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He stretched and admired his impressive muscular frame in the mirror above the dressing table. “You remember I’m going to my parents’ for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. What time?”
I watched his face in the mirror as a small frown creased his brow and then disappeared. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a family thing.”
My chest tightened. Sean’s parents had always disapproved of me. It was fine for their son to be a football player, but they’d never liked the idea of him dating a female footballer. I wasn’t blind to their narrow glances whenever I went round for tea. With my tattoos and piercings, I wasn’t the kind of girl Mr. and Mrs. Wallace wanted for their superstar son. God knows who would be suitable. The Virgin Mary, maybe?
I fiddled with the silver ring in my nose and pasted a smile onto my face. “Fine. I have training tonight anyway.”
He didn’t even try to mask the relief in his expression.
No. Don’t worry. I’m not going to kick off about it. What’s the point?
The powerful muscles in his back rippled as he strode to the bathroom. I moved to the mirror and pulled my faded lilac hair in a ponytail that revealed the shaved edges of my undercut. The sound of the shower filled my ears. Fighting to ignore the hollow ache that lingered in my chest, I rested my palms on the dressing table and let my head drop. What the fuck was wrong with me? Sean was the captain of the top football team in the Premier League. Teenage girls throughout England had posters of my boyfriend on their walls. If I couldn’t have an orgasm with a man that looked like Sean Wallace, what chance did I have?
A harsh buzz made me jump. Sean’s phone flashed and vibrated on the bedside table. Sean had been weird about his phone lately. I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been surgically attached to it. I’d never been the jealous type. Sean had girls throwing themselves at him, but he’d always been faithful. We’d been together since before he was famous. He’d always told me I was the only girl he could trust to want Sean Wallace themanand not the football icon. Still, unease niggled my gut, and I always trusted my gut. It only took two attempts to crack the passcode and unlock the phone. Sean had never been creative. I read the first message and my stomach dropped.
Last night was amazing. When can you get away again?
The sender had no name, just an initial, M. I scrolled through an endless slew of messages until I reached a bunch of faceless nudes. Nausea rolled in my stomach. The messages dated back a year. A fucking year!
Sean strolled back into the bedroom, naked and toweling his golden hair. He raised a questioning brow. “Everything okay?”
I held up the phone. The towel dropped from his hand. Despite the hard lump in my throat, I managed to keep my voice level. I even managed not to throw the phone at his face.
“No, Sean. Everything is not okay.”
Scoring the Doctor (chapter 2)
Reece
Isteppedintothehallway and tripped over a pair of heavy black boots. My shoulders tensed and I rolled them loose. I’d have to talk to my sister, Frankie, about leaving her stuff everywhere again. I found her in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something beige and unidentifiable on the hob.
“What is it?” I rolled up my shirt sleeves. “Chili?”
Frankie wrinkled her nose. “It started like that. Now it might be curry.”
Miri and Gabe would be here any minute. I’d told Frankie to let me deal with the food, but she’d insisted I take a break from the stress of cooking. She didn’t get that it was more stressful watching someone else do it wrong.
I washed my hands at the sink. “I’m taking over.”
I took the wooden spoon from her hand and tried the unappetizing concoction. Overwhelming heat made my eyes water. I tried to keep my face level. “It’s great. It just needs a little… salt.”
A blackened cake sat on the window ledge. Ribbons of gooey dough shone in the charred volcanic surface. It shouldn’t have been possible to both undercook and overcook something at the same time, but somehow she’d managed it. Too late to do anything about it now.
I smiled. “This looks great.”
“Thanks.” She brightened and took a seat at the table. “How was Laurel?”
“Who’s Laurel? Don’t tell me Dr. Forster is getting some?” The cool, crisp voice drifted from behind.
Gabe Rivers leaned against the doorframe. My sister’s billionaire husband had taken ownership of Calverdale Ladies last year. Since then, I couldn’t go a day without him leaning in a doorway—with a smirk and a sassy comment—somewhere in my vicinity. I’d long itched to get him in the therapy chair and find out what lay beneath that cocky grin. He appeared well adjusted for someone raised with every material whim catered. Underneath the dazzling smile and designer suits, he was actually quite normal—and by normal, I mean as fucked up as the rest of us.
Gabe and Miri had surprised everyone with their low-key wedding ceremony—a tiny, family only gathering—at the town registry office. Gabe had offered to buy us a new house, but Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She’d only just accepted the separate annex that we’d had built so she could have some privacy. With the rehab nurses and specialist physiotherapists, Mum was making incredible progress after her stroke.
Gabe grinned and squeezed my shoulder. “So? Spill the beans, Doc. Who’s the unlucky lady?”
Frankie pushed me away to the table; her gaze transferred to Gabe. “Laurel is Reece’s supervisor. She’s also about a hundred years old.”
