“Belle!” I screech, my eyes darting over at the radiologist who seems oblivious to our conversation.
“What? I would. He’s hot as hell and plays for Manchester United. They’ve been having an epic season.”
“I don’t really follow football,” I croak, desperate to end this conversation so Belle goes away and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
“Don’t follow football? How can you not? We’re practically neighbours with Tower Park. That’s who three of them play for! What, do you live in a box?” she shrieks.
“Boarding school,” I shrug, using my easy out excuse for all my unsociable tendencies.
“Right. Well, let me clue you in, darling.” She turns me to face her head-on and pushes my glasses up my nose so she can properly pierce me with her stare. “Camden Harris is one of four football-playing Harris brothers. Three of them are like the playboy darlings of East London. They all play for the same championship league club their dad manages. The twins are strikers and the youngest one is a goalie. The oldest makes over two hundred mil a year as a defender in the Premier League.”
My eyes widen. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Fucking right it is. And Camden Harris has had a legendary season. Social media has all been saying that Arsenal and Man U have been fighting over who is going to offer him a contract. He could get bumped up to Premiership! His twin brother is nearly as good. This family is a big fucking deal, Indie. The hospital PR is having a field day I’m sure.”
“Well, he’s highly inappropriate,” I add weakly.
“He’s highly hot as fuck.” I do a crap job of concealing my smile as a flash of his boyish smirk clouds my mind. Belle’s knowing grin bursts through my bubble.
I bite down hard on my sweet. “It’s weird to be attracted to someone who’s at their worst, right?” I ask, leaning in closer to her.
“Why do you say that?”
“It sounds like an embarrassing creepy fetish. He’s all injured and laid up. Or hell, maybe it’s cool. It’s probably a checkbox on Tinder.”
Belle whacks me on the arm. “Screw Tinder. So you do think he’s hot?” she asks, her eyebrows dancing.
I scoff, “I might wear glasses, but I’m not blind.” Even covered in grass stains, mud, and sweat, I wanted to bend over and lick every ridge that decorated his impeccable stomach. Then, when he started adjusting himself in front of me, I had to squeeze my thighs together for fear of fluids dripping down my legs. “But he knows he’s hot. I hate that,” I add half-heartedly, barely convincing even myself.
“Indie…stop fighting this. You know what he is.”
“No I don’t,” I defend, my heart leaping with anxiety and anticipation. The rush of realisation pulses through my veins.
Her eyes squint with determination. “This is Penis Number One.”
“You don’t know that. He might not even be into me,” I lie, feeling intimidated by the idea of actually being intimate with someone as hot as Camden Harris. That kiss sure made it seem as if he is interested, but the reality of being naked with someone like him is a completely different story.
She laughs heartily. “Of course he’s into you. Hell, I’m into you.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Stop downplaying your appeal, Indie. It’s unappealing.” Her gaze softens. “You’re unique, smart, hilarious, and beautiful. Throw in a dash of quirky and sexy glasses and you’re the fun total package. Don’t ever forget that.” I’m taken aback by the sincerity on Belle’s face. She doesn’t really do warm and fuzzy, so her coming at me like this is shocking. “And you won’t find more of a bad boy player than Camden Harris, darling.”
“But I’m his doctor,” I nervously reply.
“Tequila Sunrise, Indie. Tequila Sunrise.” Her face suddenly morphs into urgency. “But for the love of God, don’t get caught. You have a lot to lose if you cross the line and people around here find out.”
“I’m not stupid. I’d never do anything here,” I huff as if she couldn’t say anything more ridiculous.
“And don’t get hurt. We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to have to maim one of London’s star footballers. You know I’m good with a scalpel.”
I chuckle and bite my lip as ten tons of nerves come barreling down on top of me. A manila envelope distracts us both as it’s dropped on the counter beside me. The tech walks away without a word, and I scoop up the contents, clutching them closely to my chest.
Getting hurt by a player like Camden Harris is the last fear in my mind. I’m not worried about getting too attached. Getting caught, on the other hand, is something I need to be careful about. Regardless, maybe somehow I can get this to work. Maybe when he’s no longer a patient, we could get in touch. I could slip him my number, or if I’m feeling horribly brave, ask him for his. I know he’s high-profile, but we can be discreet.
He’s the perfect Penis Number One. I’m smart enough to find a way around this. I’m sure of it.
“I have to get these results to Prichard. The Harris family is breathing down his neck for information on this special surgery he wants to do on Cam.”
Belle’s mouth spreads into an ear-to-ear smile.
“What?” I ask.
“You call him Cam now, do you?” she sings.
“Piss off!” I hiss and turn to scurry down the hallway and away from my nosey bugger of a friend.
When I approach the large patient suite, I peek through the heavy double doors and spot a stunning blonde hunched over Camden. He’s nestled comfortably in a large, double patient bed that’s covered in expensive linens. After his MRI, he was moved to the private wing of the hospital that’s reserved for A-list patients and donors. It’s more like a swanky hotel than a hospital room—one of the many benefits of a privately owned clinic.
The blonde strokes his hair affectionately as if she’s been doing it for years. A knife twists in my gut at their easy comfort with each other. My eyes drift down to her body, all willowy and stylishly dressed in cute jeans and a green Bethnal Green jersey with Harris imprinted on the back. When I finally see Camden’s face, I feel instantly annoyed as realisation dawns on me.
Camden Harris…is a cheating wanker.
He had a lot of nerve kissing me the way he did. What if she had walked in while we were doing that? I was one heartbeat away from gripping his—
I stop that train of thought in its tracks. If I’m being honest, I should have never done anything with him before knowing a thing about him. He’s a footballer for goodness sake. Of course he has some woman or women on call at all times. How much more green and stupid could I be?
I grip my stethoscope until it smarts inside my hand. His hair looks tamer now—more clean-cut as his blonde locks are smoothed over to one side revealing just how truly handsome he is. Even dressed in a white hospital gown, he looks like a GQ cover model. I preferred him properly mussed if I’m being frank. He wasn’t as perfect looking as he is now.
Steeling myself to be unaffected by this rapid change of events, I raise my shoulders and stride confidently into the room. I avoid his eyes on me as I snatch up the iPad from the holder at the foot of his bed. Then I busy myself with typing in his results.