AFTER TOSSING AND TURNING FOR over two hours now, I’m no closer to getting any rest than I was the second I started silently listing football stats in my head. As a child, I had the worst case of insomnia, so Vi got me hooked on listing things to help my brain quiet down. So, since ten o’clock, I’ve been listing every goal I’ve scored and I’ve still seen nearly every minute on the bloody clock tick by.
I should be exhausted. It’s almost midnight and it was a rain match today for fuck’s sake. But my mind keeps wandering back to the surgery they want to do on my knee in two days—this supposed career-saving surgery.
When everyone came in with their bright ideas, impressive statistics, and articles about other footballers who have had this brand new surgery, I didn’t react the way I thought I would. I should have been jumping for joy and kissing the good doctor for saving my career.
Instead, a twisting in my gut multiplied. I began to feel weighted down like I do when I run around a muddy pitch wearing ankle weights. Did I lose my shot at a Premier contract? Am I even still a footballer if I can’t play right now? Football is my identity, so what am I without it?
It’s all a bit disconcerting, especially since I’ve been having the season of my life. This Wilson Repair is supposed to get me right back in the game, so why am I so confused about how I feel?
Oh, shut it, Camden. You probably just need to get laid, I think to myself. Instantly, Indie’s angelic face invades my mind.
“Fuck it,” I say while pressing the button on my bed to raise myself up. I can’t keep lying here—not sleeping—and obsessing. My brain needs a break from the stress. In the past, whenever I’ve needed a break, women were usually the perfect release. The perfect distraction to forget and not be needed for something more than just the basic carnal act of sex.
Indie Porter would more than do for me right now. She’s been invading my thoughts since I first laid eyes on her. The tremendous urge I have to know more about her is heady. I think she might be a little nuts and that makes me positively desperate to know more. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had encounters with beautiful women from all over the world. But kissing a doctor in an exam room ranks high on my list of spank-banking material.
Furthermore, when I get right down to the brass tacks of it, it wasn’t the location that made it memorable.
It was her.
She is breathtaking. From her face to her hair, to her body, to her glasses…She gave me chills and at that point all she had done was touch my arm. I need to know what it would be like to actually be inside of her.
I turn on the dim nightlight over my bed and snatch my mobile up off the side table. Quickly, I find Indie’s name that I saved in my contacts immediately after she left. She gave me her number, so whether she’s my doctor or not, that act alone told me she is also open to something more than just a doctor/patient relationship. I’m just not sure she’s ready to fully admit it yet.
She’s probably sleeping and won’t answer, but it’s worth a shot. I don’t usually have to chase girls but I’ll gladly make an exception for her.
Tonight is the perfect opportunity. There’s something about the night that makes things look differently, too. For example, when you hear a strange noise in your flat and it’s dark out, you’re instantly on defence, ready for battle. But, in the daytime, if you hear a strange noise, you’re certain it’s just the neighbour’s overweight cat tipping over his litter box again. You don’t even bother closing your book.
Darkness can make you brave. That’s what I want out of Indie. There’s something about her that I want to break through. Maybe if I can get her up to my room now that she’s not officially working, she’ll drop the wall and let me in.
I press DIAL on my mobile and hear the sexiest sound in the universe. “Mmmm, this is Dr. Porter.”
My groin lurches. “Are you in the middle of something?”
“Mmmm, what’s that? What did you say?” Her voice is moany and scratchy, and all I can think about are the sounds she’d make with me inside of her.
My breath comes out quickly before I resume speaking. “You sound like you were either in the middle of dreaming about me, or you were in the middle of touching yourself while dreaming about me, or you were wide awake and touching yourself while dreaming about me. All of the above is an acceptable answer.”
Silence.
“Don’t go quiet on me now, Indie.” I reach down and shamelessly cup myself, closing my eyes and imagining her all sleep-tousled and adorable in my bed with me.
“Is this Camden?” Her voice is a bit clearer now.
“Miss me?”
I hear ruffling on the other end, and I envision her sitting up in bed and putting her glasses on. Her voice is alert. “I’m just thinking about how full of yourself you are to assume that the only options of what I’m doing right now include thoughts of you.”
“Who else would it be?” I ask and move my hand from my dick as frustrating thoughts of that prat, Dr. Prichard, flash in my mind. She better not be thinking of that wanker. “Did you have another someone else manhandle your lips today?”
She huffs incredulously. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?” she yawns.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Is it pain? Have they done final rounds on you already? You need to tell them your pain number and be honest, Cam. And make sure they don’t forget to give you a new dose if it’s been four hours.”
I grin at her calling me Cam again. It sounds so perfectly casual and utterly sexy coming from her kind voice. “It’s not pain.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know exactly. I think you better get up here and check it out.”
