Logan (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel)

by Lane Hart

  “Yes, you did,” I agree before snatching a cinnamon Pop-Tart from the cabinet and tossing it into the purse on my shoulder.

  “Do you need lunch?” Mom asks.

  “Nope, I’ll grab something in the cafeteria.”

  With a kiss to my cheek that makes me smile because it reminds me of Grant, I tell her goodbye and make my way out the front. Going down the porch stairs is tricky, but I make it, right as Hunter comes out of his house, his curly, dirty blond hair disheveled, like always, with his backpack hanging over one shoulder.

  “Hunter!” I yell. My best friend comes to a stop in front of his black Mustang when he sees me.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” he asks and walks over to meet me at the property line, also known as the row of shrubbery between our parents’ houses.

  “I fell,” I admit. “Can you drive me to school and then over to The Rehab Center this afternoon to get my car?”

  “Can you even drive with those things?” he asks, nodding to my crutches.

  “I think so. It’s my left ankle that’s sprained.”

  “Running yesterday?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You should’ve waited for me to get home from the gym,” he bitches. “But nooo.”

  “Oh, whatever. Can you open the door for me?” I ask, hobbling in the direction of his car.

  “Do you want me to carry you too?” he jokes. “I can’t believe you fucked up your ankle a month before the season starts.” He unlocks the doors with his key fob and holds the passenger one open.

  “Gra-Dr. Matthews said it should be healed in a few weeks.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll take time to get you back to your record-breaking four-hundred,” he says.

  “Thanks for the encouragement, Debbie Downer,” I tease, sliding the crutches inside before I plop down in the seat.

  “Seriously, can you get to all your classes like that?” Hunter asks when he climbs into the driver's seat and cranks the engine.

  “Yeah. I’ll just take the elevator up for English.”

  “If you’re sure,” he says. “I was wondering where the hell your car was last night. I texted you and never heard back.”

  “Sorry,” I tell him while digging my cell phone out of my purse. “I was worn out. I laid down to prop my foot up; and before I knew it, I was out for the night.”

  When I try to power on my phone I realize it’s out of juice. Holding it up to show him, I say, “And my phone’s still dead since I forgot to charge it.”

  “So what are you doing this weekend?” Hunter asks while driving to school, also known as the ninth circle of hell on Earth. “I’ll take pity on you and take you to see the new Channing Tatum movie if you want.”

  “Maybe,” I reply.

  “Maybe?” he repeats, keeping his hazel eyes on the road. “Since when do you say maybe to Channing Tatum?”

  Since I met Grant Matthews, who is even sexier than the actor.

  For some stupid reason, I want to keep my options open just in case I need…therapy this weekend.

  Chapter Six

  Grant

  “That’s it, Mr. Williams. Give me three more, and I’ll let you have the rest of the day off,” I tell my total knee replacement surgery patient as he finishes up his standing knee bends.

  Through the panel of glass windows in the therapy room, I see a dark colored Mustang pull up in the mostly empty parking lot. A young guy with an unruly mop of sandy blond hair gets out and walks over to help the passenger out of the car. I instantly recognize her even with her long, sepia-colored hair down today. Like a picture, there are lighter and darker tinted strands, creating thick, beautiful, breast length waves. She’s moving quicker and more comfortably on her crutches today; and after tossing her backpack over her shoulder, she thankfully shoos her “friend” away and starts for the front of the office.

  There’s something about her. Seeing her...I’d almost swear the sun shines a little brighter, the sky looks a little bluer, making me feel a little bit lighter, happier.

  Ever since yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I even got up in the middle of the night to reread the Board rules to see if it strictly forbids kissing and making out or if it only specifically says sex. Unfortunately, the exact wording said disciplinary action could be taken for “soliciting or engaging in any activities of a sexual nature, including kissing, fondling, or touching any person while the person is under the care of a physical therapist.”

  To say I was disappointed is a drastic understatement.

  “Good job, Mr. Williams,” I tell my seventy-year-old patient. “Jenny will schedule your next appointment on your way out.”

  “Thanks, Grant,” he says before using his walker to help him get to the receptionist’s desk.

  Instead of waiting for the slack receptionist at the front desk to take her sweet ass time checking Sam in, I walk up to meet her and end up holding the front door for her to get through.

