Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports
Title: Fatherhood, Football, and Other Contact Sports - 2/16
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, maybe.
Summary: Billy’s first day at his new job brings a variety of problems and surprises.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks to frojane, for the beta and catching all my mistakes. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much!
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: As promised, here is Chapter 2. It’s not quite as long as Chapter 1, but it’s damn close. Thanks so much to those who commented yesterday. I was speechless by the response. Honestly. *loves*
Previous Part: Chapter 1
Chapter 2 - Discoveries & Uncertainties
More than forty minutes late, Billy finally pulls his royal blue and white Mini into the crowded car park of the Glasgow Sports Medicine Clinic, his first day on the job. Well, so much for establishing a professional image right off the bat, Billy groans inwardly, shaking his head and sighing heavily. This is most definitely not the recommended method to create a terrific first impression, or what Billy had planned for when he’d rolled his aching body out of bed early this morning.
“I’m very sorry,” he apologizes, rushing into Dr. Ian McKellan’s office in a crisp white dress shirt, forest green tie and pressed black trousers. “It took much longer to get Cameron enrolled in school than I’d expected. There was some sort of problem with the transferring his records from London.”
The older man’s cool blue eyes observe Billy steadily. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Boyd. I understand.”
While his words are extremely proper and chosen carefully, Billy recognizes his superior’s expression, as well as the tone. He knows that although Dr. McKellan had hired Billy for his skills, the jury is still out on whether a less-qualified physician with less baggage will prove ultimately more suitable.
“It won’t happen again,” Billy assures him quickly, feeling unreasonably like a clueless, first-year medical student.
Nodding his grey head, Dr. McKellan continues. “I’m pleased to hear that, Dr. Boyd. We need to know we can count on you to be both prompt and efficient.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
It’s definitely an order, and while the commandment may not come from the heavens above with a bolt of lightening or preceded by a burning bush, Billy has no doubt that it is written in stone.
“Now, Doctor, let’s go over your schedule.”
Billy had toured the clinic just over two months earlier, finding it to be exactly the kind of change he’s been looking for. The field of sports medicine is well established now, but his specialty is not always recognized as a standard residency program, and the majority of doctors practicing in the field are basically self-educated after first obtaining their medical degree and licenses. In Billy’s case, much of his ability to treat basic overuse injuries and odd ailments came from a painful experience, a result of his own dedication to daily running. Additional knowledge was acquired through extensive reading and working in a clinical practice with otherwise healthy patients. It’s been a labor of love, one that Billy has embraced fully, ensuring the best care possible for his patients.
Despite the lack of attention given the specialty until the past decade, this clinic boasts the latest in technology and equipment, and the staff are among the best in their field. Billy knows he’s fortunate to be in such company and isn’t about to let Dr. McKellan’s less than cordial attitude spoil his first day. Billy has waited more than five years for this opportunity, so he’s certainly going to enjoy every last moment of it.
After the awkward beginning, the morning moves routinely as Billy treats a nearly constant stream of minor injuries. Taking a breather between patients, he steps into the doctors’ lounge and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot, desperate for a latte, but settling for mere caffeine as it’s better than nothing. The fact that Billy’s sleep was, at best, restless last night has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Dom had repeatedly invaded his dreams, in various states of undress.
“So is it always this busy?” he asks the other occupant in the room.
Dr. Orlando Bloom grins sympathetically, his deep brown eyes sparkling behind the thin lenses of his glasses. “Hell no,” he says with a laugh. “We cleverly planned all this for your first day, Dr. Boyd. Trial by fire, where only the strong survive. Welcome to the land of McKellan rules.”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if you did,” Billy murmurs, adding several spoonfuls of sugar to the bitter black liquid masquerading as coffee.
“He’s actually not so bad once you get used to him,” Orlando adds, shrugging his shoulders and tossing his curly dark hair out of his eyes. “Really.”
“Oh yeah? I hear that about prison, too,” Billy replies dryly, taking another tentative sip. Grimacing, Billy then adds some powdered creamer to the cup, and more sugar.
“Well, I can see nutrition wasn’t your specialty.” Laughing again, Orlando’s large eyes focus on Billy’s cup.
Shuddering, Billy nods at the nearby carafe. “Did you make that pot of coffee?”
Orlando grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well then, you’re definitely in no position to criticize,” Billy decides. “Seriously, this stuff would make mud taste great.”
“Why Dr. Boyd, are you offering to become the clinic’s chief coffee maker?” There is a cheeky, laughing challenge in Orlando’s tone.
Pursing his lips, Billy considers it for a moment and then nods slowly. “If I do, it’s only because I don’t want to leave my son an orphan. Too much of this shite must be hazardous to your health. It won’t be because I’m the only parent on staff. Agreed?”
“Agreed. I know I speak for the rest of the staff when I extend my heartfelt thanks, Doctor. They’ve never been wild about my coffee, either, but so far nobody else has volunteered to take up the task. Until now, that is,” Orlando finishes with a triumphant grin.
“Billy,” the Scotsman states.
“What?”
“I’m not much on formality with coworkers. Call me Billy.”
“Oh, sure,” Orlando replies. “And you can call me Orli.”
“So what about you, Orli?” Billy says, resuming their previous conversation. “You can’t tell me that you like this coffee?”
“I stick to tea bags, actually,” Orlando explains, his dark chocolate eyes twinkling as he lifts a cup to his wide mouth. “It’s safer that way.”
Billy laughs as he’s supposed to, sinking down onto a soft, dark grey, leather couch. Heeling off his shoes, Billy sighs as he allows his feet a few blissful moments of freedom from their highly polished, yet confined space. Wiggling his toes happily, Billy sips his now too-sweet coffee, priding himself on making it through an unusually hectic morning after too short a night.
Forced to treat not only his scheduled patients but the emergency walk-ins as well, Billy has actually managed to attend to everyone without falling behind. This small miracle comes as a great relief, since Billy was aware of Dr. McKellan’s almost constant observation. It’s almost as though he’s waiting for Billy to make a mistake or something. Shrugging his shoulders, Billy scans the patient list clutched in his free hand, until suddenly one name jumps off the page at him.
“D. Monaghan,” he groans, letting his head fall back against the cushion of the couch. “Christ. Don’t tell me.”
“Dominic Monaghan,” Orlando agrees, sinking into a nearby chair, cradling his cup of tea in both hands. “He was Ben Phillip’s patient, before the old man retired. Since you’re inheriting his practice, Monaghan comes with the territory.”
“I’d assumed that Rangers would have their own physicians,” Billy comments, looking back at the schedule, his brow furrowing in thought. “Specialists for the team, at least.”
“They do,” Orlando confirms after swallowing a mouthful of honey sweetened tea. “But that injury last year seems to caused Monaghan to have some second thoughts. Since then he’s insisted on using his own doctors, outside the organization, rather than trust the team physicians.”
Frankly, Billy can understand that. He’s seen far too many cases of team physicians looking the other way while shoot up athletes with enough xylocaine to numb a bull elephant, so they can continue to play. If Dom’s injury is as bad as Billy’s heard, Dom is very wise to seek outside medical advice. That said, Billy hates to think of the fireworks when the admittedly attractive, yet arrogant football player discovers that his new doctor is none other than his new neighbor. This is not going to go well.
As if conjured up by rays of Billy’s darkening mood, Dr. McKellan suddenly enters the room. Cold eyes rake over the two physicians like an icy wind, his expression definitely disapproving as he takes in Billy’s slouched position and sock-clad feet.
“Dr. Boyd, I really hate to break up this little tête-à-tête, but you have a patient waiting.” At Billy’s unconscious glance towards his schedule, he briskly adds, “An unscheduled emergency. Another one of those three-day-weekend idiots.”
As Billy reaches down to slip on his shoes again, Billy idly wonders if there’s anyone, in this office or otherwise, that Dr. McKellan does approve of. When Billy had flown to Glasgow to investigate the position, he’d met with the administrator only once, and that had been a very brief, uneventful interview. He much prefers the idea of working with the chief of staff, Dr. Sean Bean, the man that Billy has spoken to at length about the new position at the clinic. Unfortunately, Dr. Bean has taken a leave of absence to concentrate on new treatments for torn ligaments, and until a new chief of staff is appointed, Billy will be working directly under Dr. McKellan, a cold fish if Billy’s ever met one.
“I’ll see the patient right away,” Billy says quickly, rising to his feet, more than willing to escape the steady, unblinking stare of his superior.
As always, Dr. McKellan wins the last word before leaving the room. “That was the idea, Doctor.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
A young woman is seated on Billy’s examination table, her lightly tanned face displaying more frustration than pain.
“Hi,” she greets Billy glumly. “I sure hope you’ve got better news than my family doctor.”
“Hello there. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Billy quickly skims her chart. “You jog?”
“I run,” the woman corrects firmly. “Jogging is for faddists.”
Billy smiles and nods, understanding completely. “I know. I run, too.”
Suddenly, the woman’s expression perks up and she appears more hopeful. “You do? Then you’ll understand why I can’t stay off my foot for two bloody months. I’ll go completely mad!”
Billy nods again, his small fingers probing delicately at the woman’s ankle. “So how long ago did you get this sprain?”
The woman flinches and inhales sharply as Billy’s fingers find a sore spot. “A few months ago.”
