Why can’t Julian and his burly teammates leave me alone with the doctor? They’re standing around with stupid looks plastered on their stupid faces. Their presence serves no purpose other than to distract me. It’s hard not to glance at their big arms that are corded with muscles. Harker has legs so thick and toned they look like tree trunks. I imagine how hard it would be to wrap my arms around them, but thinking hurts my brain.
Julian and his friends move forward as a singular unit.
“Guys, please,” the doctor says in a stern voice. “Give me some space to work. Briana doesn’t need all of you crowding around her.”
Julian and his teammates back up a few inches, but they don’t leave the locker room. They’re now dressed in regular clothes, some in jeans and others in sweats, but all of them are wearing navy Strickland Senators T-shirts with white lettering, the thin cotton molding to their ripped bodies. Ugh, why do hockey players have to look like… them? It’s so not fair. They make women like me feel like ugly ducklings. Girls on campus used to tell me I wasn’t any good for Julian. They said I was too curvy, too poor, and too ugly to date one of the hottest guys on campus.
“Your friend said you were hit with a bottle,” Dr. Carter says, snapping my gaze back to him.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really? A bottle hit me. All I know is it hurts like a son of a bitch, and then I don’t know, I guess I passed out.”
“Nice mouth on this one,” Knox says.
He’s always hated me and never thought I was good enough for Julian.
I shoot a wicked look in his direction. “If you don’t like my mouth, you can get lost. I don’t need an audience.”
Julian’s eyes flare with something I can’t place. Desire? Curiosity? Excitement? It’s hard to say. He watches me with interest. I still want to kill Sadie for raising my paddle at The Player Auction.
Dr. Carter sighs, drawing my attention back to him. “Briana, can you point to where it hurts?”
“Everywhere.” I show the doctor the source of the mind-numbing pain. “But mostly here.”
He inspects the lump forming on my head. I groan when he touches it, and he sinks back on his heels. “From the looks of it, you were hit pretty hard. The swelling should go down in the next few days. I want you to put some ice on your head and stay off your feet.”
“I’ve had plenty of concussions,” Julian says. “I know what to do… if you need some help.”
“You’re not talking to me,” I say without looking at him. “I wish you would never speak to me again.”
“Actually, I am talking to you, you stubborn little brat.”
Furious, I cock my head at him, my cheeks burning. “I’m not a brat, you stupid trust fund hockey dick.”
I expect Julian to say something smart in return. Instead, he tilts his gorgeous head back and laughs, a real throaty laugh that fills the silence in the room. His teammates join him, finding my shame and our ridiculous banter hilarious. Somehow, our little squabble causes the tension to slowly disappear from the locker room.
“God, I hate you,” I say, my voice filled with laughter. “You’re such a jerk.”
He rolls his shoulders as if agreeing with me.
Not like he’s completely oblivious to the fact he’s a total blue-blooded douche who thinks his big dick, muscles, and bank account make him special. Julian is no different than the other entitled snobs on this campus.
Dr. Carter waves a bright light in front of my face. “I need to do a quick checkup. With how long you were unconscious, I’m worried you might have a serious concussion.”
I frown at his words. “I don’t have time for a concussion. I have a big test on Monday that I have to study for.”
“I can write you a note and speak with your professors. You can’t concentrate too hard on anything right now. Reading and studying is out of the question. Stress and too much thinking will only make it worse. You need a few days off your feet. No exertion of any kind. You’ll need to get some sleep but not for too long.”
“I’m fine. I can handle it. I’m used to taking care of myself.” I shrug him off and attempt to get up from the bench, but my feet slip out from under me.
At the same time as the doctor, Julian reaches for me, pulling me into his strong arms that wrap around me like a warm blanket. His musky scent fills my nostrils, the scent so intoxicating yet nauseating all at the same time. Waves of sickness sweep over me, my stomach revolting either from the smell of his cologne or the fact he’s holding me. Or maybe it’s something else. Because chunks are rising from the back of my throat, forcing me to keep them down.
I cover my mouth with my hand and choke out between my fingers. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“You gonna puke?” Julian asks.
I nod, my fingers still covering my mouth.
“As I said before,” Julian says as he leads me through the locker room. “I’ve had my fair share of concussions. I can help you get through this.”