by Jessica Ashe
Was I judging Elliot in the same way I’d judged Riker? I had made a lot of assumptions just based on what he did for a living, but he’d also acted like a complete prick most of the time we’d been together.
Not all of the time though.
“How’s Ash?” Elliot asked, as we walked to the back of the gym and through into a large room with a metal cage in the middle.
“I can’t talk about my patients,” I replied robotically.
“They’re not your patients anymore.”
“Still can’t talk about them.”
“But you could talk about the father, right? For example, if he’d shown signs of having been in a fight recently. The father’s not your patient.”
“The father looks normal,” I replied.
I didn’t want to admit the truth—I had no idea how Ash was faring. I’d made no effort to check up on him after the initial incident. Mel would have looked at the file for me if I’d asked, but I hadn’t. Doctors are told to remain detached and that was one part of the job I excelled at.
Emotion in a doctor had the potential to do more harm than a virus. We couldn’t make decisions based on a cute smile, or a personal relationship. Other doctors would understand that, but Elliot wouldn’t. He’d shown more compassion towards Ash than me, and I was the boy’s doctor. What did that say about me?
I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
Elliot walked up to a cupboard and pulled out some gloves and a mouth guard.
“Do I really need to be here?” I asked.
“I’m only sparring. Nothing too aggressive. Figured it would be a good idea for you to get used to combat, so you know what you’re dealing with.”
“How about I just wait in the gym and you can come to me if you scrape your knee?”
Elliot shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I turned to walk back towards the gym, but caught sight of Elliot’s reflection in a mirror as he peeled off his t-shirt.
I’d seen his torso before, but it looked different now. With the gloves in his hands and a gum shield in his mouth, he looked like a fighter and not just an arrogant jackass on my treatment table.
I paused, wondering how long I could get away with standing there staring at him. I quickly pulled out my phone, so I could at least pretend to have been distracted by another message.
What was wrong with me? He looked like everything I hated. Not that I had a problem with massive, bulging arms. I just didn’t like what he did with those arms. They held such raw power; I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to see them crash into someone’s face.
His body was now my responsibility. I couldn’t look at his abs like something I wanted to eat food off. The sooner his body became bloodied and bruised, the better. At least then I might not feel the need to do something very stupid.
Come on, Alison. Walk away. You can do this.
I put my phone away and took one last look in the mirror.
Then Elliot stripped off his pants.
* * *
So, this was sparring. It looked a lot like two people who hated each other settling a dispute with their fists. And feet. And heads. Really, if a body part could inflict pain on the opponent then they used it.
The guy in the cage with Elliot was another regular at the gym, and I could see why Elliot liked to practice with him. He was good. Really good.
And he didn’t hold back.
Both men wore gloves and some padding around the heads, but other than that they both went for it, including knocking the other to the floor and kicking them when they were down.
The sweat covering Elliot’s skin made his muscles glisten and his tattoos shine. I’d never been with a man with tattoos before. Or a man with muscles like that. I’d not seen his cock, but I’d wager that would be new to me as well. Usually the only organ I cared about was the gray one in the skull.
I’d had a thing for a football player back in high school, but that was about as close as I’d ever been to a crush on a man because of his looks. Not unless you included movie stars, but they didn’t really count.
Come to think of it, Elliot looked a bit like a bulked up version of Ryan Reynolds, with an English accent, and even more arrogance. He was a man you fantasized over, but never got serious with.
Elliot had already slipped into my head during personal time at home in bed, but I never let myself act on raw passion. My crush on the football player had ended in heartbreak, and ever since then, I’d stuck to men who appealed to me intellectually first and foremost.
I kept my eyes on the action, although I no doubt viewed events a little differently compared to the average spectator.
I didn’t see a punch to the jaw; I saw a potential fracture of the mandible bone. Each blow to the head reminded me of the subdural hematoma I’d helped Riker recover from.
After three minutes, each punch was accompanied by spit and sweat flying from the recipient. After five minutes, I saw blood.
Blood didn’t make me squeamish—I’d be a shitty doctor if it did—but the way these two men kept fighting while bleeding had me fidgeting in my chair, desperate to go and break it up. Why did they want to keep inflicting pain upon each other? There had to be better ways to train than this.
Could I step in and stop them? I was Elliot’s doctor now, and doctors would stop fights for safety reasons if they had to. But he was sparring with a colleague. It would be like a mom telling their child not to play with a friend. He’d hate me for getting involved, and for some reason I cared what he thought.
Those were feelings I’d have to put to one side pretty damn quickly.
Other than a nice view of half-naked muscular men—which I had to admit, did hold some appeal—why would people watch this? What was the point? To beat another man so badly he ended up unconscious?
Suddenly I felt queasy and had to take deep breaths through my nose. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear each punch land. I could even smell the sweat and blood oozing from their cuts and pores.
