Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Chelsea

Doctor Stuart glanced appraisingly at me as I stepped through the door. One greyed eyebrow was cocked with a hint of concern.

“Late night cramming for exams,” I explained. No amount of makeup could cover the weary look in my eyes, worse luck.

He nodded, apparently taking my words as the truth. Being exhausted was a common state of being for students doing practical training. Essays and exam study didn't stop because we were out working in our fields.

“Right, well, we have several physicals to work through this morning. Standard preseason checks to make sure the players are in form to play.” He waved at the screen in front of him. “This process will take a few days, but we have to be absolutely certain to cover everything.”

Of course we did. If we missed anything now, the players could suffer. At best, we could lose our jobs. At worst, they could worsen an existing injury, and we'd be sued for negligence. As one of my university lecturers used to say, “Meticulous, meticulous, meticulous.” Us students used to mimic him, but he wasn't wrong.

“Great,” I said with my perky demeanour firmly in place. “Who do we have first?”

Please say it's not Storm or Dallas.

I wasn't ready to face either of them. I didn't think they'd tell the team what I did at night, but shit could get awkward really fast. Having to perform a physical on a man who thought he owned me, was about as awkward as things could get. Not to mention seeing one who was ashamed of having been intimate with me.

Past Chelsea should have turned them down, but that was a problem for future Chelsea.

“Daniel Frost,” Doctor Stuart said. “I believe you're familiar with the players and their positions.”

Was that a deliberate choice of words, or was I reading more into what he was saying? Probably the latter. Doctor Stuart didn't seem like the type to use innuendos, especially in this context.

“I know what they all play, and I understand the strain each position can put on specific parts of their bodies,” I said, trying to sound as clinical as possible. “I read through the file you sent me, outlining their past injuries and anything that may be an ongoing concern. I recall that Frost broke his collarbone in the season before last, that could have ended his career.” It hadn't, but he'd been out for a while as he recovered.

“We're fortunate some of the players follow orders when they're told to take it easy,” Doctor Stuart said gruffly. “Most of them, if I'm honest. None of them want a career-ending injury. Or any injury, for that matter. They rail against restrictions, but when it comes down to it, this is their job. If they can't perform, then their rugby playing days are over. That's quite an incentive to behave.”

I smiled. “I can just imagine you've had your share of…frustration.”

He chuckled. “You could say that. But every single one of them knows we're here for them. We want the same thing they want. For them to be back out on the field as soon as possible. The only way for that to happen is for them to listen to us.” He hesitated.

“Is this where you say they may not let me boss them around because I'm a woman?” I asked.

“They may push back harder against you than they would against me,” he agreed. “Not just because you're a woman. You're also new, and still a student. Give them some time; they'll learn to respect you. I recommend not showing them any fear. The moment you do that, you've lost them. I wouldn't like to see that happen. What I've seen of your work so far, you're very promising. I think you'll fit in here. However, before I can give my recommendation, I need to be sure you can work with these men. If you let them walk all over you, they will.”

“I haven't let anyone walk all over me yet,” I said.

Let Storm think whatever he wanted to think, and say whatever he wanted to say. When he was here, under my care, he'd do what I told him to. No matter how much he hated the idea.

He vaguely patted my hand. “I didn't think you would. This job isn't an easy one, but it's very rewarding. We work with some of the best rugby players on the face of the planet. Elite athletes who put two hundred percent into everything they do. They need to be precise and so do we. We need to be more accurate than a Swiss clock. Three hundred percent of the time. If you're willing to put in the work, you'll reap the rewards.”

“I'm ready to reap.” I grinned. “And I'm ready to work my ass off.” If anyone doubted I could do this, they'd be proven wrong quickly enough.

“But your ass is so cute,” a voice said from the doorway.

I turned to see Daniel Frost leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at his ankles. Boyish mischief danced in those blue eyes of his. His blond hair was cut short, making him look more like a male model than a rugby union player.

He blinked a couple of times and frowned, as though trying to figure out where he knew me from.

Doctor Stuart clicked his tongue. “What have we said about sexually harassing the medical staff?”

Frost slid him a sly look and a grin. “Only harass the cute ones?” He held up a hand. “I don't mean to imply that you're not cute, Doctor. You're adorable. In an old-enough-to-be-my-grandfather kind of way.”

Doctor Stuart snorted softly. “Why don't you sit down on the treatment table? Doctor Miller can get started looking you over. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Doctor Miller, hmmm?” Frost said after Doctor Stuart had left. He lay down, his hands laced under his head, ankles crossed. A faint smile curved the corners of his mouth, like he knew something I needed to catch onto ASAP.

“That's right,” I said. “You can call me Chelsea if you want to.” I pulled on a pair of gloves and rolled the sphygmomanometer over to test his blood pressure.

“You can call me Frost,” he said. “Unless you prefer Daddy.” He grinned again, popping a dimple in each cheek.