Wordlessly, Billy look up and arches an eyebrow expectantly.
“Alright, five or six,” she corrects sullenly.
“And you didn’t slow down your activities?” Billy presses. “Not even a little?”
“I was in training.”
Sighing, Billy gently releases her foot. “If I had a pound for every time I heard that, I could’ve retired in luxury years ago.”
“You’re as bad as my family doctor,” she complains with a pout. “He says I have to stay off it entirely. For months.”
Before Billy can comment, a flurry of activity at the doorway catches his attention. His patient’s interested gaze follows his to the tanned, blonde man standing in a circle of enthusiastic admirers.
“Oh, my God! Is that who I think it is?” The young woman is suddenly on the verge of swooning, eyeing the man from head to toe in a blatantly lustful manner.
“Only if you think it’s Dominic Monaghan,” Billy replies briskly, determine to ignore the odd twinge deep inside him that Dom’s appearance has triggered. “Now, about this ankle-”
“I can’t believe it. Dominic Monaghan! Right here in person.” Sitting up straighter, she pats her hair into place, tucking a stray lock behind her ear as she moistens her lips.
“In living color,” Billy agrees dryly. “Now what you’ve done, Ms. Dalton, is exacerbate your injury by excessive movement. You never allowed your sprain to heal in the first place. You should’ve-”
“Oh my, he’s coming over here,” his patient hisses, obviously not hearing a single word of Billy’s professional diagnosis.
Here we go, Billy thinks to himself, unconsciously holding his breath as he awaits Dom’s reaction. Inwardly, he steels himself for a colorful display of Dom’s male pride, much like he’d seen the previous afternoon.
As Dom moves toward Ben Phillip’s old examination table, he notices that there’s something about the man seated on the low stool that seems oddly familiar. It’s in the gentle slope of his shoulder and the slight curl at the ends of his ginger hair. Billy, Dom decides, he reminds Dom of Billy. Of course, that’s ridiculous; he’s only made the connection because he’s been thinking about his new Scottish neighbor far too much in the past twenty-four hours. The prickly male has gotten under Dom’s skin and he’s damned if he can figure out why.
“Excuse me, but I was told the doctor would see me next,” Dom says as he draws near.
Turning on his stool slowly, Billy keeps his smile cool, calm and utterly professional. “I’ll be with you as soon as I finish with this patient, Mr. Monaghan.”
Distantly, Dom knows that he’s staring, and struggles to keep his expression nonchalant. Images of his arrogantly male behavior with the pool-testing kit fly into his mind, and Dom suddenly wonders if he’s blushing. He must have looked like a first-class wanker, teaching Billy to read chlorine residuals. Bloody Hell.
“So it’s Dr. Boyd,” he says finally. “This is a surprise.”
“Isn’t it?” Billy agrees hesitantly, his smile wobbling just a wee bit. Is the dark red flush rising from the collar of Dom’s dark blue t-shirt because he’s angry? Billy desperately hopes not. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Dom appears disinclined to argue the point.
“Go ahead, Doc.” Nodding his blonde head at the young woman on the table, Dom smiles charmingly. “I’ll just sit here quietly and watch you do your medical thing.”
“If you prefer, you can wait out in the lobby,” Billy suggests hopefully. “There are some magazines there. They’re probably ancient, but-” Billy knows he’s rambling, but Dom’s steady blue-grey gaze is definitely unnerving.
“Trust me, I’ve read them all, Billy,” Dom states smoothly. “Now, don’t mind me. I promise to be as quiet as a church mouse, you won’t even know that I’m here.”
Ha, Billy considers grimly, feeling Dom’s intense gaze riveted on him as he turns back to Jenny Dalton. Not bloody likely. Billy is all too aware of Dom’s presence, just as he hadn’t missed the way Dom had lingered a shade too long over his first name, caressing it in an oddly personal manner. Even his patient appears to notice, her curious gaze flicking back and forth between Dom and Billy, one eyebrow slightly arched in thought.
Blinking to reset his focus, Billy forces his attention back to the woman’s swollen ankle. “You have to understand that doctors who aren’t involved in sports themselves have a tendency to be ultra cautious. The truth is, most injuries will heal faster with sensible self-doctoring and moderate activity.”
Pulling the woman’s white sports sock up, Billy rolls back on his stool a few inches. “Next time you have an injury, treat yourself immediately with ice. Ice, compression, elevation,” he instructs, ticking them off on his small fingers. “Then, as soon as possible, very gently move the injured part to flush out the fluids and cell debris in the injured area. That’ll also help restore normal range of movement and prevent muscle atrophy.”
“Alright,” the woman replies in a slightly annoyed tone, giving Billy her full attention, at least for the moment. “So that’s what I should’ve done. Are you telling me it’s too late? That I’ve got to stay off my ankle entirely?”
“Of course not,” Billy corrects briskly. “But you do have to utilize some common sense. How much do you usually run a day?”
“Ten kilometers.”
Chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pen, Billy thinks for a few moments and then starts writing on the prescription pad he’s pulled out of the pocket of his lab coat. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to suggest. I want you to begin with a three kilometer walking and jogging workout. Walk briskly until you’re no longer limping, then jog, but only as long as you can without feeling any pain. When the pain starts again, walk until it disappears, then start running again.”
Looking up, Billy taps a stern warning on the pad with his ball-point pen. “Now remember, the key is to build up cautiously. Slow and steady is best. Try taping up the ankle and see it that gives you more support. And whatever you do, don’t increase the stress load until the sprain is completely healed, or you’ll have to start all over again. Is that clear?”
The young woman nods, her sulky expression replaced with a wide smile. “Sure. I can handle that. Thanks a lot, Dr. Boyd. You made my day.”
“Now please make mine and allow that ankle to heal properly,” Billy cautions with an answering smile. “Alright?”
“You’ve got it,” the woman agrees, her attention abruptly returning to Dom. “Would you sign an autograph for my kids? They’d kill me if they knew I shared an examining table with you and didn’t ask.”
Dom’s focus has been on Billy the entire time, as he’d been entranced by the intoxicating Scottish lilt, his rosy, cherubic mouth and perfect white teeth, especially as he’d chewed on the end of that pen. He’s going to have to taste those ridiculously sexy lips, Dom decides, belly tightening at the thought. Belatedly realizing that Billy’s patient has spoken to him, Dom forces his mind to her words.
“Kids?” he answers automatically, knowing exactly what the young woman wants to hear. “You don’t look old enough to have kids.”
Billy decides it must be a pat line with the man. Watching the woman’s beaming response, Billy realizes that it brings the results Dom was clearly expecting.
“I’ve got two, but of course, I married right after I finished sixth form.”
“You sure don’t look any older than that now,” Dom replies with a smile. “Running obviously agrees with you.”
Dom’s expression is masculinely appreciative, but unthreatening, and Billy considers how easily the lines come to him. With those devastatingly gorgeous eyes and easy smile, Dominic Monaghan must have woman falling at his feet, and of course, into his bed.
Taking the piece of paper the woman offers, Dom glances over at Billy, patting the pocketless chest of his t-shirt. “Mind if I borrow your pen, Doctor?”
Handing it over, Billy jerks back from the odd shock as their fingers accidentally touch. Dom feels it, too; Billy can tell from the bright light suddenly gleaming in his eyes.
“Static electricity,” Billy murmurs, glancing away, eyes finding the woman’s medical chart resting in his lap.
“Of course,” Dom agrees instantly, returning his attention to Billy’s patient. “What are their names?”
Jenny Dalton has been staring, her eyes drinking in the attractive man sitting only a few feet away from her. “Names?” she inquires blankly.
“Your kids,” Dom reminds her, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh! Ryan and Megan.”
“Ah. Nice Irish names,” Dom remarks with a smile. “Do they like football?”
“They love Rangers. And of course, they think you’re the best player in the league.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I’ve got a few fans left out there,” he says, his words tinged with heavy irony.
“Oh, at least three, because I think you’re absolutely wonderful, too.”
Watching Dom’s dispassionate, answering smile, Billy notes that it doesn’t reach his eyes, the way it had when the movers had complimented his playing ability.
“Thanks.” Autograph complete, Dom hands the paper to the woman and the pen back to Billy.
“Oh, thank you, Dom,” Jenny Dalton breathes, eyeing the bold black script. Then her attention returns to Billy. “Thank you, too, Dr. Boyd.” She grins at Dom. “You’re really lucky. He’s a great doctor.”
“I’ve always been lucky,” Dom murmurs thoughtfully as Jenny floats away, still on cloud nine.
Failing to watch her leave, Dom’s attention is drawn to Billy’s face, green eyes as intoxicating as he remembers, his eyelashes a feathery fringe against his pale cheeks. Why didn’t he notice those cheekbones yesterday? And don’t forget those lips. No doctor has any business with lips like those, Dom decides. No business whatsoever. Rosy pink and sinfully seductive, they bring to mind physical changes that are definitely not of a medical nature. Idly, Dom wonders why he ever thought brunettes were more interesting, blondes sexier, redheads wilder. Yes, it appears that Dom has a new favorite color. Sun kissed ginger.
