Zach Hardaway is one of the best physiotherapists in Europe.
Tristan DuVal is a young soccer star with a groin injury.
They despise each other from the moment they meet.
As far as Zach is concerned, Tristan is a rich, spoiled brat who is too used to getting his own way.
As far as Tristan is concerned, Zach is a bossy, presumptuous jerk. Tristan hates Zach. He does. The problem is, he also wants to shove Zach against the nearest wall and climb him like a tree.
Warning: explicit MM content, minor D/s undertones.Books in Series:Straight Guys Series by Alessandra HazardBooks by Author:Alessandra Hazard Books
Tristan DuVal wasn"t in a good mood. "I still don"t understand why I can"t get a physiotherapist I know. I don"t know that guy."
The look his personal assistant shot him was long-suffering at best. "Because the club"s physiotherapists are overworked already," she said. "And Dr. Sheldon wants you to work with a therapist he trusts."
Tristan checked the time on his phone. "The guy is late. I don"t have all day."
He turned his face away to hide his smile when Lydia gritted her teeth. However, her voice was remarkably calm as she said, "He"s only seven minutes late, Tristan. And it"s the third time you"ve said that in the last five minutes."
Tristan gave her an innocent look. "But he"s late!"
"You"re late all the time, princess," Lydia muttered under her breath, which was clearly not meant for his ears. Despite being his personal assistant for over a year, Lydia still had no idea how sharp his hearing was and had the habit of saying nasty things about him when she thought he couldn"t hear. It was pretty amusing.
Tristan suppressed a smile. He knew he should probably stop deliberately exasperating her, but he was so bored. Now that he was injured and pretty much confined to the house, winding up his personal assistant was the only remotely interesting thing to do. It was almost fun to watch Lydia try to hold back smartass comments she wanted to make. Almost.
"Zach Hardaway comes highly recommended," Lydia said louder. "I"m sure there"s a good reason for his tardiness. He"s an outrageously expensive physiotherapist and personal trainer. He must be good."
Tristan shrugged. His team doctor promised to find him the best physiotherapist to help him recover from his groin injury, but Tristan hadn"t asked for any details; that was Lydia"s job. "What good does it do for me if he isn"t here" My injury isn"t going to heal itself. I"m tired of waiting."
"Then let"s go back inside," Lydia said, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice again. "I"m pretty sure you aren"t supposed to be walking anyway."
Leaning back against the tree, Tristan looked at the house and scowled. "I"m sick of being stuck inside all day. I"m not an invalid." This time he wasn"t complaining just to annoy Lydia. The lack of activity really had been driving him crazy. He missed football. Missed the feeling of being healthy and fit, the wind in his face as he sprinted toward the goal, the elation he felt when he scored, the roar of the crowd singing and chanting his name. Football was his life. The only thing that mattered.
Tristan looked at the gray sky. It was March already. The World Cup was just three months away. Time was running out. He needed to return to the pitch as soon as possible and regain his form if he wanted to impress the National Team"s coach. Tristan might be the most talented English player in generations (in his humble opinion), but he had relatively little experience on an international level and he knew that hindered his chances of being chosen. The coach was rather old-fashioned and preferred trusted veterans to young rising stars. And now his injury had only complicated everything. The longer he stayed injured, the less his chances were of participating in the World Cup. And to make matters worse, it was March and he still didn"t have a physiotherapist"or rather, his physiotherapist had apparently decided he had better things to do than his fucking job.
Tristan shifted his gaze back to Lydia. "Call Dr. Sheldon and ask him where that useless idiot is."
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. "That won"t be necessary," said a dry voice. "The useless idiot is here."
Tristan grimaced. Awkward. And a little inconvenient. He liked making a good first impression on people. He had a public image to maintain, after all.
Fixing a smile on his face, Tristan turned around.
His smile faded a little and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
The man who stood a few feet away"Zach Hardaway"wasn"t the most handsome man he"d ever seen. He wasn"t. But he exuded such confidence, strength and virility that he gave the impression of being incredibly handsome. He was tall, with a firmly muscled body and broad shoulders. His thick brown hair had golden gleams in it. He had a strong jaw, lean cheeks, olive skin, and a pair of steely gray eyes. His mouth was finely molded with a slight wry quality to it, but it didn"t soften the hardness of his features at all. There was a furrow between the guy"s brows as he studied Tristan.
"You"re favoring one leg," he said. "Go inside."
Tristan blinked. "Excuse me""
Hardaway walked over and grabbed him between his legs and squeezed his thigh.
His eyes widening, Tristan gasped, partly from shock and partly from pain. "Are you mad""