“Check what out?” Her voice rises slightly. “Are you having other symptoms? Is something happening with your knee? Are you feeling feverish?”
“I’m definitely hot.”
“I’ll be right there.” The line cuts out and I have a fleeting sense of guilt for misleading her into thinking there is something else wrong with me. I didn’t expect her to be so trusting of my complaints. But I’m not really in the position to chase her down, and she said she doesn’t want me to move, right?
More excited than I feel compelled to admit, I decide to ditch my shirt to make a solid impact when she comes through the door. I fling the shirt Tanner had brought me toward my chair and lean back in my bed with my hands behind my head as I await her entrance.
In a matter of minutes, the beautiful redhead comes striding into my room. The dim yellow light above my head casts a warm hue on her blue scrubs. I didn’t want to turn on any more lights for our meeting. I’ve found that turning the lights off when I’m in bed with a woman tends to unleash a whole other side of her that she’s normally too proper to let loose. I want that to happen with Indie.
Indie’s so busy tying her mass of curls up into a bun atop her head, she doesn’t even look at me. Closing the double doors behind her, she eventually reaches the foot of my bed and snatches up the iPad digital chart that rests in a plastic holder by my feet. Scrolling through it for a few seconds, she says, “Your vitals were all good when they rounded on you thirty minutes ago.” Her brows are furrowed. “Normal temp recorded. What’s the problem?”
She looks up at me and pushes her glasses up on her nose. I’m surprised to see they are teal frames now. Gone are the cheetah ones from earlier. The colour of these make her toffee eyes stand out even more. Toffee eyes that are now taking in my black boxer briefs.
“You changed your glasses,” I state, ignoring her question and smiling at her wandering gaze.
“You’re not wearing your gown,” she replies, frowning. “And I have tons of different glasses. I don’t know what I grabbed. It was dark in the on-call room.”
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” I say, surprising myself by actually caring. I don’t usually do the thoughtful bloke thing, but Indie Porter is a different calibre of woman.
“It’s fine. You’re a VIP and Dr. Prichard told me to check in on you at some point tonight anyway.”
“So do you sleep in those on-call rooms by yourself?” I ask, morbidly curious. If this hospital is anything like the medical shows on the telly, those on-call rooms are nothing short of a brothel.
“No, there were a couple other doctors in there. I’m more concerned about how you’re feeling. Why did you ask me up here?” She grips the iPad against her chest and furrows her brow at me.
I cock my head. “Why do you think I asked you up here?”
Her face drops into one of unimpressed chastisement. “Are you trying to seduce me when you have a serious injury?”
Scoffing, I reply, “‘Course not. That would be mental, right?”
She drops her chin. “Yes. Completely mental, Mr. Harris.”
I let out a soft chuckle at her tone. “Fine then, Doctor, I think I might have insomnia or something.”
Her brows lift. “That sounds like nerves, but I can give you something to help you sleep.” She swipes the iPad awake again.
“I don’t want drugs and it’s not nerves,” I lie, clenching my jaw over her perceptiveness. I decide to quickly flip the tables back on her. “So when I called, you sounded like you were doing more than just sleeping. Are those on-call rooms that comfortable?” I tweak my brows playfully.
She baulks, “I wasn’t doing any of whatever your mind is wandering off to. That is my sleeping voice you heard, which is a miracle in and of itself. The cots are terrible for getting any decent rest. I’ll be lucky if I am able to fall back asleep.”
“So we both have a sleep problem then.” She eyes me warily as my expression turns hopeful. “I think I have the perfect solution.”
She lets out a haughty laugh. “Oh, do tell.”
“It’s simple…You can sleep with me.” I give her a confident nod and prop my hands back behind my head like I just stated the most logical thing all day. “This is practically my own private apartment in here, and I’m concerned for your rest, Indie. You’re not my doctor right now, but you will be tomorrow. I need you in tip-top shape. This is rather noble if you think about it.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips off to the side. “Sleeping with you would be highly inappropriate. Not to mention, I could lose out on scrubbing in on your surgery. Maybe even my job.” Even though her words seem resolute, her eyes trail down my chest again.
Christ, she’s worse than blokes are about checking out the opposite sex. I fucking love it.
“There’s a lock on my door,” I volley back.
“The nurses have keys. Besides, you may not be aware but the type of surgery you’re going to have is very rare. This is a huge opportunity for me.”
“No one has to know,” I add.
“I would know. I’m a doctor. You’re a patient. This is madness.” Her stiff posture begins to shift.
“I’m not after anything except some sleep, Indie.” At least for now. Sleep and a distraction is what I need, even if it isn’t the naked kind. Focusing my efforts on this redhead is just what the doctor ordered. Pun intended. “My nerves are shot after today. I can’t quiet my mind. We can talk each other to sleep. It’ll be good for both of us.”