In his own, surprising way, Billy Boyd is far more interesting and ultimately sexier than any man or woman of Dom’s past experiences. His gaze moves over Billy’s crisp, white lab coat, and he remembers how firm Billy’s body was under his clingy, damp t-shirt, Billy’s hot breath ghosting over his lips when he was trapped against the wall in the loo, Dom’s mouth a whisper from his.
“You’ll have to take your trousers off.”
Considering the erotic train of his thoughts, Billy’s words bring Dom up sharply. “What?”
Nodding at Dom’s faded denims, Billy repeats, “Your trousers. I can’t examine your knee when you’re dressed.”
While this certainly isn’t the first time since adolescence, Dom worries about the control he has over his body. What might happen when Billy touches him with those small and delicate, yet assuring hands. Billy Boyd may be a doctor, and from the way he handled that patient just moments ago, Dom knows he’s probably a damn good one, but he’s also a very sexy man. And that’s the problem.
Belatedly, Dom is suddenly very glad he remembered to put on pants today. This could’ve been a great deal more embarrassing.
“How come I don’t rate a private room?” Dom asks, trying to stall and give him some time to compose himself, cement his control into place.
Billy’s gaze quickly sweeps the large room. “They’re all being used at the moment.”
Eyes narrowing, Dom crosses his arms over his chest. “Ben Phillips always examined me in a private room.”
“Perhaps you never showed up the first business day after a three-day weekend,” Billy counters, a touch of irritation slipping into his tone. “Come on, Monaghan, let’s see a little cooperation here.”
“I’m not used to taking off my clothes in front of strange people.”
Billy’s gaze moves over Dom, taking in his strong shoulders, muscled chest, and narrow waist. Although Dom is reaching the end of his playing days, his body is definitely not that of a man past his prime. He’s in excellent shape, Billy notices as a physician; the man in him also admits that Dom is mouthwateringly gorgeous. And he knows it.
Unable to stop a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth, Billy arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I think you’re being far too modest, Monaghan. I have the distinct impression you’ve been known to do exactly that more times than I would like to know, or you would care to count. Besides, any bloke who’s willing to pose completely starkers can’t be all that shy. Now, are you going take them off, or shall I reschedule for another day when a private room is available?”
A thundercloud moves ominously across Dom’s darkened face, his jaw clenching. “I wasn’t completely starkers.”
Billy waves a dismissive hand. “Well, you certainly couldn’t tell from the photos. The trousers,” he reminds Dom pointedly.
Glancing around the busy room, Dom shifts and stiffens. “Not until you put up a screen,” he says stubbornly.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Billy mutters under his breath, expelling a sigh of exasperation before marching across the room to retrieve the folding screen. Shaking his head, Billy wonders how this man has survived all these years in public locker rooms if he’s so bloody shy.
“There. Now will you cooperate?” Billy asks as arranges the screen in front of the examination table, covering three sides to supply complete privacy. Remaining outside, arms crossed over his chest, Billy waits for Dom to strip down to his pants.
“I’m ready.”
Legs dangling over the edge of the table, Dom watches as Billy enters and breathes in sharply, viewing the crisscross scars violating the skin covering Dom’s right knee for the second time in twenty-four hours. While Billy has seen injuries just as critical, none have ever caused an odd stab of pain somewhere deep inside his belly, like this one is now.
“That bad?” Dom asks quietly, focused on Billy’s expressive eyes.
“Well, they’re not pretty.” Slowly, Billy shakes his head as he looks up. “Is it really worth it?”
“What?”
Billy gestures in the direction of his legs. “The surgery, the pain, all of it. Is it really worth it? Just so you can play one more match? One more season?”
“I could ask you how you feel about breathing,” Dom replies simply, his eyes completely serious. “And by the way, it wasn’t my idea to pose for that layout. I fought it for as long as I could. Weeks. Months, actually.”
As Billy takes a seat on his stool, he’s suddenly struck with the odd impression that it seems to be important to Dom what Billy thinks of him. Why? Billy is nobody to him, and the layout was likely done in part to maintain his image. It’s how the sports world works. Why would Dom care for Billy to have a good opinion of him? Shaking the thought off, Billy shrugs.
“It really isn’t any of my business,” Billy says after clearing his throat. “It was unprofessional of me to bring it up. I apologize.”
Silently refusing to let the subject drop, Dom’s body remains tense. For some reason, Dom finds the look of disapproval that comes to Billy’s warm green eyes from time to time uncomfortable and unsettling. Although Dom knows that it will allow Billy some likely unwelcome and very personal insight into his problems, he wants to make Billy understand the desperation that has lead to his behavior of the past year. The magazine layout, the parties, the appearance of a rather wild life-style. He wants Billy to understand that’s not who he really is, but it’s so complicated, especially right now, and Dom’s not sure he understands it all himself.
Concentrating on Dom’s knee, Billy’s nimble fingers press against his right leg with gentle pressure, examining the injured area extensively. Reaching out, Dom cups Billy’s chin in his long-fingered hand, lifting Billy’s gaze to his.
“My agent insisted that if I was going to be out of action for the rest of the season, we needed to keep my name out there, in front of the public,” Dom explains. “At least it’s better than all the portraits the sportswriters were painting of a washed-up, battered old wreck.”
A little voice in the far reaches of Billy’s mind reminds him that this is hardly professional behavior. Hands trembling on Dom’s naked leg, Billy drowning in the deep pools of Dom’s blue-grey eyes. His fingers are literally burning Billy’s skin, but he’s in no hurry for Dom to take them away. The almost intimate touch, forbidden as it is, feels wonderful.
Making a weak attempt to lighten the sexual tension between them, Billy says in a low, dangerously intimate voice, “That was not the body of a battered old wreck, Dom.”
Eyes refusing to move from Billy’s, the corners of Dom’s mouth turn up ever so slightly as he asks, “You’ve seen it, then?”
“Hasn’t everyone?” Billy replies softly, not answering the question as honestly as he could, but enough to satisfy.
“So my agent says,” Dom mutters with false humor. “Did you like it?”
“It’ll do, Monaghan. It’ll do.”
The gentle smile now gracing Billy’s lips is making him extraordinarily attractive and Dom has the sudden urge to kiss Billy. Not so idly, Dom wonders what would happen to the briskly professional Dr. Boyd if he were to pull the sexy Scotsman into his embrace and cover those ridiculously sensuous, bow shaped lips with his own. Thanks to the screen, they’re comfortably shielded from prying eyes; nobody would see them.
Feeling trapped as he stares into Dom’s darkening eyes, Billy realizes that every male instinct he possesses is telling him that Dom is about to kiss him.
“Don’t,” he says softly.
The tip of Dom’s thumb plays with the corner of Billy’s cherubic mouth. “Why not?” he asks hoarsely.
“I’m your doctor.” Grateful that he’s sitting down, Billy feels Dom’s tantalizing touch weakening his knees and turning his bones to melted max.
“You’re also stunningly attractive, Dr. Billy Boyd.”
Faltering for a moment, caught up in Dom’s intense gaze, Billy grabs desperately at something, anything, finally latching onto humor and managing an honest grin.
“Thank you, Monaghan. I think I’ll take that as a compliment, without worrying about how many times you’ve already handed it out today.”
“Billy.”
Dom’s voice is husky and rough, but soft and tender at the same time, reminding Billy of ebony velvet. The urge to roll forward and indulge in a few moments of passionate bliss is strong, but Billy fights it back.
Looking away, Billy shakes his head and straightens up. “Don’t complicate things, Monaghan.”
Fuck, what Dom wouldn’t give for just one taste of those luscious, rosy lips. “I believe it’s a wee bit late for that advice, Billy. C’mon you sexy Scot, you’re a smart bloke. You must realize by now that I want you.”
Eyes locked and breath ragged, Billy’s mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert. “You may want me as a man, but you need me as your doctor more,” Billy finally manages to say after a long silence.
Alright, Dom decides, they’ll play the game Billy’s way. For now, anyway. He always enjoys a challenge and something tells him that Billy Boyd is going to prove to be exactly that. But he’s going to have Billy, of that, Dom has no doubt.
Releasing his hold on Billy’s chin, Dom splays his fingers on his bare thighs, the gesture intentionally provocative.
“Well then, as my doctor, what’s your diagnosis?” he asks in a low, inviting voice.
Shaken but determined not to show it, Billy keeps his expression the definition of professional. “I’ve seen horses shot for less.”
“I’m planning to play some football matches, Dr. Boyd,” Dom informs him dryly. “Not run the Kentucky Derby.”
Sighing, Billy shakes his head. “Your records show you had surgery less than a year ago, just over nine months, and unfortunately, tendon tears are the worst injuries an athlete can sustain. I know Dr. Phillips told you to give it a least a year, Dom. Even eighteen months wouldn’t be an unreasonable period of recovery time. Try a little patience,” Billy counsels in his most professional tone.
“I don’t have a year.” At Billy’s dubious expression, Dom exhales a frustrated breath. “Look Billy-” He hesitates for a moment, and then continues. “Can I call you Billy? I feel a bit weird calling you Dr. Boyd after yesterday.”
“So you don’t normally push your physicians into the pool?” Billy asks mildly, giving Dom a questioning look.
“No.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Billy states before starting to make notations in Dom’s chart.
“But of course, they don’t usually ask for it, either.”