I’d dealt with so much worse than this, but I rarely saw injuries happening in front of me. I’d never seen people do it to each other deliberately. When I thought of all the patients I’d had to turn away because they didn’t have insurance… and yet here were men who put their bodies on the line for money.
I stood up and walked to the exit.
I couldn’t watch this. I couldn’t encourage it. And I sure as hell couldn’t be a part of it.
Chapter Eleven
Elliot
Theo had only been training officially for a few months, but already he could give me a decent challenge. I suspected he’d trained by himself before joining Riker’s gym, but he didn’t like to talk about that. I still had to hold back occasionally, but if I ever got too confident he would land a hit on me.
And that’s exactly what happened.
I’d been showboating for Alison’s benefit. As with boxing, MMA could be an art form when it was done right. If I could show Alison the more attractive side of the sport, I might be able to win her round.
Unfortunately, putting on a beautiful display only worked if both fighters were playing ball. I hadn’t let Theo in on the plan, so he took his usual approach of utilizing his immense strength and power.
He alternated kicks to my ribs and then threw a punch while I was off balance. My head snapped to the left, spit flying out of my mouth and landing on the mat, as I staggered away to create some space.
Then I saw her.
Alison was leaving. She might just be going outside to get some fresh air, but something in my gut told me that if I let her walk out of this room she would never come back inside.
I stood up and let the top part of my gum shield drop down as I went to yell her name. No words came out; instead Theo hit me with another punch from the right. I could still feel the impact on my jaw when the mat appeared in front of my eyes shortly before slamming into my face.
If this had been a real fight, I would h
ave scrambled to my feet immediately to avoid an onslaught of kicks from my opponent. Theo and I took sparring seriously, but not that seriously.
“You’re bleeding pretty bad,” Theo said, as he crouched down beside me. There was no apology, but I didn’t expect one.
“Might be a good time… for Alison,” I said, wincing in pain between my words. I hadn’t broken anything, but a bit of TLC on the cuts wouldn’t go amiss. That’s what she was there for after all.
Unless she’d already run off.
She hadn’t.
I heard her running back to the cage from somewhere near the door. I guess all it took was for me to get injured and her doctor instincts would kick in.
“Where’s the med kit?” she called out.
Theo must have pointed her in the right direction, because she came back a few moments later with the small medical box from the cupboard. All the basics were in there, but a trip to hospital for more serious injuries wasn’t unheard of.
“There’s a lot of blood,” Theo said.
“Let’s take a look,” Alison replied. “Can you sit up?”
“Been doing it since I was a year old,” I replied.
I pushed myself into an upright position. There was nothing wrong with my arms at least. I tried to hide the head rush, but Alison spotted it and demanded I open my eyes.
“Look straight ahead,” she insisted.
‘Straight ahead’ in this case meant peering straight at her chest. I could live with that. Was she staring at my body as well? Probably not, she was far too professional for that. More’s the pity.
“Now look up.”
I stared up into her eyes, where I saw a look of genuine concern for my wellbeing. She was probably like that with all her patients, but it was still a look I could get used to. Besides, I was her only patient now, so technically she only looked at me in that way.
“You don’t have a concussion. Open wide.”
“It’s usually me who says that,” I joked. Theo laughed, but Alison had the look of someone who had heard that joke many times before. She wasn’t easy to impress.
“You bit your tongue,” she said. “Hence all the blood. You’ll be fine, although you should keep your gum guard in place.”
“Excellent,” I said, leaping to my feet. I immediately turned away from Alison so she couldn’t see how uneasy that made me feel as the blood rushed to my head. “Come on then, Theo. Let’s get another twenty minutes in before we call it a day.”
Theo put his gloves back on and got ready to fight, but then stopped when he saw the look on Alison’s face. I couldn’t blame him. It was the look a child might get from his mother when he’d been expelled from school.
“When I said ‘you’ll be fine,’ I didn’t mean you could resume fighting. At least take the rest of the day off.”
“I agree,” Theo said.
“Coward.”
“I am not arguing with her,” he replied, before mouthing ‘good luck’ and walking away. Theo was the second toughest guy who came to this gym after me—and maybe Riker back in the day—so when he didn’t want to argue with someone there must be good reason.
Alison did not look pleased.
“Don’t even think about arguing,” she said sternly. “If you want me here as a doctor, then you have to listen to my expert medical opinion.”
Alison was quite the change from my last doctor. He’d tried to get away with doing the minimum amount of work possible.
“During a fight, you’ll sometimes have to patch me up and send me back out there. I can’t quit every time I take a knock to the head.”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. For sparring, you stop when you’re injured.”
“But what if—”
“Do I tell you how to fight?”
“No, but—”
“Then don’t tell me how to do my job. Deal?”
