Page 82 of Dream On, Liar

Her hand remained beneath my elbow for another moment before she eased it onto the pillow she had positioned beside me.

Feeling her hot stare seep into my skin, I opened my eyes to meet her. Only to realise that she’d been watching my face the whole time.

My body betrayed me before I could decide how to react.

Heat moved through me—not the kind that belongs in a treatment room, not the kind that should exist between a player and the physio who was supposed to keep him functional.

It was worse than that.

It was awareness.

Of her proximity. Of the way her focus narrowed in the pads of her fingers touched my skin when she started her assessment.

“Where does it hurt?”

I kept my eyes on her as I lifted my good hand and touched the front of my shoulder, just over my acromion. “Here.” I moved my fingers toward the side of my shoulder, indicating the area around my rotator cuff. “And here.”

She nodded, following the movement of my fingers, her gaze settling on the spot I'd indicated. “Okay.”

She leaned a little closer. “Can you lift your arm for me?”

“I can try,” I muttered, even though I knew the pain that was coming my way. Bracing my good hand, I braced myself against the edge of the table and tried to raise the injured arm.

It barely made it past a few inches when sharp pain spiked through beneath the joint, and settled in somewhere deep.

“Stop.”

“I can go higher.”

“No.” Her hand came beneath my elbow before I could try again.

The contact was careful, almost frustratingly gentle. “I don't want you pushing through that.”

“I've had worse.”

“I didn't ask whether you'd had worse.” Her fingers adjusted slightly beneath my elbow, supporting the weight of my arm.

I felt the tension leave my shoulder by degrees.

“There,” she said quietly. “Let me take it.”

I didn't dare to move, and for a second neither did she. Almost like she was biting back something she desperately wanted me to hear. For some reason, that tiny pause felt more intimate than it should have.

“What?” I finally asked. “Just spit it out.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine then. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

She sighed. “You’re so used to playing through the pain that you’ve forgotten how to recognise the signs altogether.”

I frowned, but she continued.

“You shouldn’t have played today. I think this may have been because when you slid near the boundary in the first over in the second innings. I know Faroq warned you to be careful during the break.”

“I wasn’t going to sit it out,” My words had a bite I hadn’t intended for, but I didn’t take them back. “Let’s just get through this.”

Her lack of push surprised me, but there was no resignation on her face either. She just waited without pulling, or forcing.