Page 26 of Net and Chill

“Yes.” I head to my bedroom to start packing an overnight bag.

“Okay. This is real shit, honey—you being his caretaker for the next couple of days. I’m just saying, you’re going to be on record. Can you handle that?”

“I…just want to make sure he’s taken care of. I think Craig’s the one who might have an issue with?—”

“He won’t. Trust me. But here’s the thing…”

I inhale a deep, shaky breath. “There’s more?”

“I was there when he was on the video call with the team physician and the general manager and his agent… They have a specific concussion protocol, even for grade one, especially for their star goalie. They want him back in New York in a week as long as he’s good to travel. They want to be able to keep an eye on him all summer.”

And there it is.

The real, real shit.

The real, shitty ticking clock.

“You there?” Penny asks.

“Yup.”

“But Bridget?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s very important that you don’t have sex with him for forty-eight hours. No strenuous activity. He cannot be overstimulated in any way.”

“Pah! As if.” I guffaw…as I remove the sexy lingerie I had just carefully placed in my weekender bag.

“I’m serious. I need his heart rate to stay normal.”

I hang up. Because my heart rate is not normal. What if I really was his good luck charm? What if his symptoms do get worse? Why didn’t I tell him what I really want? Even if it’s not what he wants, at least he’d know. At least we’d have more time together.

Craig.

He’s my favorite person and he doesn’t even know it, and I was afraid I couldn’t have him and then I broke him.

And how the hell am I supposed to spend forty-eight hours alone with him without overstimulating him when that’s all we seem to do to each other even when we’re being chill?

CHAPTER NINE

CRAIG: Come to my room.

BRIDGET: You aren’t supposed to look at your phone!

CRAIG: Turned on red filter. Come to my bed.

BRIDGET: You need to rest. Put the phone down and go to sleep.

CRAIG: Stitch.

BRIDGET: Do you need something?

CRAIG: Need you come to my bed.

BRIDGET: I’m pretty sure texting like a caveman is a symptom that requires a trip back to the ER.

CRAIG: Bridget. Come.