I nodded my head. What choice did I have? I needed her here. I could get another doctor easily, but I didn’t want just any old doctor. I wanted Alison.
“Good,” Alison said firmly. “Although… you do need to keep your guard up more. It looks like you’re showing off when you try to fight with your hands by your sides.”
I was showing off, and it wasn’t for Theo’s benefit.
“You know, you just said you wouldn’t tell me how to fight.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” Alison replied. “But you don’t have to be an expert to notice that your technique is a little sloppy.”
I laughed. “Okay, Doc. In your opinion, what exercises can I do now? I need to keep my workout going.”
“Take a break for a few hours. Go for lunch or something and then come back and do some light cardio in the afternoon.”
“Okay.”
Alison frowned. “You’re not going to argue? Maybe I should check you again. That blow to the head could have been more serious than I thought.”
“I’m not going to argue,” I said, “because the thought of lunch with you does sound quite appealing right now.”
“I never said I would go with you.”
“Do you have any food on you?”
“No, but—”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then that’s sorted. I’ll even let you choose where we eat, so you can pick something suitably nutritious and boring. Come on, let’s go.”
I motioned for her to walk in front of me, but she just folder her arms under her breasts and stared at me with a raised eyebrow. Did she have to make everything so damn difficult?
“It’s just lunch,” I insisted. “I’m not asking you out on a date.”
“I’m happy to go to lunch with you.”
“You are?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I’ve just suggested we get down and dirty in the cage. Which I would be completely cool with by the way.”
“You said I could choose the restaurant, right?”
“Sure.”
“Well I have a salad place in mind, but they have this weird rule about not letting in people wearing just a pair of shorts and dripping in sweat.”
I looked down at my naked chest, which, in addition to sweat, also had my blood dripping down it.
“Guess I should have a shower first, eh?”
“Let’s err on the side of caution, and go there fully dressed.”
“Want to join me in the shower too?” I asked hopefully.
The dismissive wave of a hand and roll of the eyes answered that question for me. However, a brief hint of a smile told me Alison might not be quite so cold-hearted as she’d first appeared. That wasn’t saying a lot mind you, but it gave me a smidgen of hope.
Perhaps Doctor Ice could be melted after all.
Chapter Twelve
Alison
Looking at shirtless men was a daily occurrence as a doctor.
If the patient complained about stomach or chest problems, then I told them to open their shirt. I never usually batted an eyelid. If they complained about other body parts… well, let’s just say that I don’t get embarrassed easily by a bit of flesh.
Not usually.
But with Elliot, it took every inch of my willpower to keep my eyes focused on his. Not even the blood on his chest could put me off. When he’d come in for a check-up, he’d been at rest and his body had still been the most remarkable I’d ever laid my stethoscope on.
After his injury, his muscles were pumping, and I could swear his pecs were moving of their own volition. The veins in his biceps were enlarged and whenever he folded his arms, the muscles somehow doubled in size from ‘large’ to ‘holy shit how is that possible?’
For some reason, I’d told him to go have a shower and get dressed. If we’d have gone for lunch with Elliot dressed like that, the restaurant would probably give us a free meal for all the extra customers we’d bring in.
Elliot came back fifteen minutes later, looking clean, but still damp from the
shower. He’d thrown on a tight t-shirt—did he own any clothes that fit?—and it was already damp from where he hadn’t dried himself properly. His hair was wet where he’d done little more than run a towel over it once.
He’d gone back to looking more like a male model than a fighter. It was quite the transformation, although he could use some foundation to cover up a few minor cuts and bruises on the face. Somehow I doubted Elliot would let me put makeup on him.
We headed to a local salad bar not too far from the gym and managed to grab a table before the lunch crowd took them all for business meetings. Apparently not all professions needed to worry about keeping client information confidential, and were happy to conduct meetings in crowded restaurants.
If this job with Elliot didn’t work out, then perhaps I could write a book about all the things you overheard in coffee shops and diners. Shame the coffee usually sucked. It was nowhere near as good as the stuff Nora always had at her place.
“Riker likes this place,” Elliot said as he looked at the menu.
“But you don’t?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay as a snack, I suppose.”
“Some of these salads have an entire chicken breast on them. How can that be a snack?”
“Do you think they’ll do the chicken without any of this green leafy shit?”
“So you’re going to ask for a ‘chicken salad, but hold the salad?’ ”
“I’ve made more unusual requests of waitresses and they’ve happily obliged.”
“It must be the English accent.”
“Not my natural good looks?”
“Certainly not your modesty,” I replied.
“I can’t help it. Women like the whole fighter vibe, so I tend to get what I want. Don’t tell me you’ve never used your looks to get your own way.”
“You’re right. Actually, I have a confession.” I leaned in to meet Elliot half-way across the table. “I never went to medical school. I just flashed my tits to the Dean and he gave me a degree.”