Touch My Neck ✓

Chapter Twelve | Why do NHL players never sweat?

Eros Candreva 

Please vote!!!!

6am.

I slam my alarm clock, my eyes snap open as I gradually turn my head to face the numbers on the clock. I push myself up and let my feet meet the smooth oak floors of the hotel room. My fingers instinctively rake through my hair, a habitual gesture that helps me gather my thoughts.

I had another physio session scheduled with Angel today, but I've decided not to go.

Especially not after what almost happened yesterday.

I've never been with a woman before, despite what the tabloids might speculate. I might have a reputation as a playboy, but the reality is quite different.

After a refreshing shower and my morning routine, I opt for a black shirt that fits snugly around my biceps. I pair it with well-fitted trousers and lace up my trainers. With my phone and book in hand, I head down to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast

7am

I enter the restaurant, and take my usual seat before ordering a bottle of water and breakfast, I open my book and flick to the chapter I should've finished at the bare before I was distracted by Doctor Huxley.

7:15am

My food arrives, and the waitress sets it down in front of me. I offer a polite thank you before returning my attention to the book I've been engrossed in. My routine is precise, and I'm content with how things are going so far - or at least, I thought I was. That is, until the scraping of a chair disrupts my focus.

I look up and find myself locking eyes with a pair of captivating autumn eyes, set within an expression that screams anger.

Doctor Huxley stands before me, arms folded across her chest. "Do you take me for a joke?" she questions, her voice holding a mix of irritation and determination. I release a sigh, attempting to go back to my book. I should've finished this page by now. But suddenly, the book is torn from my grip, and a surge of annoyance sparks within me as I glare at her.

"Give me back my book, Doctor Huxley," I demand, my tone authoritative.

"You're finished," she declares, her words sharp and resolute. My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

"Pardon?"

"You won't be returning to the ice. At all. You're done." My teeth clench, and I rise from my seat, my towering height of 6'5" giving me an intimidating presence. Her head tilts back slightly, but her resolve doesn't waver. She remains as furious as ever.

"Give me back my book, Angel."

"No. You like your meticulously planned schedules, right? Well, I guess your precious routine is about to be disrupted since you won't be able to finish reading this book. I waited an hour for you - do you think I enjoy waking up at six in the morning? I don't!" With that, she storms off, taking my book with her. My nostrils flare in irritation as I watch her retreat, and before I can fully process it, I find myself following her.

"Doctor Huxley, I won't ask again - give me back my book." She presses the elevator button, the doors opening just in time for her to step inside. As they start to close, I swiftly slip in, using one hand to keep them from shutting.

The doors close behind me, and with a determined resolve, I slam my fist onto the STOP button.

The blaring alarms fill the elevator, and she retreats, pressing herself against the mirror with my book clutched against her chest. Annoyance courses through me as I glance at my watch. "You've wasted fifteen minutes of my day," I state, my frustration evident.