“That obvious?”
“You look like a cop. Or a lawyer.” She shrugs, her gaze returning to the cage. “Nobody comes to The Corner looking that clean unless they’re trying to shut it down or they’re looking for someone specific.”
I don’t respond. My fingers tap restlessly against my thigh as I check my watch. Ten minutes until the main event. Jacob versus Reyes. I should be at home with a glass of wine, reviewing patient files, not standing in an illegal fighting venue watching a man whose body I can still feel under my hands.
Last night replays in my mind despite my efforts to block it. Jacob on my table, the way his muscles yielded under my touch. The moment I realized he was aroused. The heat in my own body responding to him, a reaction I’ve never had to another man. But there was something about Jacob’s vulnerability in that moment, the raw need in his eyes that hit me low in the gut.
He ran. Of course, he ran. I don’t blame him. What happened between us crossed every line I’ve drawn in my professional life. I’ve never touched a patient like that, never let therapy slide into something more intimate. But the memory of his skin under my hands, the sounds he made when I pressed into tight muscles, has been playing on repeat in my head all day.
I’m not gay. I’ve never been attracted to men. I’ve dated women exclusively since college. So what the hell happened with Jacob? Was it just the moment, the intimacy of touch, the power dynamic? Or is there something more I’ve been missing about myself all these years?
I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present. I’m here as a doctor. Nothing more. I need to observe how his shoulder holds up in combat conditions, see if my treatment helped at all. That’s it. Professional interest.
The crowd roars suddenly, drawing my attention to a side entrance where tonight’s fighters are beginning to emerge. Not Jacob yet. I force myself to breathe, to look casual, though my heart thumps painfully against my ribs.
Then I see him.
Not Jacob. Worse.
Dr. Austin Parker stands across the warehouse, his lanky frame unmistakable even in the dim light. My colleague from the hospital, an ER doctor whose path has crossed mine at work a few times. What the fuck is he doing here? Panic floods my system as his eyes scan the crowd. He hasn’t spotted me yet, but it’s just a matter of time.
If Austin sees me here, word might get back to the hospital. Questions will be asked. Why is a sports medicine doctor at an illegal fighting event? Who is he treating outside hospital walls? My reputation, my career, everything I’ve built could unravel if this gets out.
I push off from the wall, heart racing. Austin starts moving in my direction, weaving through the crowd. Has he seen me? I can’t risk it. I turn sharply, shouldering my way toward the side corridor. People grunt as I push past, but I don’t stop toapologize. I need to get out of Austin’s line of sight, find another exit, maybe circle back once he’s moved on.
The hallway is dim, lit by a single bulb with a dirty yellow glow. The noise of the crowd becomes muffled as I move deeper, the air cooler here. I breathe for what feels like the first time since spotting Austin, hands braced against the wall. Just breathe. Think. There must be a back exit.
I round a corner into what looks like a small alcove and stop dead.
Jacob stands with his back to me, arms raised while a man tapes his hands. His body is coiled power, muscles shifting beneath skin already gleaming with sweat. He’s wearing only fight shorts, the expanse of his back mapped with planes and contours that I could trace with my eyes closed.
The man taping him says something low, and Jacob turns.
Our eyes lock.
Surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by something harder. The man finishes taping, murmurs something about five minutes, and disappears down the hall, leaving us alone.
Jacob steps toward me, moving into my space until my back hits the wall. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s close enough that I can smell the wintergreen of muscle rub and something underneath that’s just him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I try to summon the clinical detachment that usually comes so easily. “I wanted to see how your shoulder held up.”
“Bullshit.” He presses closer, not touching me but caging me in with his presence. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t your world.”
“I’m aware of that. But since you left last night before we could discuss your treatment plan, I thought—”
“Last night,” he cuts me off, his eyes darkening. “You want to talk about last night?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “No. That’s not—”
“Because if you tell anyone what happened…” His voice drops to a whisper, the threat hanging between us.
It hits me then—he’s afraid I’ll expose him. The vulnerability I witnessed, the way his body responded to my hands. He thinks I’ll use it as leverage, or worse, that I’ll tell someone.
My jaw clenches. “It wasn’t anything.”
Jacob’s eyes flick over my face. “Exactly. It wasn’t anything.” He steps back abruptly, straightening to his full height. The fighter’s mask slides back into place. “Stay out of my way. This isn’t a place for people like you.”