No one ever explained to me what to do when the man who took your virginity turns out to be the one in charge of your physical therapy.
NHL veteran Quinn Rhodes was supposed to be a one-time just a hookup who kisses like a dream and screws like a god.
Then, three weeks later, a freak accident threatens to destroy my debut NHL career before it begins. And if almost losing my spot on my team wasn't bad enough, I walk into my PT’s office and find him assigned to my recovery.
I can handle this, damn it. I can keep it professional.
And for a short while, it seems like Quinn’s willing to do the same. But it doesn’t take long for the two of us to shut our mouths and let our bodies do the talking.
If this was just physical, two guys scratching an itch, I could handle it. But deep down, I know there's more to it.
These stolen moments between us mean something. After all, Quinn doesn’t smile for just anyone, and the way he holds me when our hookups are over tells me that this thing between us doesn't have to end the moment my knee is healed.
The only question is, will either one of us be brave enough to take a shot on that goal?
E. M. Lindsey