She stops chomping on her lip long enough to say, “The best I can do is sit in here until you fall asleep.”
It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it. “Stay as long as you’d like. The nurse said she wouldn’t bother me again until eight a.m. That nurse was an interesting one, I’d say. Her bedside manner could rival Hitler. And I think her chin mole had its own beard.”
She giggles and my heart races. I’m winning. I’ve always been good at winning.
“Don’t laugh too loud. You don’t want Beardie to overhear,” I state. “You might want to set your alarm just in case you fall asleep,” I offer, attempting to capitalise on her good humour.
She rolls her eyes but makes her way to the chair. I’ve had to use a lot of my charm on this girl, but something tells me she might be worth it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to climb in? My bed is quite nice…VIP and all. And, unlike Beardie, I have great bedside manners.”
She turns on her heel to face me. Her pointer finger is raised like a schoolteacher when she says, “There is absolutely no chance of you getting your balls wet if that’s where your mind is going, Camden Harris.”
My boisterous laugh is deep and genuine, and her eyes fly wide as she falls down on me and claps her hand over my mouth. “Careful. You don’t want Beardie to come in.”
Hearing her say Beardie is comedy at its finest, but there’s nothing funny about having her close to me again. She moves her hand off my mouth and eyes my lips, probably thinking about the kiss we shared earlier, just as I am. I bite my tongue to gain control. She’s even more beautiful up close as my nightlight reveals a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
She’s beautiful and funny?
I think I might be in love.
She pulls back and settles herself in the overstuffed chair beside my bed, scrolling through something on her mobile. I watch her while she wiggles to find a comfortable spot.
Being a professional footballer, I’ve had some majorly confident women throw themselves at me. They’re usually kitted out in flossy gossamer undergarments that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Indie, on the other hand, looks perfectly confident in scrubs and trainers. Maybe it’s the whole doctor/patient fantasy that gets me going, but I’d like to explore everything underneath that fabric.
Tearing my eyes from her, I flick the light off. The room is cast in complete darkness aside from the faint glow of the outside light streaming in through the curtains. She moves to deposit her mobile and glasses on the end table before slouching down in the chair.
One part of my brain wants to say so much—crack a joke about what kind of knickers she wears under those scrubs, or ask her if she wants a shag after all. But the other part forces me to remain silent. This whole thing feels platonic but strangely intimate. Hearing her soft breaths, smelling her fresh scent. Her general presence is…comforting. I actually like having her in here. But having a woman near me and not slipping myself inside of her is foreign to me.
A heaviness creeps over me at the realisation.
She’s a necessary distraction. Nothing more. I need her here because if she’s not here I’ll have time to think about what’s really going on with me. That scares me more than anything.
No matter how simple they say the surgery will be, it’s still surgery. I’m still getting knocked out. They act like this will make me good as new, but part of me fears that I’ll never get back what I’ve lost. I was on such a lucky streak prior to this. Then, in one quick instant, everything in my career came to a crashing halt. My positive momentum, thwarted. What if I never operate the way I did before? What if this is a slow decline to a sad, pathetic end?
At least if I stay broken there’s a reason for not playing well. If I’m fixed and sucking, then what?
“Are you actually scared?” Indie’s voice is quiet in the darkness, but it’s a question that speaks volumes to my insides. She turns her head and eyes me from the chair.
I swallow slowly before answering, “Yes.” It’s the first honest thing I’ve said in ages. I roll to my side so I’m facing her. I can barely make out the glossiness of her eyes.
“Is it for more reasons than just the surgery?”
Christ, it’s like she sees right through me. “Maybe.” The air is heavy with dread and fear and everything I’m too afraid to fully admit to myself.
She remains silent for a few seconds and brings her feet up to prop on the side of my bed. Her bright white ankle socks glow in the dim lighting. It’s a small movement but it feels meaningful, like she’s trying to get closer but not make it obvious.
“You don’t have a girlfriend, right?”
My stomach shakes with a quiet laugh. It’s such an innocent question dropped into such a heavy environment. “No. I’m afraid I’m not the girlfriend type.”
“I didn’t think so.” Her tone sounds relieved and it makes me scowl.
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” I’m more than curious about Dr. Prichard and the way he watches her when she speaks and touches her whenever he gets the chance. Plus, how he calls her Indie in front of patients really grates on my nerves.
I can see her smirk through the darkness. “No. You’re safe. It’s not a part of my plan. Not yet anyway.”
“Your plan? This sounds interesting.” I grin and see her chewing her lower lip while her finger wraps around a loose strand of her hair.
“Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”
It’s a promising sentence. “Let’s count on it.”
Then, as if her presence soothes my insomnia, my eyelids begin to droop. I think I see hers close first, so I allow myself to drift off to sleep, enjoying the scent of lemons clinging to my bed sheets.