“Do you flirt with all the doctors like this?” I gestured for him to push up his sleeve and placed the cuff around his muscular bicep.

“Only the ones I've seen naked,” he said, making no attempt to keep his voice down. “Yes, I recognise you. Not gonna lie, it took me a minute. You look different with your clothes on.” His eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“You look different when you're not walking out of a private room,” I retorted. If he was offering a thinly veiled threat, he'd get one in return.

His face paled slightly. “So we can agree to keep things professional?”

I leaned in and whispered, “I won't tell if you don't. Now, keep still and think less stressful thoughts, or your blood pressure is going to be compromised by this…conversation.”

“Whatever you say, Doctor.” He was immediately still, stiff as a board. “You know it was only…”

“I know,” I said. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You really need to relax. The last thing you want is for me to say you can't play because your blood pressure is too high. Let's talk about something else. Puppies.”

“Puppies?” He frowned.

“Yes, puppies. Everyone loves puppies, don't they? They're so cute and furry, and they never judge your life choices. I mean, they don't care if you eat Nutella and pickles together.”

He made a face and laughed. “You eat Nutella and pickles?”

I smiled. “Of course not. I'm just saying a puppy wouldn't judge you if you wanted to.” I checked the blood pressure machine. “That's better.” I took off the cuff and gestured for him to sit up so I could listen to his heart.

“I wouldn't judge you either,” he said. “I don't mean about…what you eat. I mean, if that's what you want to do…”

“It's just a job,” I said. “Something to do before I work here permanently. That's all. No big deal.”

“Right, no big deal,” he said softly. “Do you?—”

“Do it outside of the club? Not for money.” I slipped on a stethoscope and pressed the bell to his back.

I probably couldn't hear him gulp through the stethoscope, but I imagined I could.

“So you…go out on dates and shit like that?” he asked. His tone was tentative, but curious. Wanting to know but perhaps not wanting to be offensive. Or perhaps hoping I wouldn't ask too many questions in return.

I should start a blog about my life as a stripper. I could answer all of the big questions I'd been asked before, or the ones people skirted around.

On the other hand, right then, I had more than enough on my plate without taking on another project. Not even one that would reduce the stigma around one of the oldest professions in the world.

“Yes, I do, but you need to be quiet so I can listen,” I said.

He complied for a minute or two, until I stepped away and put the stethoscope aside.

“Your heart sounds good and strong,” I said.

“That's what my mother always says,” he said, his chest puffed out proudly. “That I'm full of heart. The guys say I'm full of shit, but at least my mother loves me.” He looked rueful.

I laughed softly. “Of course she does. You seem sweet.” Especially in comparison to Storm and Dallas. I got the impression Frost was a fraction more innocent than they were. I suspected underneath he was as worldly as me. A guy didn't play a sport like rugby union at a professional level while being sheltered. He'd be used to giving and taking hard knocks, literally and figuratively. I had to give him credit for not letting them wear him down. I hoped they never would, that he was never jaded.

“I am sweet,” he said. “You want to hang out with me some time?”

His words hung in the air for a moment before I absorbed them. Or maybe I was giving him a chance to take them back. He seemed like the kind of guy who lived in the moment, impulsively jumping into anything with both feet. While I respected that, I knew sometimes it was helpful to have a way out. Spontaneity sometimes came with instant regret.

I gave him a sideways look. “Are you asking Doctor Chelsea, or the woman from Flirts?”

He matched my look. “Are they so different? So far, I've seen a beautiful, intelligent woman who thinks I'm sweet. I'd like to get to know you better.” He must have figured out what my concern was, because he added, “With your clothes on.”

Should I have assumed he only wanted to get me naked and fuck me? Potentially not, but I'd seen it a metric shit ton of times before. What made him any different?

He had a similar reputation to most of the guys on the team: ruck boy, fuck boy. In it for an hour or two, not a lifetime. Us hanging out might be nothing more than a fun roll in the sheets. Okay, I admit that sounded like exactly what I needed. No pressure, no strings. Just fun.

“Sure,” I said finally. “Why not? It can't hurt to get to know the players better.” There were no rules against spending time with them, as long as it didn't get serious. Unless I'd turned into a bad judge of character overnight, there was more to him than a guy who tackled other men for a living.

“It definitely can't,” he agreed. “I have a feeling you're going to be very popular with lots of the guys on the team.” Again he added, “With your clothes on.” But then straight after that, “Or off. Both are good.”

“I see I'm going to have to keep my eyes on you,” I teased. “Now, we should get on with the physical, or Doctor Stuart will wonder what we've been up to.”

“He'll know we didn't get up to anything dirty,” Frost stated. “If we did, I would have made you scream so loud the whole stadium heard it.”

I shook my head at his cockiness and continued my careful physical examination of the muscular prop.