Tristan grabbed a pillow and threw it at the prick’s head.
Zach ducked, laughing.
Chapter 2
Zach Hardaway was a tyrant.
At least that was what Tristan was convinced of as he stared at the unappetizing mess on his plate.
“I’m not gonna eat this,” he said. “Give me back my hot dog.” To be honest, he didn’t want it all that much; it was the principle of the thing.
“No,” Zach said. “You eat too much unhealthy food.”
“I happen to like my unhealthy food. One hot dog won’t kill me.”
“One hot dog won’t, but Lydia told me all you eat is fast food and sweets.”
Tristan raised his chin a notch. “So what? I’m young, I have a fast metabolism, I train every day—well, I used to—”
“You’ll thank me when you’re older,” Zach said. “A regular fare of hot dogs can do more than raise your cholesterol and blood pressure levels. Processed meat can increase the risk for diabetes, heart disease, and a few types of cancer. Actually, eating a hot dog every day can increase your risk of colorectal cancer by twenty—”
“I feel so sorry for your fiancee. Poor woman. To marry such a bore.”
“Odd,” Zach said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Donna just told me a week ago that she was the luckiest woman in the world.”
“She’s deluded,” Tristan grumbled, stabbing the mess on his plate with his fork. “And I hate you.”
“I’m not here to become your best friend,” Zach said. “Now eat.”
Tristan scowled darkly—and ate.
* * *
Three days later, Tristan stormed into his doctor’s office and demanded,
“I want you to fire him.”
Dr. Jared Sheldon lifted his eyes from his computer.
Despite his annoyance, as always, Tristan couldn’t help but stare a little. With his dark blue eyes, dark hair and perfect bone structure, Jared Sheldon was easily the most handsome man he’d ever seen. But handsome or not, it was all Jared’s fault. Jared was the one who had hired him.
“What are you doing here?” Jared said. “Does walking still hurt?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you’re supposed to be resting,” Jared said. “The general rule of thumb is if an activity brings any pain or discomfort, stop doing it immediately.”
“That’s what he said, too,” Tristan muttered. “I want you to get rid of him.”
Leaning back, Jared gave him a patient look. “I presume you’re talking about your new physiotherapist?”
“Who else? I want you to fire him.”
“Why?”
Tristan shoved his hands into his pockets, dropping his eyes for a moment. He had to actually bite his tongue to prevent himself from calling Zach names. Contrary to what Zach thought, he wasn’t a baby. God, he hated how childish and impulsive Zach made him feel. “I don’t like him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not a good enough reason,” Jared said. “You know how understaffed we are—”
“I’m the star of this team.” Tristan smiled at him. “It’s in your best interests to get me back to fitness as soon as possible. Isn’t that your job, Jared?”
Jared narrowed his eyes. “I’m well aware of what my job is. I’m responsible for rehabilitation of all footballers of this club, and no one is entitled to preferential treatment. Because of the onslaught of injuries in the first team, reserve team and under-18 team, our physios are overworked already.”
“But—”
“Tristan,” Jared cut him off, leveling him with a look. “I asked Zach Hardaway to work with you as a personal favor to me. He’s one of the best physiotherapists and fitness trainers in Europe. You’re incredibly lucky he agreed to do it on such short notice. Normally it would be impossible. He’s in very high demand.”
Tristan scoffed. “That explains why he’s such a bossy asshole.”
Jared pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you want to return to the pitch before the end of the season and get called up for the English National Team, you will do what he says. And no, you can’t hire another physiotherapist—I won’t clear you if Zach doesn’t confirm you’re fully recovered and fit to play. After all the trouble I went through to get you the best physiotherapist, you won’t get him fired only because you don’t like him.” Jared’s voice softened. “It’s for your own good, Tristan.”
Tristan clenched his jaw. In other words, Jared was telling him to suck it up and deal with it. But Jared was mistaken if he thought Tristan would let Jared paint him into a corner. He never let anyone do it. He hadn’t let people do it even when he had been a kid.
Tristan considered his options. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
He said softly, “If you don’t fire him, someone might accidentally find out that you’re fucking my brother. That would be such a shame. His career would be ruined.”
Jared went very still, his knuckles going white as he gripped the pen he was holding.
Tristan felt a pang of regret. He liked Jared. He did. Jared had always been kind to him, despite Gabe’s attempts to convince him what a piece of shit Tristan was.