Billy’s pen stops in mid sentence as he glances up at Dom. While Dom’s expression is bland, his eyes are twinkling, so Billy allows himself a slight grin.
“You may have a point,” Billy concedes. “I was tired, sore, and rather pissed off at the world in general. And you didn’t exactly welcome me to the neighborhood.”
“Hey, whose piano crashed into whose brand-new car?” Dom retorts teasingly.
Billy stiffens visibly, holding his ground. “And whose dog attacked whose cat?”
Eyes locking and holding for a long moment, Dom finally breaks the standoff by shrugging. “This argument sounds vaguely familiar, Dr. Boyd.”
Billy wonders just what it is about Dominic Monaghan that has him veering from unwilling interest to irritation to body melting lust, all in a span of a few seconds. The one thing Dom has yet to do, is bore him.
“You’re right. Let’s drop it. Why don’t you spend a half hour in the whirlpool?” Billy nods in the direction of the therapy room. “I’d like to put you on the Cybex machine and measure the strength of that leg, but the line for it is a mile long today, so I suppose we can save it until next time.”
“I knew it. You men are all alike,” Dom says with a playful, exaggerated groan as he slides off the table and reaches for his jeans. “You’re just going to abuse my poor body for your own amusement.”
“If there’s any abusing of your body going on, Monaghan, it’s going to be in a strictly medical capacity.” Billy’s staunch words hold a definite warning.
Studying Billy for an entire minute, Dom rubs his jaw thoughtfully with his long, elegant fingers. The longer he’s around this fascinating paradox of a man-doctor, the more Billy intrigues him, and Dom finds himself wanting to know absolutely everything he can about Billy.
“Is that a fact?”
Nodding, Billy holds Dom’s appraising gaze with a level one of his own. Even as Billy allows himself a fleeting fantasy of how Dom’s hard, naked body would feel against his, beneath him, trembling and writhing with pleasure, Billy forces himself to remember their positions.
“Fact,” he confirms with a firm nod.
Dom’s eyes hold a faint light of amusement as they linger on Billy’s slightly flushed face. “Are you so sure about that, Billy?”
Attempting to appear disinterested, Billy turns away to remove the screen as Dom tugs his jeans up over his narrow hips. “Positive.”
Hating to lose the privacy the temporary wall provides, Dom resists the almost primitive urge to reach out and grab Billy’s arm. Withdrawing his hand, he forces a careless shrug.
“Hey, fine by me,” Dom says casually. “I just don’t want you kicking yourself in the arse later when you realize what a fantastic opportunity you turned down.”
Billy eyes Dom curiously over his shoulder, unnerved at how Dom’s gaze is once again oddly impersonal. It’s so strange how Dom can turn it on and off like a light switch, completely effortlessly, as far as Billy can tell.
“I’m sure I’ll survive, Monaghan,” Billy mutters. “You know where the therapy room is; I’ll catch up as soon as I call Cameron’s school.”
“What? Why? Is something wrong?” This time the interest in Dom’s eyes is genuine, Billy realizes, as well as his obvious concern.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I’m going to be late picking him up. It’s a private school and while it costs a bit more to have them keep him after class, it’s worth it for my peace of mind,” Billy explains. “He’s a good kid, but I can’t leave a boy Cameron’s age at home all alone for the afternoon. Even it wasn’t illegal, which it is, I think it would be very irresponsible. He needs supervision.”
“But he shouldn’t have to stay there all day, either,” Dom argues. “When I was Cam’s age, I couldn’t wait to get out of school.”
“I take it your mother didn’t work.”
“Sure, Mum worked,” Dom replies, smiling fondly at the happy memories. “She had a full-time job out of the house, but she also did the old-fashioned mum stuff, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids. She was everything I could’ve asked for and more.”
Billy is sure he detects a hint of sarcasm in Dom’s tone and he crosses his arms militantly across his crisp, white lab coat. What business does this bloody football player have criticizing his parenting? He’s been doing it on his own for a long time now and while Billy knows that there’s always room for improvement, he’s done his very best to be both father and mother to Cameron, as well as breadwinner for his family. Cameron has never gone without anything he needs, and Billy has worked hard to be supportive of any interests that Cameron wishes to pursue.
“Look, I’m not wild about the situation either, but right now, it’s the best I’ve found,” Billy replies tightly. “So why don’t you just mind your own damn business and spare me the assorted tales of ‘Mr. Football Star Knows Best’?”
Surprised at the sudden vulnerability in Billy’s eyes and body language, Dom realizes that Billy’s not as tough as he likes to pretend or as Dom had originally thought. With new understanding, Dom’s expression immediately softens.
“You’re absolutely right,” Dom agrees quietly. “It’s none of my business, but I’m willing to bet that this isn’t exactly an easy day for you, Billy. A new house, a new job, Cam in a new school. Even I can see that it’s a lot for one man to handle.”
Billy’s answering laugh is tinged with faint bitterness, revealing a hidden pain. “It’s a lot for one person, male or female, to handle on their own, but I haven’t had a lot of volunteers lately.” Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, Billy starts to fold away the screen, but this time Dom gives into instinct, reaching out to stall his progress.
“I’m volunteering, Billy,” he says simply, long fingers curling around Billy’s arm.
Stunned into silence, Billy can only stare at Dom blankly, searching his face for the punch line he’s sure is coming.
“Volunteering?” Billy repeats in confusion. “For what?”
As soon as the words leave Billy’s mouth, he cringes internally, knowing he’s just handed Dom a perfect opportunity to make yet another suggestive comment. To his utter amazement, Dom doesn’t pick up on it.
“I’ve got a practice this afternoon after I leave here,” Dom explains. “Why don’t I pick Cam up at school and take him out to Murraypark with me?”
Billy’s jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Not at all. Don’t you think he’d like it?” Dom asks, arching an eyebrow.
“He’d love it and you know it,” Billy fires back, rolling his eyes. “But I can’t impose like that.”
“Complications,” Dom murmurs, reminding Billy of their conversation by the pool. “You don’t get involved with your neighbors.”
Unwilling to trust his own voice, Billy simply nods. He can’t believe that Dom’s actually offering to help, apparently out of simple kindness. There has to be a catch, yet he certainly can’t find proof of it in Dom’s expression.
“Would you agree if I assured you that it would be a big help to me personally?” Dom inquires quietly.
“How?” Billy asks suspiciously.
“Honestly, I could use a little moral support out there,” Dom admits after shifting in place in an effort to hide the overwhelming urge to fidget. “I know Cam’s a Man U fan and all, but I’m betting he’d extend some loyalty to a neighbor.”
“Is it that rough?” Billy asks softly, honestly surprised that this strong, rawly masculine man would need moral support from anyone, let alone a child.
“I could ask you the same question,” Dom counters, his tone low enough to keep their conversation from being overheard by anyone else in the room. Finally, he expels a harsh sigh. “Look, Billy, this is a year of changes for both of us, so why don’t we see what happens if we just try being friends? I’d say you could probably use one right now, and I know I’d feel better knowing that someone is in my corner.”
Dom can tell that Billy is thrown by his suggestion, especially when he drags his eyes away from Dom’s, a muscle in his neck jumping.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Billy decides finally, a long quiet moment later.
“Afraid?” Dom asks lazily, deliberately baiting him.
The laughing tone in Dom’s voice only serves to irritate Billy. “Of course not.”
By the way Billy’s fingers tremble as he replaces the ball-point pen in the chest pocket of his starched, white lab coat, Dom knows Billy is growing annoyed at his persistence, but he’s also aware that Billy is far more affected than he cares to admit. Dom decides to press his advantage just a wee bit more.
“If you’re not afraid, then what else could you have against a simple, neighborly friendship?”
Feeling himself being maneuvered, even as he forces himself to study the situation, Billy tries to look at it through a detached eye. Every instinct Billy has is assuring him that there will be nothing simple about any relationship with Dominic Monaghan. An intimate relationship with the man is bound to be short-lived, intense, fiery, passionate and totally against Billy’s own best interests. However, there is an outside chance they can maintain some sort of casual friendship.
The father in Billy points out that Dom can certainly help Cameron overcome his resentment about leaving London. What little boy wouldn’t be in seventh heaven to spend time with a professional football player of Dom’s fame and status?
As Billy nods slowly, both men know that a silent understanding has been achieved. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” Billy agrees, holding out his small hand. “And a weary father’s heartfelt thanks.”
As Billy’s fingers disappear into Dom’s grip, Dom grants himself the pleasure of holding Billy’s small, warm hand longer than necessary for a casual handshake. Knowing it to be a risky gesture at this point, Dom pulls Billy a step closer and sniffs.
“That’s a very nice aftershave. What is it?”
Tugging his hand free and stepping back, Billy decides that this has to be the shortest truce in recorded history. “Antibacterial soap,” he retorts. “And we’re talking just friends here, Monaghan. So don’t forget.”
Dom merely grins cheekily, a devilishly attractive smile “Just friends,” he agrees cheerfully. Giving Billy a snappy salute, he turns in the direction of the therapy room, apparently oblivious to the fact that his denims are barely clinging to his hips. “Oh, and Billy?”
