“See, Nurse Delilah? Nothing to worry about.”

“Someone has to make sure you’re not pushing when you should be resting.” I roll his sock back on.

“I do have another spot you might want to check, though,” Ethan says before I settle back into his side.

I sit back up, alert. “Did you pull something during practice?”

He purses his lips and nods. “Maybe. It might be good for you to look at it.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“It’s more of an ache, really.”

“Okay.” I nod. “A muscle ache? Maybe I can rub it for you.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll definitely help. It might be swollen.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” I’m irritated that his doctors haven’t been more thorough.

Ethan shrugs, chewing the inside of his lip. “It wasn’t a problem before.”

“Well, let’s have a look. You might need heat or ice therapy.”

“Heat therapy is probably the best.” He reaches down and pulls at the elastic waist of his sweats, where an erection makes itself known against the gray fabric.

“Oh my God!” I shove his shoulder. “You jerk. I thought there was really something wrong.”

“But there’s swelling, see?” He’s laughing now.

“Don’t make fun of me!” I try to push away from him, but he wraps me up in his arms so I can’t get away.

“I’m not. I love that you want to take care of me. It’s too bad you can’t be my personal nurse when I’m at away games. You could give me sponge baths after games.”

“Wouldn’t you love that.”

“So much.” He flips me over, edging his way between my thighs. “But I do think I need some heat therapy.”

I snort a laugh that quickly turns into a groan as he rolls his hips.

Half an hour later, we’re stretched out on the couch again, mostly undressed and covered in a blanket, watching a replay of Ethan’s last game against New York, which they lost.

Ethan rewinds a play for the third time so he can pick apart where he went wrong.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Ethan. It’s okay to make mistakes.”

He kisses my forehead. “I know. I prefer when I learn from them and don’t make them again. I don’t like that my game isn’t as good when we don’t have home ice advantage.”

He plays best in Minnesota, and it gets to him when he makes what he considers rookie mistakes. “What do you think the difference is?”

He fiddles with the charm on my bracelet. “I don’t know. Comfort maybe? Confidence?”

I push up off his chest so I can look at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think maybe you expect not to do as well, so you don’t?”

He sighs. “I’ve considered that, yeah.”

I pull the blanket around my shoulders, shivering at the loss of direct body heat. “And what are your thoughts?”

“That there has to be some truth to it.”

“And you think picking apart your mistakes will make you play better?”

“Probably not.” He nabs the remote from the coffee table and shuts the TV off. “I need this to be a good season.”

“It’s turning out to be your best since you played for LA,” I remind him.

“So far.”

I poke him in the chest. “Stop doing that to yourself.”

He grabs my hand and threads his fingers through mine. “Christ. I’m exactly like my dad, aren’t I? Always looking for a black cloud to stand under.”

I laugh. “Hardly. I think you get nervous about away games and then you get all up inside your head and start picking things apart.”

“It’d be great if you could come with me.” He lifts my knuckles to his lips.

“I have this thing called a job.” I try to make light of it, worried about the heaviness seeping into this conversation and weighing down his mood.

“I know, but you make everything so much easier.”

“It’s not like I can be out there on the ice with you.”

“But you’d be with me. You could come to the practice, the game, and then you’d be there after.”

“When would I get studying in?”

“You could do it during practice. Or whenever you need the time. It’d just be nice to know I’m starting and ending my day with you.”

“Don’t you have a roommate? How awkward would that be?”

Ethan’s eyes darken. “I’d get us our own room.”

“That would probably be for the best. You’re not great at quiet sex.” I’m teasing now, mostly to lighten up his somber mood.

His eyebrows rise. “Me? You give Merk an anxiety attack every time I go down on you.”

I grin. “You love the praise.”

“Damn right I do.” He shifts around, until he can move me to straddle his lap.

“It’s only five days—you can handle it.”

“Five days is nothing.” Ethan wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug, lips against my temple. I sink into the embrace, aware this simple affection is soon going to grow heated again.