Chapter 17
Catherine Celia
By Wednesday, prospects camp had turned the arena into organized chaos.
Rookies moved through the halls with too much energy and not enough survival instinct.
Trainers shouted for ice packs. Doctors checked wrists, ankles, shoulders, and egos.
Wren ran the treatment room like a general with a clipboard, and I spent most of the morning trying to prove I belonged there.
Which would have been easier if Hunter Russell wasn’t shirtless on a treatment table while Wren worked on his shoulder.
I walked in with Dr. Patel and stopped so fast he nearly clipped the back of my shoes.
“You good?” he asked.
“Great,” I said, voice too bright. “Just checking the schedule.”
The schedule was on my tablet. I was looking at Hunter’s back.
Wide shoulders. Tanned skin. Muscles shifting under Wren’s hands as she rotated his arm.
He looked calm, focused, completely professional.
Then his eyes found mine. My stomach dropped.
For three days, we’d been doing this. Secret texts.
Stolen looks. Tiny brushes in hallways that meant nothing to anyone else and everything to me.
It was reckless and stupid and getting harder to stop.
“Catherine,” Wren said, not looking up from Hunter’s shoulder. “Green resistance band.”
“Coming right up.” I crossed to the cabinet and grabbed the blue one.
Wren glanced over. “That is definitely not green.”
“Sorry.” I switched it fast.
Hunter coughed. I didn’t look at him because I valued my life and my father was somewhere in this building. Wren pressed her thumb near the front of his shoulder. “Pain?”
“No.”
“Here?”
“A little tight.”
“You’re always tight.”
Hunter’s gaze flicked to me. Heat rushed up my neck.
Wren rolled her eyes. “Shoulder tight, Russell. Don’t make it weird.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he feigned.
“You had the face,” Wren countered, grinning.
I hadn’t told any of my friends about the hooking up because I wanted it to be our secret.
Our time to get to know each other and work through the feelings we were having.
Dr. Patel chuckled from the workstation.
I became very interested in updating Dax’s ankle chart, which would have been more convincing if Dax’s ankle chart had been open.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Hunter: Stop looking at my back like you know what it feels like under your hands.
I almost dropped the tablet.
Me: I’m working.
Hunter: So am I.
Me: You’re being treated.
Hunter: I’m thinking about treating you.
My pulse jumped. Across the room, Hunter talked to Dr. Patel like he hadn’t just sent a message that made my knees useless.
Me: Hunter, are you crazy? Stop.
Hunter: Then stop looking at me like you want my mouth between your legs again.
I sucked in a breath and immediately pretended it was because I had found something very interesting in the chart.
Wren looked over. “Everything okay?”
“Yup. Dax’s ankle is still attached.”
“That’s the standard we aim for,” Wren said, grinning.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and tried to focus. For the next hour, I took notes, wrapped a wrist, fetched ice, and tried not to think about Hunter’s mouth. It didn’t work.
Hunter: I keep thinking about the shower.
Me: Hunter.
Hunter: How you watched me.
Me: Stop.
Hunter: How you touched yourself because I told you to.
My face went nuclear. I looked up. He was across the treatment room now, shirt back on, speaking to a nervous rookie who had forgotten what line he’d been on after taking a hit. He was back to being the calm, controlled captain, which was completely unfair.
Me: I hate you.
Hunter: No, you don’t.
Me: I’m going to throw my phone into an ice bath.
Hunter: Do it. Then come find me and tell me how mad you are.
I pressed my thighs together and cursed every bad decision that had led me here. At lunch, Wren handed me a stack of damp towels. “Can you toss these in the linen room? I need to stop Dax from diagnosing himself on the internet.”
“On it.”
The linen room was narrow, tucked behind the treatment area, packed with shelves, towels, gowns, and ice bags. I stepped inside, dumped the towels into the bin, and my phone buzzed again.
Hunter: I want five minutes with you in that closet.
My heart slammed.
Me: You’re certifiable.
Hunter: I’d lock the door if it had one.
Me: Yup, you’re insane.
Hunter: You make me insane.
Me: I’m leaving.
Hunter: Are you?
I should’ve walked out. Instead, I stared at the screen, breathing too fast. The door shifted behind me. I spun around and nearly screamed, but Hunter’s hand covered my mouth before I made a sound. His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against him.
“Don’t scream,” he whispered against my ear.
I bit his palm.
He hissed and dropped his hand. “Did you just bite me?”
“You scared me.”
