Page 6 of The Blame Game
Shea smiled because when they’d begun this arrangement, Dom hadn’t had the small streak of silver to the left of his part or the faint lines across his forehead.
And Shea had never dreamed he’d fall in love with him.
He wasn’t supposed to. Hadn’t meant to. But no matter how many times he sternly told his heart no, it didn’t listen.
So here Shea was, in love with a closeted pro athlete who paid him for sex.
Audra, his best friend and roommate, the one who’d gotten him started in the escort business, would call him an idiot for that.
To be fair, she called him an idiot for a lot of reasons, but this was the big one.
When Shea had drunkenly confessed his feelings for a client to her during their monthly margaritas and Mexican takeout night, she’d snorted.
“Yeah? Happens to all of us at least once,” she’d said coolly.
“What do I do?”
“Wise up or get the fuck out of the business,” she’d retorted, tossing her long curly auburn hair over her shoulder.
He’d done neither.
Instead, he’d kept seeing Dom. Kept saying yes to the weekly meetups and wondering when Dom would notice.
But apparently, Dom saw what he wanted to see and, for now at least, he was oblivious. Thank God. He’d end it the second he found out.
Shea sighed. He was an idiot. There was no disputing that.
Shea must have dozed too, because a while later he woke to Dom shifting beside him.
Shea rolled onto his side to look at him.
Dom blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Sawyer?”
“Yeah,” Shea lied. God, he wished he’d told Dom his real name from the beginning. “Sorry. I’ll be out of here in a minute.”
“More clients to see tonight?”
Shea nodded. He couldn’t tell Dom there hadn’t been other clients in a long time. Not without revealing how he felt.
“I’ll head out too then.” Dom sat up, jaw clenching, a quiet hiss escaping his lips.
“Hey, what is it?” Shea asked with a frown. “Your back?”
“I’m fine,” Dom snapped but there was an odd quaver in his voice and Shea sat up, genuinely concerned.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“Just a muscle spasm,” Dom huffed.
Shea pushed the tangle of sheets aside and spotted the problem immediately. The erector spinae—a long, narrow muscle that ran from the ribs along the spine and down to the sacrum—twitched, a visible contraction of the muscles that had to be agonizing.
“Lie back.”
When Dom looked like he’d argue, Shea glared. “I’m not asking. This is an order from a medical professional.”
Dom grunted but complied, allowing Shea to guide him onto the mattress, pulling the pillow away so he could lay his head flat, his breathing short and strained.
“Bend your knees. It’ll help,” Shea coaxed.
