit me.
Orla Marie Sheehan, who even are you?
This wasn’t me. I wasn’t that adventurous.
I was the careful one, the rational one.
But something about him stripped me down to nothing but pure need.
With him, I took all he wanted to give me.
And Christ, he rewarded it, every filthy, reckless second.
In truth, I liked the version of me that Tyler had woken up much, much more.
Heat crept up my neck as the memory replayed: his hands marking my hips, his voice rough and filthy in my ear, the way he made me look at us in the glass while he took me apart. I was sore, deliciously sore and already wanting him again.
But I didn’t have time to lie here grinning like a lovesick idiot because work came first. Work had to come first. It’s why I was here after all.
Emma needed her shoulder taped before her match, and according to her, I was the only one on staff who did it right.
At twenty-four, she was still fighting the ghosts of a previous injury, still trying to prove her place on the tour.
I knew if we managed the load right, she’d bounce back beautifully.
She just needed the stability only my hands could give her.
Tyler was still dead to the world when I left.
He looked sinful even in sleep with sheets pooled low around his hips, tattoos displayed perfectly over rippling muscle and golden skin.
Those lips of his almost tempted me enough to jump back in there and forget the rest of the world existed.
He had a later start today so I figured I’d be back before he even noticed I was gone.
I got ready quietly before heading down to the second floor. The physio suite was already buzzing when I swiped my card.
The sterile reality of tour life snapping me back into reality as I walked in to see Ben and Cara setting up tables.
I grabbed a roll of zinc oxide tape, draped a clean sheet over my table, and began laying out my supplies.
I leaned into the routine, grateful for the distracting rhythm of it.
Anything to keep my mind off the way my body still hummed from Tyler’s touch.
A few minutes later, Emma bounced in, a whirlwind of sunshine in her turquoise tennis gear.
Her sandy-blonde hair was pulled into a high, practical ponytail, and her eyes were far too bright for this hour of the morning.
She looked ready to take on the world, while I was just trying to remember how to be a physiotherapist again.
“Morning, my favourite physio in the whole world,” she chirped, giving me a squeeze as she walked past.
“Hey, Em.” I laughed. “Sleep okay?”
“Think so. Jet lag’s frying my brain, though,” she replied, hopping onto the table.
“You’re telling me. I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
She smirked. “Pretty sure you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
I froze mid-tear of tape. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t play coy. I saw Tyler practically drag you into his room. That man had one mission, and it was you.”
Heat shot straight to my cheeks. Christ above. I thought the hallway had been clear. My mind replayed him catching my hoodie in his fist, me stumbling after him like some hapless tennis groupie. Kill me now.
“Emma…”
She just arched an eyebrow, far too pleased with herself.
“It’s not…”
“Oh, come off it. Everyone sees it. The way he watches you. The way he was practically your bodyguard in DC. Ben told me Tyler even said to call him if you got too hammered that night.”
“He what?” I breathed, my heart doing a frantic, irregular dance against my ribs.
Emma nodded, her expression softening into something uncharacteristically smug. “He’s bloody obsessed with you, Orla. I never thought I’d see the day Tyler Reed was this hung up on someone. Honestly, I wish I had someone who looks at me the way he looks at you.”
I dropped my face into my hands, mortified. “Christ, Emma. Has anyone else noticed?”
“Oh, only everyone.”
“Fuck.” I started pacing, nerves twitching, pulse ascending through the roof.
“Relax,” she laughed. “Nobody cares. Honestly, I think it’s cute. And between you and me? He’s way sharper. Definitely more focused. Like his head’s finally screwed on right. People have noticed that, too.”
My stomach flipped. So it wasn’t just in my head, he really was different. And people could see it.
“I just…” My throat tightened. “I don’t want anyone thinking I took this job to chase him. Because I didn’t. I’ve worked too hard for that. I’ve never ever done this before.”
Emma’s smile softened. “Orla, no one thinks that. You’ve been nothing but professional. And you’re bloody brilliant at what you do. Everyone knows it. You don’t have to hide this, especially not with the way he looks at you.”
I let out a helpless laugh. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
She grinned wickedly. “Oh, he’s gone. Absolutely done for. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll ever recover.”
We both cracked up, laughter spilling into the quiet room. It felt good to laugh and the sense of relief that maybe we didn’t have to hide this anymore.
“Alright,” I said, snapping on my gloves with a definitive snap. “Enough gossip. Let’s get that shoulder taped before I lose my job and my reputation.” I motioned for her to hop up. “How’s it holding up?”
“Still pinchy when I serve,” she said with a grimace. “Coach thinks it’s in my head. I think he’s an idiot.”
“Let’s prove you right.” I pressed along the line of her deltoid, feeling the knot bunch under my thumb like a warning. “That spot?”
She hissed. “Yep. That’s the fucker.”
“You’ve got inflammation again,” I said, reaching for the zinc tape. “We’ll strap it and get some ice on after your warm-up.”
“See, this is why I need you forever,” she muttered. “You actually listen.”
“I’m paid to,” I said lightly, but her words warmed me more than I expected.
As I worked, my mind drifted back to the sight of Tyler sleeping—the broad, golden expanse of his shoulders, those soft, pouted lips, and the way he’d looked so utterly, temptingly smitten. He was trouble, alright, but for the first time in my life, I didn't think I ever wanted saving.