Page 96 of The Offside Rule
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 toanyone 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?”