  “Thanks,” she says before she even realizes it’s me because of the wind whipping her beautiful mane of hair around in front of her face. “Oh, hi,” she mutters after she smooths the locks behind her ear to see.

  “Hi,” I repeat, unable to help my smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good,” she says with an answering smile. “I kept my ankle elevated last night, so most of the swelling’s gone down.” She winces before lifting the hem of her pants leg, and we both look down at her ankle.

  “Samantha,” I scold her.

  “Well, the swelling had gone down, before I walked around on it today,” she replies, her ivory cheeks turning rosy red.

  “Let’s get you to an exam room,” I say, barely refraining from picking her up in my arms to carry her, not only wanting to get her off her feet but also eager to get her alone. Which is stupid, but she’s my patient. I have to take care of her.

  “Jenny, I’ll show Miss Elliott to a room and get started,” I tell the receptionist as I lead Sam to the closest exam room. “On the table,” I order. “Take off your bandage, and I’ll go grab you a bag of ice.”

  While I’m filling up a plastic baggie using the scooper in the ice machine, I consider shoveling a pile of cubes down the front of my boxer briefs to try and cool the desire before I have to be alone in a room with the sexy woman. I swear she has no idea how gorgeous she is. Instead, I tie a knot in the bag and wrap it in a clean towel before returning to her.

  “Let’s see it,” I say as I shut the door behind me. “You really shouldn’t be on it more than an hour or two a day until it has some time to heal.”

  Sam’s done as I asked, both of her legs stretched out on the exam table, the left foot bare with her jean leg rolled up to her calf.

  Before I apply the ice, I prod the swollen skin with my fingertips, causing Sam to flinch. “Does it hurt?” I ask.

  “A little,” is her soft response.

  “I want to get the swelling down with the ice before we do the electro-therapy, so just relax, and I’ll come back in a little while to check on you.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Matthews,” she says, and I really don’t like the reminder of all the reasons I shouldn’t want to touch her or kiss her.

  “Grant,” I correct as I walk around the table so I can run my fingers over her arm. “Or have you forgotten what I promised when you’re no longer my patient?”

  Sam’s fern eyes widen and her lips part before she shakes her head in response.

  “Good,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sam

  I had thought my memories of how gorgeous Grant was had been embellished in my mind, but I was wrong. He is…wow. I could just sit and stare at him all day and never get bored. He’s like a beautiful work of art, from the dark waves of his hair to his stunningly clear blue eyes behind his sophisticated glasses, the cute little cleft in the center of his chin up to his full, luscious lips…

  “Sam?
” Lips currently speaking my name.

  “Huh?” I ask, noticing he’s removed the electro pad things and is rewrapping my ankle with a new ACE bandage.

  “I said, you need to ice your ankle tonight and in the morning, but most of all you need to stay the hell off of it.”

  “Oh, right,” I answer.

  Guess that means our appointment is coming to an end. I don’t want to leave just yet. And I really don’t want to have to wait until Monday to see him again.

  “Will you, um, need to check it tomorrow too?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip nervously as I wait for his response.

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Grant answers without glancing up at me. “The office is closed.” Disappointed, my shoulders slump as he starts unrolling my pants leg. When he’s done, he looks up and says, “But I’ll probably be here catching up on some charts if you want to stop by.”

  A huge, silly grin automatically stretches across my face after hearing his offer.

  “Sure. Maybe around noon?” I suggest, already putting together a plan to surprise him by bringing lunch.

  “Noon,” he agrees before running his fingertip up the center of my wrapped foot. “Now, I’m gonna carry you to your car, and you’re gonna promise not to hobble around tonight except when necessary.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can walk–” I start to say before Grant lifts me in his arms, cradling me against his hard chest. Instinctively, my arms go up, wrapping around his neck to hold on. “I’m too heavy!” I warn him.

  “Do you think I would drop you?” he asks, his warm breath feathering over my face, drawing attention to the fact that our lips are only a few inches apart.

  “No,” I answer, but it barely comes out above a whisper.

  “That’s right,” he replies, hefting me up higher on his chest, one strong, thick arm behind my knees, the other behind my back. I imagine that if I could take a photo of us right now, he would look exactly like Superman rescuing an oversized Lois Lane.

