Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“I can’t lounge in bed all day,” Tristan said, trying to sound reasonable and adult. It grated on his nerves that Hardaway treated him as if he were a half-wit baby. “My muscles are getting weaker with every day. How am I supposed to regain fitness if I’m a couch potato?”
“We’ll rebuild your muscles after the acute phase is over.”
Tristan shook his head. “Do you have any idea for how long I worked for this body?” He might have never been as scrawny and short as his brother, but he was naturally very lean and it had taken a lot of hard work to gain and maintain the muscle mass he had. And even with all the daily workouts, he would never be as well-muscled and strong as most footballers were. At least he was strong enough to not get bullied off the ball, as Gabriel often was.
Hardaway’s gaze swept over Tristan’s body.
Tristan fidgeted a little. It was silly. He had nothing to be ashamed of—although he was just of medium height, he had a great body—but this guy’s scrutiny made him feel oddly self-conscious, and he hated feeling self-conscious. He was Tristan DuVal. He was rich, handsome, and popular. His days of being a thin, unwashed kid were long over.
When Hardaway returned his gaze to Tristan’s face, his eyes were unreadable. “It’s nothing we can’t fix.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “Fine. But I’ll want a full body massage. I can feel my muscles getting weak and stiff.”
Hardaway gave him a pinched look. “All right,” he said after a moment of consideration, opening the bag that had been slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a bottle of massage oil. “Lose the shirt and turn on your stomach.”
Tristan pulled his shirt off, rolled onto his belly, and closed his eyes.
He caught his lip between his teeth, suddenly acutely aware that he was wearing his briefs and nothing else. His own unease puzzled him a little. He was used to getting massages from the club’s physiotherapists—heck, he was used to being completely naked during those massages. In fact, the only reason Hardaway hadn’t told him to lose the briefs too was probably because Tristan’s groin couldn’t be massaged while his injury was still inflamed.
“What are you waiting for? I’m getting cold,” Tristan said, his irritation growing along with his self-consciousness. This man made him feel too uneasy and on edge, for no discernible reason.
He heard Hardaway open the bottle.
And then—
“You’re supposed to warm it up, you idiot!”
“It’s the second time you called me an idiot. I’m getting offended.” Hardaway put his oiled hands on the base of Tristan’s neck and—
“Ow! That hurts!”
“Don’t be a little girl.”
“But it hurts.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You aren’t the one being—ow!”
Hardaway chuckled, digging his fingers harder. “Baby.”
“I don’t think I know you well enough to let you use endearments,” Tristan said, his voice silky-soft.
“I told you to cut it out,” Hardaway said dryly. “Your ridiculous bedroom voice is wasted on me.”
Grinning, Tristan said in a low, intimate voice, “Does my teasing make you uncomfortable, Zachary?”
Hardaway snorted, his big hands stroking and kneading along Tristan’s spine. “My name is Zach. Only my mother calls me Zachary.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
Zach made an irritated sound. “No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I just don’t like games. I don’t like bullshit.”
“And what do you like?”
“I prefer honesty and straight-forwardness.”
“Boring,” Tristan said, scrunching his nose. “Then what do you do for fun?”
“Watch football. Fuck,” Zach said in a conversational tone.
Tristan laughed. “Wait, let me guess: you’ve been fucking the same person for years.”
“I’ve had one girlfriend for years—”
“See!”
“I’ll have to disappoint you,” Zach said, pressing his thumbs into Tristan’s lower back, hard. “We’re in an open relationship.”
“How progressive of you,” Tristan said, though he was genuinely surprised. The guy didn’t strike him as the type to be in an open relationship. “Why? How does it even work?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but when two people trust each other, it’s only practical. She’s a sports journalist. We’re both away a lot and often don’t see each other for months.”
Zach continued massaging his lower back. It felt…it didn’t suck.
“Hmm, so you’re both free to sleep with anyone you want?”
“Yes.”
“And you never feel grossed out that another man touched your girlfriend?” The concept was a little hard to grasp for Tristan, but then again, he’d never been all that good at sharing his things.
“I’m not the jealous type,” Zach said. “We’re both adults, and we both have physical needs. It’s only practical.”
“And she doesn’t get jealous either?” That, Tristan had trouble believing, considering…well, he wasn’t blind. Zach was a dick, but he was a hot dick.
“She knows sex doesn’t mean much if there is no real emotional attachment. She knows she’s the only one who matters.”
Tristan kind of wanted to meet the woman now. She must be very sure of herself…or very foolish.