On his way to ring the school about the change in plans, Billy pauses in mid-stride, eyeing Dom over his shoulder. As Dom stands so unselfconsciously in the center of the room, Billy realizes that Dom is definitely not shy, and had only insisted on the screen to ensure a chance to speak with him privately. The man is most definitely an expert in manipulation. Billy will have to stay on his toes, that’s for sure.
“Yes?”
Dom waggles his eyebrows in an outrageously lustful manner in Billy’s direction. “I’ll pick something up for dinner and when you come home, you’re invited to be as friendly as you like.”
Giving Billy a saucy wink, Dom turns and is gone before Billy can destroy him with a few well chosen words. The resulting laughter from the examining room, chock full of spectators, demonstrates that everyone has enjoyed Dom’s performance immensely. Everyone, that is, except Dr. McKellan, who is eyeing Billy with overtly cold disapproval. It’s exactly what Billy doesn’t need today.
Forcing himself to ignore the lingering chuckles, Billy goes to dial the telephone number of the school, receiving a frustratingly busy signal his first two tries. It has already been an incredibly long day, and Billy has the uncomfortable feeling that with Dom determined to call the shots, the evening is bound to prove even more of a challenge.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 3
Author: dylan_dufresne
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG-14, maybe.
Summary: Billy’s first day at his new job brings a variety of problems and surprises.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated as it’s my drug of choice. Many thanks to frojane, for the beta and catching all my mistakes. Credit for the banner goes to the very talented loki_girl. Thank you so much!
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality. This is my imagination at work.
A/N: As promised, here is Chapter 2. It’s not quite as long as Chapter 1, but it’s damn close. Thanks so much to those who commented yesterday. I was speechless by the response. Honestly. *loves*
Previous Part: Chapter 1
Chapter 2 - Discoveries & Uncertainties
More than forty minutes late, Billy finally pulls his royal blue and white Mini into the crowded car park of the Glasgow Sports Medicine Clinic, his first day on the job. Well, so much for establishing a professional image right off the bat, Billy groans inwardly, shaking his head and sighing heavily. This is most definitely not the recommended method to create a terrific first impression, or what Billy had planned for when he’d rolled his aching body out of bed early this morning.
“I’m very sorry,” he apologizes, rushing into Dr. Ian McKellan’s office in a crisp white dress shirt, forest green tie and pressed black trousers. “It took much longer to get Cameron enrolled in school than I’d expected. There was some sort of problem with the transferring his records from London.”
The older man’s cool blue eyes observe Billy steadily. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Boyd. I understand.”
While his words are extremely proper and chosen carefully, Billy recognizes his superior’s expression, as well as the tone. He knows that although Dr. McKellan had hired Billy for his skills, the jury is still out on whether a less-qualified physician with less baggage will prove ultimately more suitable.
“It won’t happen again,” Billy assures him quickly, feeling unreasonably like a clueless, first-year medical student.
Nodding his grey head, Dr. McKellan continues. “I’m pleased to hear that, Dr. Boyd. We need to know we can count on you to be both prompt and efficient.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
It’s definitely an order, and while the commandment may not come from the heavens above with a bolt of lightening or preceded by a burning bush, Billy has no doubt that it is written in stone.
“Now, Doctor, let’s go over your schedule.”
Billy had toured the clinic just over two months earlier, finding it to be exactly the kind of change he’s been looking for. The field of sports medicine is well established now, but his specialty is not always recognized as a standard residency program, and the majority of doctors practicing in the field are basically self-educated after first obtaining their medical degree and licenses. In Billy’s case, much of his ability to treat basic overuse injuries and odd ailments came from a painful experience, a result of his own dedication to daily running. Additional knowledge was acquired through extensive reading and working in a clinical practice with otherwise healthy patients. It’s been a labor of love, one that Billy has embraced fully, ensuring the best care possible for his patients.
Despite the lack of attention given the specialty until the past decade, this clinic boasts the latest in technology and equipment, and the staff are among the best in their field. Billy knows he’s fortunate to be in such company and isn’t about to let Dr. McKellan’s less than cordial attitude spoil his first day. Billy has waited more than five years for this opportunity, so he’s certainly going to enjoy every last moment of it.
After the awkward beginning, the morning moves routinely as Billy treats a nearly constant stream of minor injuries. Taking a breather between patients, he steps into the doctors’ lounge and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot, desperate for a latte, but settling for mere caffeine as it’s better than nothing. The fact that Billy’s sleep was, at best, restless last night has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Dom had repeatedly invaded his dreams, in various states of undress.
“So is it always this busy?” he asks the other occupant in the room.
Dr. Orlando Bloom grins sympathetically, his deep brown eyes sparkling behind the thin lenses of his glasses. “Hell no,” he says with a laugh. “We cleverly planned all this for your first day, Dr. Boyd. Trial by fire, where only the strong survive. Welcome to the land of McKellan rules.”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if you did,” Billy murmurs, adding several spoonfuls of sugar to the bitter black liquid masquerading as coffee.
“He’s actually not so bad once you get used to him,” Orlando adds, shrugging his shoulders and tossing his curly dark hair out of his eyes. “Really.”
“Oh yeah? I hear that about prison, too,” Billy replies dryly, taking another tentative sip. Grimacing, Billy then adds some powdered creamer to the cup, and more sugar.
“Well, I can see nutrition wasn’t your specialty.” Laughing again, Orlando’s large eyes focus on Billy’s cup.
Shuddering, Billy nods at the nearby carafe. “Did you make that pot of coffee?”
Orlando grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well then, you’re definitely in no position to criticize,” Billy decides. “Seriously, this stuff would make mud taste great.”
“Why Dr. Boyd, are you offering to become the clinic’s chief coffee maker?” There is a cheeky, laughing challenge in Orlando’s tone.
Pursing his lips, Billy considers it for a moment and then nods slowly. “If I do, it’s only because I don’t want to leave my son an orphan. Too much of this shite must be hazardous to your health. It won’t be because I’m the only parent on staff. Agreed?”
“Agreed. I know I speak for the rest of the staff when I extend my heartfelt thanks, Doctor. They’ve never been wild about my coffee, either, but so far nobody else has volunteered to take up the task. Until now, that is,” Orlando finishes with a triumphant grin.
“Billy,” the Scotsman states.
“What?”
“I’m not much on formality with coworkers. Call me Billy.”
“Oh, sure,” Orlando replies. “And you can call me Orli.”
“So what about you, Orli?” Billy says, resuming their previous conversation. “You can’t tell me that you like this coffee?”
“I stick to tea bags, actually,” Orlando explains, his dark chocolate eyes twinkling as he lifts a cup to his wide mouth. “It’s safer that way.”
Billy laughs as he’s supposed to, sinking down onto a soft, dark grey, leather couch. Heeling off his shoes, Billy sighs as he allows his feet a few blissful moments of freedom from their highly polished, yet confined space. Wiggling his toes happily, Billy sips his now too-sweet coffee, priding himself on making it through an unusually hectic morning after too short a night.
Forced to treat not only his scheduled patients but the emergency walk-ins as well, Billy has actually managed to attend to everyone without falling behind. This small miracle comes as a great relief, since Billy was aware of Dr. McKellan’s almost constant observation. It’s almost as though he’s waiting for Billy to make a mistake or something. Shrugging his shoulders, Billy scans the patient list clutched in his free hand, until suddenly one name jumps off the page at him.
“D. Monaghan,” he groans, letting his head fall back against the cushion of the couch. “Christ. Don’t tell me.”
“Dominic Monaghan,” Orlando agrees, sinking into a nearby chair, cradling his cup of tea in both hands. “He was Ben Phillip’s patient, before the old man retired. Since you’re inheriting his practice, Monaghan comes with the territory.”
“I’d assumed that Rangers would have their own physicians,” Billy comments, looking back at the schedule, his brow furrowing in thought. “Specialists for the team, at least.”
“They do,” Orlando confirms after swallowing a mouthful of honey sweetened tea. “But that injury last year seems to caused Monaghan to have some second thoughts. Since then he’s insisted on using his own doctors, outside the organization, rather than trust the team physicians.”
Frankly, Billy can understand that. He’s seen far too many cases of team physicians looking the other way while shoot up athletes with enough xylocaine to numb a bull elephant, so they can continue to play. If Dom’s injury is as bad as Billy’s heard, Dom is very wise to seek outside medical advice. That said, Billy hates to think of the fireworks when the admittedly attractive, yet arrogant football player discovers that his new doctor is none other than his new neighbor. This is not going to go well.
As if conjured up by rays of Billy’s darkening mood, Dr. McKellan suddenly enters the room. Cold eyes rake over the two physicians like an icy wind, his expression definitely disapproving as he takes in Billy’s slouched position and sock-clad feet.
“Dr. Boyd, I really hate to break up this little tête-à-tête, but you have a patient waiting.” At Billy’s unconscious glance towards his schedule, he briskly adds, “An unscheduled emergency. Another one of those three-day-weekend idiots.”
As Billy reaches down to slip on his shoes again, Billy idly wonders if there’s anyone, in this office or otherwise, that Dr. McKellan does approve of. When Billy had flown to Glasgow to investigate the position, he’d met with the administrator only once, and that had been a very brief, uneventful interview. He much prefers the idea of working with the chief of staff, Dr. Sean Bean, the man that Billy has spoken to at length about the new position at the clinic. Unfortunately, Dr. Bean has taken a leave of absence to concentrate on new treatments for torn ligaments, and until a new chief of staff is appointed, Billy will be working directly under Dr. McKellan, a cold fish if Billy’s ever met one.
