Desired by All and He Threw Away 7

Chapter 7 

And he notices. Aiden’s brows lift and the corner of his mouth tightning in annoyance. “Is this how you maintain professionalism?” His voice cuts like a blade, low and pointed. 

Heat explodes across my face. “No,” I blurt, too quickly. I drag my aze to the table, the floor, anywhere else. 

“I apologize.” Silence follows, heavy as the room’s still air. I swallow hard and steady my hands. I can’t let this shake me. I glance back, this time keeping my focus clinical. 

The bruise on his side catches my attention once more and before can stop myself the words fly out. 

“That looks painful. How’s your sleep been?” His expression flickers just barely like I’ve brushed against something he didn’t want to talk about. 

“Not great,” he says flatly. 

I nod and sit down next to him on the stool while my hands stay suspended above his abdominal ridges, feeling his body heat before making contact. I start my work by applying gentle pressure while slowly guiding my fingers across the tense lines of his muscle. 

Every technique I studied floods my mind at once. Deep tissue, myofascial release, trigger points. Hearing my professor’s voice correcting my angle. 

I remember the sting of failure after botching a technique during practice. Hours bent over lifeless dummies, wishing for something real to respond beneath my hands. Now every press earms a subtle give, the faintest sigh of muscle surrendering. 

I map him piece by piece, hunting the stubborn knots that hide beneath layers of strength. 

After working on his abdomen I ask him to turn on his back then I continue my work. I follow the scar tissue line with my thumbs while using my fingers to massage the tight muscle in his lower back while my palms spread warmth across his tense areas from all the football impacts. 

His body resembles a combat zone where past injuries stack up against recent ones and athletic triumphs leave their marks on his skin. The rhythm builds, I press, roll and release–until it feels less like work and more like music. His breathing begins to shifts with mine, syncing unconsciously, a tide I can’t help but follow. 

Each knot I chase melts into the next, shadows easing under my persistence. For the first time since stepping into this room, I forget my nerves. All that exists is the work, my hands, and the way his body slowly yields. 

I risk a glance at his face. His eyes are now closed. His chest rising and falls in an even rhythm, steady as a tide. 

He’s asleep. The realization stills me. I remain motionless with my fingers resting gently against his body as my mind is caught between disbelief and something else I can’t name. 

For the first time since we met, he doesn’t look like the arrogant, untouchable athlete who everyone either loves or hate. 

Now he looks… human. Peaceful, almost boyish. There’s no smirk, no armor, no storm of cold words. Just the quiet of someone finally letting go. 

Something stirs in me that I don’t want to examine. I focus instead on the work, adjusting my pressure, careful not to wake him. Minutes blur. 

The room remains silent except for the soft humming of fluorescent lights and his breathing. I continue working despite the pain in my fingers. I keep working until I have done everything I can. When I finally draw back, I hesitate for a bit. 

Should I wake him? Should I say something? My hands hover motionless in the air. 

I stand up and rest my hands on the counter to support myself, but my foot accidentally hits the basket’s edge as I stand. It slides across the tile, and before I can stop myself, I stumble forward. 

I land hard against a wall of heat and muscle. His chest. 

Aiden’s eyes snap open. 

1/2 

Chapter 7 

Gray irises, sharp and clear, lock onto mine from inches away. 

His breath catches. So does mine. 

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