  The top of Grant’s white dress shirt is stretched tightly across his broad chest, the top button open to reveal a peek of his smooth, tan skin.

  “Samantha,” he says softly, drawing my eyes back up to his right before his soft, damp lips meet mine for the first time. And then the second and third, lingering a little longer each time they brush until I feel the stroke of his tongue against mine. A jolt of desire slams into me; and with a moan, I melt into his arms, trusting him to hold me up.

  Is this actually happening?

  Am I experiencing my first kiss with a gorgeous man too beautiful to be real? No, not just a man, but a freaking doctor?

  When Grant pulls away, he whispers, “I want to kiss you” which makes me giggle.

  “I think you just did,” I reply.

  “Kissing patients is not allowed,” he responds.

  “What if I’m not your patient?” I ask, trying to think fast. “Couldn’t you just treat me, you know, as a favor to a friend?”

  “Hmm,” he mutters while studying my face. “I bet Jenny hasn’t entered you into the computer yet since she’s usually a week behind. If I’m not billing you, then I wouldn’t be acting in an official capacity when I treat you.”

  “I won’t say anything,” I tell him because it’s the truth and more than anything I want his lips back on mine. “To anyone.”

  “To be safe, you probably shouldn’t come back here,” he says. “Would you feel comfortable coming to my house instead?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I promptly agree, even if my stomach drops at the thought of being absolutely alone with him…near a bed.

  “I don’t want you to think that I…expect anything from you, because I don’t, Sam,” he says quickly. “I know you’re young, and despite the flirtatious things I’ve said, I won’t rush you into anything. I just want to kiss you, for now, if that’s okay?”

  “I want to kiss you too,” I assure him.

  “And maybe we can wait until your ankle is healed before we, you know, take it any further?”

  “If that’s what you want,” I reply. While I’m nervous and a little hesitant, I’m not real keen on waiting for him to touch me for four weeks.

  “No, it’s not what I want, but it’s probably the…prudent thing to do,” Grant answers. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I say with a smile.

  “So, tomorrow? Noon? My house?” he asks, brushing the tip of his nose against mine.

  I nod my agreement.

  “I’ll have all the supplies I need for your ankle there and ready,” he responds. “And then if you want to stick around afterward, maybe we could find a movie to watch?”

  “Sounds good,” I say before his lips return to mine, much more forceful this time when he slips his tongue into my mouth. God, it’s so hot and wet and…yum. I reciprocate as best I can to show him how much I like kissing him, so he won’t stop. And he doesn’t, not until we both eventually pull away breathlessly.

  “You should probably go…for now,” he says.

  “I should,” I agree, but he doesn’t move. “Are you gonna put me down or what?” I tease him.

  “Oh, right,” he replies. “I’ll take you out to your car and come back for your crutches and backpack.”

  “What about the woman out front or other patients?” I ask.

  “It’s the end of the day, so Jenny is probably in the breakroom on her phone, waiting to bolt out the door.”

  “You might need to get a new assistant,” I suggest.

  “You offering?” Grant asks, followed by a chuckle. Opening the exam room door, he strides off toward the front.

  And he was right, the lobby and front desk are empty, only three vehicles remaining in the parking lot when he takes me to the car and places me inside.

  “Thanks, even if carrying me was unnecessary,” I tell him.

  “I think it was very necessary,” he argues, leaning down to steal a quick kiss that brings back the silly grin on my face before he heads back inside to grab my crutches.

  Click here to keep reading Indiscretion!

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive updates on new releases and freebies!

  https://www.subscribepage.com/e0f7y9

  Find all 30+ of my books on Amazon:

  https://www.amazon.com/Lane-Hart/e/B00J22NZTA/

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times bestselling author Lane Hart was born and raised in North Carolina. She continues to live in the south with her husband, two daughters, and several pets named after Star Wars characters.

  When Lane's not writing or reading sexy novels, she can be found in the summer on the beaches of the east coast, and in the fall watching football, cheering on the Carolina Panthers.

  Join Lane’s Facebook group to read books before they’re released, help choose covers, character names, and titles of books! https://www.facebook.com/groups/bookboyfriendswanted/

  Connect with Lane:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritingfromHart

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lanehartbooks

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlanehart/

  Website: http://www.lanehartbooks.com

  Email: lane.hart@hotmail.com