“I’ll see the patient right away,” Billy says quickly, rising to his feet, more than willing to escape the steady, unblinking stare of his superior.
As always, Dr. McKellan wins the last word before leaving the room. “That was the idea, Doctor.”
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
A young woman is seated on Billy’s examination table, her lightly tanned face displaying more frustration than pain.
“Hi,” she greets Billy glumly. “I sure hope you’ve got better news than my family doctor.”
“Hello there. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Billy quickly skims her chart. “You jog?”
“I run,” the woman corrects firmly. “Jogging is for faddists.”
Billy smiles and nods, understanding completely. “I know. I run, too.”
Suddenly, the woman’s expression perks up and she appears more hopeful. “You do? Then you’ll understand why I can’t stay off my foot for two bloody months. I’ll go completely mad!”
Billy nods again, his small fingers probing delicately at the woman’s ankle. “So how long ago did you get this sprain?”
The woman flinches and inhales sharply as Billy’s fingers find a sore spot. “A few months ago.”
Wordlessly, Billy look up and arches an eyebrow expectantly.
“Alright, five or six,” she corrects sullenly.
“And you didn’t slow down your activities?” Billy presses. “Not even a little?”
“I was in training.”
Sighing, Billy gently releases her foot. “If I had a pound for every time I heard that, I could’ve retired in luxury years ago.”
“You’re as bad as my family doctor,” she complains with a pout. “He says I have to stay off it entirely. For months.”
Before Billy can comment, a flurry of activity at the doorway catches his attention. His patient’s interested gaze follows his to the tanned, blonde man standing in a circle of enthusiastic admirers.
“Oh, my God! Is that who I think it is?” The young woman is suddenly on the verge of swooning, eyeing the man from head to toe in a blatantly lustful manner.
“Only if you think it’s Dominic Monaghan,” Billy replies briskly, determine to ignore the odd twinge deep inside him that Dom’s appearance has triggered. “Now, about this ankle-”
“I can’t believe it. Dominic Monaghan! Right here in person.” Sitting up straighter, she pats her hair into place, tucking a stray lock behind her ear as she moistens her lips.
“In living color,” Billy agrees dryly. “Now what you’ve done, Ms. Dalton, is exacerbate your injury by excessive movement. You never allowed your sprain to heal in the first place. You should’ve-”
“Oh my, he’s coming over here,” his patient hisses, obviously not hearing a single word of Billy’s professional diagnosis.
Here we go, Billy thinks to himself, unconsciously holding his breath as he awaits Dom’s reaction. Inwardly, he steels himself for a colorful display of Dom’s male pride, much like he’d seen the previous afternoon.
As Dom moves toward Ben Phillip’s old examination table, he notices that there’s something about the man seated on the low stool that seems oddly familiar. It’s in the gentle slope of his shoulder and the slight curl at the ends of his ginger hair. Billy, Dom decides, he reminds Dom of Billy. Of course, that’s ridiculous; he’s only made the connection because he’s been thinking about his new Scottish neighbor far too much in the past twenty-four hours. The prickly male has gotten under Dom’s skin and he’s damned if he can figure out why.
“Excuse me, but I was told the doctor would see me next,” Dom says as he draws near.
Turning on his stool slowly, Billy keeps his smile cool, calm and utterly professional. “I’ll be with you as soon as I finish with this patient, Mr. Monaghan.”
Distantly, Dom knows that he’s staring, and struggles to keep his expression nonchalant. Images of his arrogantly male behavior with the pool-testing kit fly into his mind, and Dom suddenly wonders if he’s blushing. He must have looked like a first-class wanker, teaching Billy to read chlorine residuals. Bloody Hell.
“So it’s Dr. Boyd,” he says finally. “This is a surprise.”
“Isn’t it?” Billy agrees hesitantly, his smile wobbling just a wee bit. Is the dark red flush rising from the collar of Dom’s dark blue t-shirt because he’s angry? Billy desperately hopes not. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Dom appears disinclined to argue the point.
“Go ahead, Doc.” Nodding his blonde head at the young woman on the table, Dom smiles charmingly. “I’ll just sit here quietly and watch you do your medical thing.”
“If you prefer, you can wait out in the lobby,” Billy suggests hopefully. “There are some magazines there. They’re probably ancient, but-” Billy knows he’s rambling, but Dom’s steady blue-grey gaze is definitely unnerving.
“Trust me, I’ve read them all, Billy,” Dom states smoothly. “Now, don’t mind me. I promise to be as quiet as a church mouse, you won’t even know that I’m here.”
Ha, Billy considers grimly, feeling Dom’s intense gaze riveted on him as he turns back to Jenny Dalton. Not bloody likely. Billy is all too aware of Dom’s presence, just as he hadn’t missed the way Dom had lingered a shade too long over his first name, caressing it in an oddly personal manner. Even his patient appears to notice, her curious gaze flicking back and forth between Dom and Billy, one eyebrow slightly arched in thought.
Blinking to reset his focus, Billy forces his attention back to the woman’s swollen ankle. “You have to understand that doctors who aren’t involved in sports themselves have a tendency to be ultra cautious. The truth is, most injuries will heal faster with sensible self-doctoring and moderate activity.”
Pulling the woman’s white sports sock up, Billy rolls back on his stool a few inches. “Next time you have an injury, treat yourself immediately with ice. Ice, compression, elevation,” he instructs, ticking them off on his small fingers. “Then, as soon as possible, very gently move the injured part to flush out the fluids and cell debris in the injured area. That’ll also help restore normal range of movement and prevent muscle atrophy.”
“Alright,” the woman replies in a slightly annoyed tone, giving Billy her full attention, at least for the moment. “So that’s what I should’ve done. Are you telling me it’s too late? That I’ve got to stay off my ankle entirely?”
“Of course not,” Billy corrects briskly. “But you do have to utilize some common sense. How much do you usually run a day?”
“Ten kilometers.”
Chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pen, Billy thinks for a few moments and then starts writing on the prescription pad he’s pulled out of the pocket of his lab coat. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to suggest. I want you to begin with a three kilometer walking and jogging workout. Walk briskly until you’re no longer limping, then jog, but only as long as you can without feeling any pain. When the pain starts again, walk until it disappears, then start running again.”
Looking up, Billy taps a stern warning on the pad with his ball-point pen. “Now remember, the key is to build up cautiously. Slow and steady is best. Try taping up the ankle and see it that gives you more support. And whatever you do, don’t increase the stress load until the sprain is completely healed, or you’ll have to start all over again. Is that clear?”
The young woman nods, her sulky expression replaced with a wide smile. “Sure. I can handle that. Thanks a lot, Dr. Boyd. You made my day.”
“Now please make mine and allow that ankle to heal properly,” Billy cautions with an answering smile. “Alright?”
“You’ve got it,” the woman agrees, her attention abruptly returning to Dom. “Would you sign an autograph for my kids? They’d kill me if they knew I shared an examining table with you and didn’t ask.”
Dom’s focus has been on Billy the entire time, as he’d been entranced by the intoxicating Scottish lilt, his rosy, cherubic mouth and perfect white teeth, especially as he’d chewed on the end of that pen. He’s going to have to taste those ridiculously sexy lips, Dom decides, belly tightening at the thought. Belatedly realizing that Billy’s patient has spoken to him, Dom forces his mind to her words.
“Kids?” he answers automatically, knowing exactly what the young woman wants to hear. “You don’t look old enough to have kids.”
Billy decides it must be a pat line with the man. Watching the woman’s beaming response, Billy realizes that it brings the results Dom was clearly expecting.
“I’ve got two, but of course, I married right after I finished sixth form.”
“You sure don’t look any older than that now,” Dom replies with a smile. “Running obviously agrees with you.”
Dom’s expression is masculinely appreciative, but unthreatening, and Billy considers how easily the lines come to him. With those devastatingly gorgeous eyes and easy smile, Dominic Monaghan must have woman falling at his feet, and of course, into his bed.
Taking the piece of paper the woman offers, Dom glances over at Billy, patting the pocketless chest of his t-shirt. “Mind if I borrow your pen, Doctor?”
Handing it over, Billy jerks back from the odd shock as their fingers accidentally touch. Dom feels it, too; Billy can tell from the bright light suddenly gleaming in his eyes.
“Static electricity,” Billy murmurs, glancing away, eyes finding the woman’s medical chart resting in his lap.
“Of course,” Dom agrees instantly, returning his attention to Billy’s patient. “What are their names?”
Jenny Dalton has been staring, her eyes drinking in the attractive man sitting only a few feet away from her. “Names?” she inquires blankly.
“Your kids,” Dom reminds her, his eyes twinkling.
“Oh! Ryan and Megan.”
“Ah. Nice Irish names,” Dom remarks with a smile. “Do they like football?”
“They love Rangers. And of course, they think you’re the best player in the league.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I’ve got a few fans left out there,” he says, his words tinged with heavy irony.
“Oh, at least three, because I think you’re absolutely wonderful, too.”
