Chapter 5 #2
There he was again. Thad. Not Dr. Vale staring at my fucked-up knee like it was a puzzle to solve, but the silver fox Daddy who’d spent nearly an hour staring at me like I was something he wanted.
“You’re bossy.”
“Your leg, brat.”
Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker. That growly shit should be considered a weapon of mass destruction considering what it did to my dick.
I lifted my aching, throbbing leg toward him. Thad caught me carefully at the ankle and guided my leg across his lap. The relief was immediate. My eyes fell closed. Fuck me. I hadn’t realized how badly the weight of my own leg was pulling at the knee until it wasn’t anymore.
“Better?”
I opened my eyes to find him watching me. I nodded. His mouth moved, and I pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Say whatever you’re about to say.”
One dark brow climbed.
“Yeah, don’t do that either.”
“What?”
Mimicking him, my brow lifted.
“Raise my eyebrow?”
“Yes. Don’t do that either.”
His face twitched with laughter that huffed from behind his pressed-closed lips. Seconds ticked by as we stared at one another. “How long have you been behind the bar?” he asked.
“Tonight?”
The eyebrow climbed even higher.
Fucking asshole. So much for avoiding the question for a bit longer.
“A few hours.”
“And how long have you been hurting?”
I knew the man was this amazing freaking ortho doc, but how the hell did he clock that shit?
“Who said it’s been hurting?” I hedged.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. That fucking eyebrow did all the talking.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
My leg was killing me. Had been for over an hour. What bothered me wasn’t that it hurt. It was that he’d noticed. I thought I’d been masking it so well. Thought I wasn’t favoring my right side, but…I guess I was wrong.
“Fine isn’t an answer to that question. The answer to how long requires a unit of time.”
“You’re annoying.” Sexy as fuck and annoying. My kind of Daddy. Just my luck.
He smirked. “So I’ve been told.”
I rolled my eyes again. If he could communicate by lifting his brows, I could do the same by rolling my eyes.
His eyebrow climbed his forehead again.
“You’re a persistent fucker,” I said with a sigh. “An hour. Maybe a little longer.”
“And you stayed behind the bar?”
Of course I’d stayed behind the bar. Hell, I’d jumped at the chance to set foot back there when I overheard Phoenix talking on the phone with someone about needing volunteers who could bartend.
Anything to feel like less of a charity case.
I think I shocked him when I approached him and asked if I could help, given that I hadn’t interacted with anyone in the time I’d been at the house.
Those words were the first I’d uttered to anyone since walking through the door.
When his brow quirked again, I finally responded with, “I was working.”
“Cash.” The tone of his voice spoke fucking volumes.
I shrugged. I knew it was stupid. “What? It hurts no matter what. It doesn’t matter whether I’m sitting on my ass or standing behind a bar. At least behind the bar, I’m useful.”
Deciding to change the topic and tune out the growing looks between the other guests and Thad and me, I dropped back to where the conversation was before he got me off my feet. “You never really answered my question.” Actually, there were several questions he hadn’t answered.
“No, I haven’t.”
I groaned. The man was beautiful, way smarter than me, and hotter than fuck.
I was in way over my head. I was so fucking thankful he’d turned out to be Dr. Vale, but I hated it as well because the silver fox Daddy who’d stood across the bar watching me and making me blush wanted me.
It was clear as day. And I wanted him. So much.
And not just because my dick finally came back online after nearly eleven months of nothing.
He nodded, gripping and squeezing my calf rhythmically. A moan rumbled through me, hopefully too low for him to pick up over the music.
His thumb pressed carefully into the muscle beside my shin.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” My head fell back on my shoulders, my eyes closing.
His hand stopped. “Pain?”
“No. Don’t fucking stop,” I groaned. The words shouldn’t sound so sexual, but fuck, after months of nobody touching me or showing any interest in me outside the clinical world, I couldn’t help how it came out.
While his hands continued, his words didn’t. He paused long enough that I dragged my head up from my shoulders to stare at him, fascinated by the working of his throat as if he had to clear it before replying, “I played Division 1 NCAA hockey on scholarship.”
“Nice. Any good?” I asked, shifting to relieve the pressure on my now-hardening dick.
“Good enough to make it to the playoffs all four years.”
His statement was the least braggy thing I’d ever heard a hockey player say.
I whistled. “That’s pretty damn good.” I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t go any further, I asked, “What position? I’d guess you were a d-man, given your size.”
He smirked. There was the cocky hockey bro. Every guy I’d ever met who played had a bit of one inside them. Mine had once been big, brash, and bold. Once.
After a minute, he ducked his head and said, “That’s what most people think, but…I centered the top line.”
“So, a big, brilliant, two-way player? I hate guys like you.”
“Most goalies do.”
I laughed.
The difference between Thad and Dr. Vale was clear. When Thad slipped away and Dr. Vale took over, the flirtatious smirks, the banter… disappeared. They were replaced by the sharp, clinical gaze of the surgeon professional athletes worldwide trusted with their careers.
Looking at him now, I could pick out the similarities between the man sitting before me and the headshots I’d seen online after first hearing his name.
But he looked nothing like those photos now.
The beard was the biggest difference. Maybe that was why I hadn’t recognized the man I’d been trying so damn hard to get a referral to.
As easily as I could see the difference between the doctor and the man, I had no fucking clue how to separate the two in my mind.
Worse, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.