And when Beck starts listing off what Asher needs, I figure that look was all in my head. Besides, I have more pressing things to worry about—
“If he vomits, complains of a headache, dizziness, or ringing ears, let your dad know, and we’ll get him checked out at the hospital.”
“I don’t need a fucking hospital.”
Beck continues. “Back in the hotel room, there should be no bright lights, so he can’t be on his phone. No watching TV. And … no physical activity.”
Physical activity?
My gaze flies to Asher, and he smirks like yeah, not a smartass now.
“So when you say physical …”
“He needs to rest. No game tomorrow, no practice …” Beck eyes me. “And no sex.”
“What?”
“What?” he asks innocently. “I know what happens at these away games. I was a player too, remember?”
Okay, has he guessed, or is he just being a douche?
I force a smile. “I’ll make sure there’s no sneaking out.”
We bus it back to the hotel after the team narrowly pulls off the win, and I know that them winning without him doesn’t put Asher in any better of a mood. If I thought he was painful to deal with on a regular basis, I clearly underestimated injured Asher.
The second the hotel door clicks closed behind us, Asher pushes me up against a wall and kisses me. It’s tempting, so, so tempting to go with it, fuck the consequences, but as a future doctor and ex-athlete, I’m well aware of how easy it is to underestimate head injuries.
I ease him off me. “Nice try.”
“Come on, Kole. I’m fine.”
“Your brain needs rest.”
“No, my brain is definitely telling me differently.” He grinds his hard cock into my hip.
Whyyy? Why, why, why is this world so cruel? Maybe I should have taken Beck up on his offer to switch, because tonight is going to be torture.
But I’ll hold strong anyway.
“Concussion protocol.”
“Screw concussion protocol.”
“There you go with your winning maturity again, but I have a feeling once we’ve fucked, I’m going to be greedy and want to do it again. So you’re going to get that sexy ass in bed and do as you’re told tonight.” I lean in and nip his ear. “If you do, you know I’ll reward you.”
He groans in complaint but doesn’t fight me as I lead him over to the bed. We both strip out of our clothes, and I toss Asher a pair of my sleep shorts.
“Yeah, no, I sleep naked.”
“I’ve noticed.” How could I not? “But I need to be able to control myself tonight, and I can’t do that if you’re lying around naked.”
He reaches down slowly and gives his still-interested dick a long, teasing stroke.
“Put on the fucking shorts!”
Asher starts to laugh. “Fine.”
“There’s nothing fine about getting injured. I want to joke about killing you for wrecking tonight, but I feel like that’s in poor taste, given …”
“I’m not injured. Look.” He throws himself onto his bed without any finesse, and even though I agree with him—he’s showing absolutely no signs of a concussion—I have to take the protocol seriously. Concussions are no joke. Schools have finally started taking seriously how dangerous they are and won’t take any chances if there’s even the slightest possibility of one.
Once I’ve changed, I pull down the covers on his bed and join him.
“Wha—what are you doing?” Asher asks.
I flick off the lamp and roll to face him in the dark. It takes a minute, but he slowly comes into focus. “This is the easiest way for me to keep an eye on you. You’re lucky the whole wake every two hours and try to keep you up rule is no longer considered beneficial for concussions. You’re cranky when you’re woken up.”
“I’m cranky always. I don’t understand why you sleeping in the same bed as me will help.”
He’s still looking at me weird, so I poke his ribs. “What? You can suck my dick, but sharing a bed is too much?” That thought sort of annoys me. “Right next to you, I can feel your breathing. I want to look after you.”
He screws up his face. “That’s … weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t remember the last time someone wanted that.”
“To be fair, it’s so I don’t become a doctor and have to tell everyone I work with ‘Oh, I killed a guy once because I didn’t take his concussion seriously.’”
“Joke’s on you, I’m a terrible patient.”
“It’ll be good practice for when I’m a doctor then.”
“Pretty sure sleeping in bed with a patient comes under some kind of malpractice.”
“Then I’ll keep this honor all for you.”
“Blue balls. What a privilege.”
I hum. “So since there’s nothing else we can do, I guess we can either talk or sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“That’s because I don’t have a concussion.”
“Okay then, tell me something about you.” I already know the surface-level stuff—like he has a major wall up. My guess is because he’s experienced the type of loss people don’t usually experience until later in life, and he has some form of abandonment issues. But Asher Dalton is the kind of guy who seems deeper than that.