Watching Dom’s dispassionate, answering smile, Billy notes that it doesn’t reach his eyes, the way it had when the movers had complimented his playing ability.
“Thanks.” Autograph complete, Dom hands the paper to the woman and the pen back to Billy.
“Oh, thank you, Dom,” Jenny Dalton breathes, eyeing the bold black script. Then her attention returns to Billy. “Thank you, too, Dr. Boyd.” She grins at Dom. “You’re really lucky. He’s a great doctor.”
“I’ve always been lucky,” Dom murmurs thoughtfully as Jenny floats away, still on cloud nine.
Failing to watch her leave, Dom’s attention is drawn to Billy’s face, green eyes as intoxicating as he remembers, his eyelashes a feathery fringe against his pale cheeks. Why didn’t he notice those cheekbones yesterday? And don’t forget those lips. No doctor has any business with lips like those, Dom decides. No business whatsoever. Rosy pink and sinfully seductive, they bring to mind physical changes that are definitely not of a medical nature. Idly, Dom wonders why he ever thought brunettes were more interesting, blondes sexier, redheads wilder. Yes, it appears that Dom has a new favorite color. Sun kissed ginger.
In his own, surprising way, Billy Boyd is far more interesting and ultimately sexier than any man or woman of Dom’s past experiences. His gaze moves over Billy’s crisp, white lab coat, and he remembers how firm Billy’s body was under his clingy, damp t-shirt, Billy’s hot breath ghosting over his lips when he was trapped against the wall in the loo, Dom’s mouth a whisper from his.
“You’ll have to take your trousers off.”
Considering the erotic train of his thoughts, Billy’s words bring Dom up sharply. “What?”
Nodding at Dom’s faded denims, Billy repeats, “Your trousers. I can’t examine your knee when you’re dressed.”
While this certainly isn’t the first time since adolescence, Dom worries about the control he has over his body. What might happen when Billy touches him with those small and delicate, yet assuring hands. Billy Boyd may be a doctor, and from the way he handled that patient just moments ago, Dom knows he’s probably a damn good one, but he’s also a very sexy man. And that’s the problem.
Belatedly, Dom is suddenly very glad he remembered to put on pants today. This could’ve been a great deal more embarrassing.
“How come I don’t rate a private room?” Dom asks, trying to stall and give him some time to compose himself, cement his control into place.
Billy’s gaze quickly sweeps the large room. “They’re all being used at the moment.”
Eyes narrowing, Dom crosses his arms over his chest. “Ben Phillips always examined me in a private room.”
“Perhaps you never showed up the first business day after a three-day weekend,” Billy counters, a touch of irritation slipping into his tone. “Come on, Monaghan, let’s see a little cooperation here.”
“I’m not used to taking off my clothes in front of strange people.”
Billy’s gaze moves over Dom, taking in his strong shoulders, muscled chest, and narrow waist. Although Dom is reaching the end of his playing days, his body is definitely not that of a man past his prime. He’s in excellent shape, Billy notices as a physician; the man in him also admits that Dom is mouthwateringly gorgeous. And he knows it.
Unable to stop a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth, Billy arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I think you’re being far too modest, Monaghan. I have the distinct impression you’ve been known to do exactly that more times than I would like to know, or you would care to count. Besides, any bloke who’s willing to pose completely starkers can’t be all that shy. Now, are you going take them off, or shall I reschedule for another day when a private room is available?”
A thundercloud moves ominously across Dom’s darkened face, his jaw clenching. “I wasn’t completely starkers.”
Billy waves a dismissive hand. “Well, you certainly couldn’t tell from the photos. The trousers,” he reminds Dom pointedly.
Glancing around the busy room, Dom shifts and stiffens. “Not until you put up a screen,” he says stubbornly.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Billy mutters under his breath, expelling a sigh of exasperation before marching across the room to retrieve the folding screen. Shaking his head, Billy wonders how this man has survived all these years in public locker rooms if he’s so bloody shy.
“There. Now will you cooperate?” Billy asks as arranges the screen in front of the examination table, covering three sides to supply complete privacy. Remaining outside, arms crossed over his chest, Billy waits for Dom to strip down to his pants.
“I’m ready.”
Legs dangling over the edge of the table, Dom watches as Billy enters and breathes in sharply, viewing the crisscross scars violating the skin covering Dom’s right knee for the second time in twenty-four hours. While Billy has seen injuries just as critical, none have ever caused an odd stab of pain somewhere deep inside his belly, like this one is now.
“That bad?” Dom asks quietly, focused on Billy’s expressive eyes.
“Well, they’re not pretty.” Slowly, Billy shakes his head as he looks up. “Is it really worth it?”
“What?”
Billy gestures in the direction of his legs. “The surgery, the pain, all of it. Is it really worth it? Just so you can play one more match? One more season?”
“I could ask you how you feel about breathing,” Dom replies simply, his eyes completely serious. “And by the way, it wasn’t my idea to pose for that layout. I fought it for as long as I could. Weeks. Months, actually.”
As Billy takes a seat on his stool, he’s suddenly struck with the odd impression that it seems to be important to Dom what Billy thinks of him. Why? Billy is nobody to him, and the layout was likely done in part to maintain his image. It’s how the sports world works. Why would Dom care for Billy to have a good opinion of him? Shaking the thought off, Billy shrugs.
“It really isn’t any of my business,” Billy says after clearing his throat. “It was unprofessional of me to bring it up. I apologize.”
Silently refusing to let the subject drop, Dom’s body remains tense. For some reason, Dom finds the look of disapproval that comes to Billy’s warm green eyes from time to time uncomfortable and unsettling. Although Dom knows that it will allow Billy some likely unwelcome and very personal insight into his problems, he wants to make Billy understand the desperation that has lead to his behavior of the past year. The magazine layout, the parties, the appearance of a rather wild life-style. He wants Billy to understand that’s not who he really is, but it’s so complicated, especially right now, and Dom’s not sure he understands it all himself.
Concentrating on Dom’s knee, Billy’s nimble fingers press against his right leg with gentle pressure, examining the injured area extensively. Reaching out, Dom cups Billy’s chin in his long-fingered hand, lifting Billy’s gaze to his.
“My agent insisted that if I was going to be out of action for the rest of the season, we needed to keep my name out there, in front of the public,” Dom explains. “At least it’s better than all the portraits the sportswriters were painting of a washed-up, battered old wreck.”
A little voice in the far reaches of Billy’s mind reminds him that this is hardly professional behavior. Hands trembling on Dom’s naked leg, Billy drowning in the deep pools of Dom’s blue-grey eyes. His fingers are literally burning Billy’s skin, but he’s in no hurry for Dom to take them away. The almost intimate touch, forbidden as it is, feels wonderful.
Making a weak attempt to lighten the sexual tension between them, Billy says in a low, dangerously intimate voice, “That was not the body of a battered old wreck, Dom.”
Eyes refusing to move from Billy’s, the corners of Dom’s mouth turn up ever so slightly as he asks, “You’ve seen it, then?”
“Hasn’t everyone?” Billy replies softly, not answering the question as honestly as he could, but enough to satisfy.
“So my agent says,” Dom mutters with false humor. “Did you like it?”
“It’ll do, Monaghan. It’ll do.”
The gentle smile now gracing Billy’s lips is making him extraordinarily attractive and Dom has the sudden urge to kiss Billy. Not so idly, Dom wonders what would happen to the briskly professional Dr. Boyd if he were to pull the sexy Scotsman into his embrace and cover those ridiculously sensuous, bow shaped lips with his own. Thanks to the screen, they’re comfortably shielded from prying eyes; nobody would see them.
Feeling trapped as he stares into Dom’s darkening eyes, Billy realizes that every male instinct he possesses is telling him that Dom is about to kiss him.
“Don’t,” he says softly.
The tip of Dom’s thumb plays with the corner of Billy’s cherubic mouth. “Why not?” he asks hoarsely.
“I’m your doctor.” Grateful that he’s sitting down, Billy feels Dom’s tantalizing touch weakening his knees and turning his bones to melted max.
“You’re also stunningly attractive, Dr. Billy Boyd.”
Faltering for a moment, caught up in Dom’s intense gaze, Billy grabs desperately at something, anything, finally latching onto humor and managing an honest grin.
“Thank you, Monaghan. I think I’ll take that as a compliment, without worrying about how many times you’ve already handed it out today.”
“Billy.”
Dom’s voice is husky and rough, but soft and tender at the same time, reminding Billy of ebony velvet. The urge to roll forward and indulge in a few moments of passionate bliss is strong, but Billy fights it back.
Looking away, Billy shakes his head and straightens up. “Don’t complicate things, Monaghan.”
Fuck, what Dom wouldn’t give for just one taste of those luscious, rosy lips. “I believe it’s a wee bit late for that advice, Billy. C’mon you sexy Scot, you’re a smart bloke. You must realize by now that I want you.”
Eyes locked and breath ragged, Billy’s mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert. “You may want me as a man, but you need me as your doctor more,” Billy finally manages to say after a long silence.
Alright, Dom decides, they’ll play the game Billy’s way. For now, anyway. He always enjoys a challenge and something tells him that Billy Boyd is going to prove to be exactly that. But he’s going to have Billy, of that, Dom has no doubt.