“Sorry, but I figured you were staying in here because you wanted me.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
I shoved lightly at his chest. “You can’t be in here.”
“Probably not.”
“My dad is down the hall,” I warned.
“I know,” he replied, but the heat in his eyes right now said he didn’t care.
“Wren could walk in.” I thought it would help my warning.
“I know that too,” he replied without a care.
“Are you feeling okay? Because you’re a little too calm about us,” I said.
He stepped closer, crowding me back against the shelves. Clean towels pressed into my spine. His hand settled beside my head, caging me in without touching anywhere he shouldn’t.
“It’s because all I can think about is making you come again,” he said, voice low. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning, and I know I should be thinking of consequences, but being with you seems more important right now.”
My breath caught. A voice sounded in the treatment room. We froze. Wren laughed at something Dr. Patel said, close enough that my heart tried to leave my body. Hunter’s hand moved to my hip. Warm through my scrubs, his thumb brushing once like he couldn’t help himself.
“We should stop,” I whispered, even if I hadn’t meant to say those words. I wanted his mouth on me.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moved.
“You said you wanted five minutes,” I reminded him.
His eyes lifted to mine. “I only need one.”
I kissed him. It was a terrible idea. I knew that before my mouth touched his.
Then his hand slid into my hair, and terrible became irrelevant as our mouths entwined and our tongues lashed and danced hungrily.
Hunter kissed me like he had been holding back all day, which made it hotter because I could feel everything he wasn’t letting himself do.
My fingers curled into his shirt, and I pulled him closer even though we were one bad footstep away from disaster.
His mouth moved to my jaw, then my neck.
“Hunter,” I breathed.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, and he dipped his finger into the band of my scrubs and then into my panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”
I moaned.
“Hush. I’m going to get you off, but you can’t scream,” he warned.
I nodded because I was lost to him. Any rational thought left me as his thumb drew circles on my clit. His finger pumped inside me. His breathing was heavy. “You feel so damn good. So slick for me,” he whispered against my ear.
I let out a small moan, and then he put another finger inside me. “It’s too much.”
“You can take it, baby. Come for me,” he said, and then he buried his face in my neck. All I felt was his breath against the damp skin at my nape and his fingers working me over. I was clenching around him.
“So close,” I warned.
“That’s it. I feel you squeezing my fingers.
I can’t wait until I earn having my cock inside you,” he said, and that’s all it took for me to fall over the edge.
My legs gave out, and he held me, supporting me while he dragged out my orgasm by rubbing his thumb in glorious circles on my clit while his fingers pumped inside me.
I was a mess. I bit into his shoulder to keep myself from screaming.
Then he held me until I caught my breath and opened my eyes.
When I did, he kissed my lips, looked me in the eyes, and sucked on his fingers.
“This will have to hold me over until tonight,” he said.
I was a mess. I could barely formulate a sentence.
“I want to take care of you.” I was about to drop to my knees when he stopped me.
“We’ve been in here long enough. I’ll leave first so you can catch your breath,” he said. Then he kissed my forehead.
A sound came from the hall. Hunter opened the door a crack, checked outside, then looked back at me.
His eyes were still dark. Mine probably looked worse.
He winked at me and slipped out with a towel he didn’t need.
I was in deep trouble. I had never had this kind of chemistry with a man before.
I waited thirty seconds, fixed my hair, and walked back into the treatment room pretending I hadn’t just made out with my father’s captain beside a shelf of clean linens.
Wren looked up. “You’re flushed.”
“It’s hot in there,” I noted, trying to keep my blush under control. It felt impossible.
Her eyes narrowed.
Dax yelled from table three, “Is purple a bad ankle color?”
Wren sighed. “Saved by the idiot.”
“I’m grateful.”
The afternoon dragged in the worst way. Hunter was everywhere: on the ice correcting prospects, near the boards talking to my father, back in the treatment room while Wren lectured him about his shoulder.
Every time my dad said his name, guilt pushed against my ribs.
Every time Hunter answered like nothing was happening, I wanted him more.
By five, I was exhausted, starving, and still thinking about the closet.
My mom texted as I left the arena.
Mom: I’m on shift tonight. Dad ordered pizza for himself and Jaden. Are you coming home for dinner?
Before I answered, Hunter’s name lit up my screen.
Hunter: Let me cook for you tonight.
Me: That’s a terrible idea.
Hunter: I’m aware.
Me: My dad is home.
Hunter: I’ll feed you. Actual food.
Me: Why does everyone think I don’t eat?