Releasing his hold on Billy’s chin, Dom splays his fingers on his bare thighs, the gesture intentionally provocative.
“Well then, as my doctor, what’s your diagnosis?” he asks in a low, inviting voice.
Shaken but determined not to show it, Billy keeps his expression the definition of professional. “I’ve seen horses shot for less.”
“I’m planning to play some football matches, Dr. Boyd,” Dom informs him dryly. “Not run the Kentucky Derby.”
Sighing, Billy shakes his head. “Your records show you had surgery less than a year ago, just over nine months, and unfortunately, tendon tears are the worst injuries an athlete can sustain. I know Dr. Phillips told you to give it a least a year, Dom. Even eighteen months wouldn’t be an unreasonable period of recovery time. Try a little patience,” Billy counsels in his most professional tone.
“I don’t have a year.” At Billy’s dubious expression, Dom exhales a frustrated breath. “Look Billy-” He hesitates for a moment, and then continues. “Can I call you Billy? I feel a bit weird calling you Dr. Boyd after yesterday.”
“So you don’t normally push your physicians into the pool?” Billy asks mildly, giving Dom a questioning look.
“No.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Billy states before starting to make notations in Dom’s chart.
“But of course, they don’t usually ask for it, either.”
Billy’s pen stops in mid sentence as he glances up at Dom. While Dom’s expression is bland, his eyes are twinkling, so Billy allows himself a slight grin.
“You may have a point,” Billy concedes. “I was tired, sore, and rather pissed off at the world in general. And you didn’t exactly welcome me to the neighborhood.”
“Hey, whose piano crashed into whose brand-new car?” Dom retorts teasingly.
Billy stiffens visibly, holding his ground. “And whose dog attacked whose cat?”
Eyes locking and holding for a long moment, Dom finally breaks the standoff by shrugging. “This argument sounds vaguely familiar, Dr. Boyd.”
Billy wonders just what it is about Dominic Monaghan that has him veering from unwilling interest to irritation to body melting lust, all in a span of a few seconds. The one thing Dom has yet to do, is bore him.
“You’re right. Let’s drop it. Why don’t you spend a half hour in the whirlpool?” Billy nods in the direction of the therapy room. “I’d like to put you on the Cybex machine and measure the strength of that leg, but the line for it is a mile long today, so I suppose we can save it until next time.”
“I knew it. You men are all alike,” Dom says with a playful, exaggerated groan as he slides off the table and reaches for his jeans. “You’re just going to abuse my poor body for your own amusement.”
“If there’s any abusing of your body going on, Monaghan, it’s going to be in a strictly medical capacity.” Billy’s staunch words hold a definite warning.
Studying Billy for an entire minute, Dom rubs his jaw thoughtfully with his long, elegant fingers. The longer he’s around this fascinating paradox of a man-doctor, the more Billy intrigues him, and Dom finds himself wanting to know absolutely everything he can about Billy.
“Is that a fact?”
Nodding, Billy holds Dom’s appraising gaze with a level one of his own. Even as Billy allows himself a fleeting fantasy of how Dom’s hard, naked body would feel against his, beneath him, trembling and writhing with pleasure, Billy forces himself to remember their positions.
“Fact,” he confirms with a firm nod.
Dom’s eyes hold a faint light of amusement as they linger on Billy’s slightly flushed face. “Are you so sure about that, Billy?”
Attempting to appear disinterested, Billy turns away to remove the screen as Dom tugs his jeans up over his narrow hips. “Positive.”
Hating to lose the privacy the temporary wall provides, Dom resists the almost primitive urge to reach out and grab Billy’s arm. Withdrawing his hand, he forces a careless shrug.
“Hey, fine by me,” Dom says casually. “I just don’t want you kicking yourself in the arse later when you realize what a fantastic opportunity you turned down.”
Billy eyes Dom curiously over his shoulder, unnerved at how Dom’s gaze is once again oddly impersonal. It’s so strange how Dom can turn it on and off like a light switch, completely effortlessly, as far as Billy can tell.
“I’m sure I’ll survive, Monaghan,” Billy mutters. “You know where the therapy room is; I’ll catch up as soon as I call Cameron’s school.”
“What? Why? Is something wrong?” This time the interest in Dom’s eyes is genuine, Billy realizes, as well as his obvious concern.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I’m going to be late picking him up. It’s a private school and while it costs a bit more to have them keep him after class, it’s worth it for my peace of mind,” Billy explains. “He’s a good kid, but I can’t leave a boy Cameron’s age at home all alone for the afternoon. Even it wasn’t illegal, which it is, I think it would be very irresponsible. He needs supervision.”
“But he shouldn’t have to stay there all day, either,” Dom argues. “When I was Cam’s age, I couldn’t wait to get out of school.”
“I take it your mother didn’t work.”
“Sure, Mum worked,” Dom replies, smiling fondly at the happy memories. “She had a full-time job out of the house, but she also did the old-fashioned mum stuff, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids. She was everything I could’ve asked for and more.”
Billy is sure he detects a hint of sarcasm in Dom’s tone and he crosses his arms militantly across his crisp, white lab coat. What business does this bloody football player have criticizing his parenting? He’s been doing it on his own for a long time now and while Billy knows that there’s always room for improvement, he’s done his very best to be both father and mother to Cameron, as well as breadwinner for his family. Cameron has never gone without anything he needs, and Billy has worked hard to be supportive of any interests that Cameron wishes to pursue.
“Look, I’m not wild about the situation either, but right now, it’s the best I’ve found,” Billy replies tightly. “So why don’t you just mind your own damn business and spare me the assorted tales of ‘Mr. Football Star Knows Best’?”
Surprised at the sudden vulnerability in Billy’s eyes and body language, Dom realizes that Billy’s not as tough as he likes to pretend or as Dom had originally thought. With new understanding, Dom’s expression immediately softens.
“You’re absolutely right,” Dom agrees quietly. “It’s none of my business, but I’m willing to bet that this isn’t exactly an easy day for you, Billy. A new house, a new job, Cam in a new school. Even I can see that it’s a lot for one man to handle.”
Billy’s answering laugh is tinged with faint bitterness, revealing a hidden pain. “It’s a lot for one person, male or female, to handle on their own, but I haven’t had a lot of volunteers lately.” Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, Billy starts to fold away the screen, but this time Dom gives into instinct, reaching out to stall his progress.
“I’m volunteering, Billy,” he says simply, long fingers curling around Billy’s arm.
Stunned into silence, Billy can only stare at Dom blankly, searching his face for the punch line he’s sure is coming.
“Volunteering?” Billy repeats in confusion. “For what?”
As soon as the words leave Billy’s mouth, he cringes internally, knowing he’s just handed Dom a perfect opportunity to make yet another suggestive comment. To his utter amazement, Dom doesn’t pick up on it.
“I’ve got a practice this afternoon after I leave here,” Dom explains. “Why don’t I pick Cam up at school and take him out to Murraypark with me?”
Billy’s jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Not at all. Don’t you think he’d like it?” Dom asks, arching an eyebrow.
“He’d love it and you know it,” Billy fires back, rolling his eyes. “But I can’t impose like that.”
“Complications,” Dom murmurs, reminding Billy of their conversation by the pool. “You don’t get involved with your neighbors.”
Unwilling to trust his own voice, Billy simply nods. He can’t believe that Dom’s actually offering to help, apparently out of simple kindness. There has to be a catch, yet he certainly can’t find proof of it in Dom’s expression.
“Would you agree if I assured you that it would be a big help to me personally?” Dom inquires quietly.
“How?” Billy asks suspiciously.
“Honestly, I could use a little moral support out there,” Dom admits after shifting in place in an effort to hide the overwhelming urge to fidget. “I know Cam’s a Man U fan and all, but I’m betting he’d extend some loyalty to a neighbor.”
“Is it that rough?” Billy asks softly, honestly surprised that this strong, rawly masculine man would need moral support from anyone, let alone a child.
“I could ask you the same question,” Dom counters, his tone low enough to keep their conversation from being overheard by anyone else in the room. Finally, he expels a harsh sigh. “Look, Billy, this is a year of changes for both of us, so why don’t we see what happens if we just try being friends? I’d say you could probably use one right now, and I know I’d feel better knowing that someone is in my corner.”
Dom can tell that Billy is thrown by his suggestion, especially when he drags his eyes away from Dom’s, a muscle in his neck jumping.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Billy decides finally, a long quiet moment later.
“Afraid?” Dom asks lazily, deliberately baiting him.
The laughing tone in Dom’s voice only serves to irritate Billy. “Of course not.”
By the way Billy’s fingers tremble as he replaces the ball-point pen in the chest pocket of his starched, white lab coat, Dom knows Billy is growing annoyed at his persistence, but he’s also aware that Billy is far more affected than he cares to admit. Dom decides to press his advantage just a wee bit more.
“If you’re not afraid, then what else could you have against a simple, neighborly friendship?”
Feeling himself being maneuvered, even as he forces himself to study the situation, Billy tries to look at it through a detached eye. Every instinct Billy has is assuring him that there will be nothing simple about any relationship with Dominic Monaghan. An intimate relationship with the man is bound to be short-lived, intense, fiery, passionate and totally against Billy’s own best interests. However, there is an outside chance they can maintain some sort of casual friendship.
The father in Billy points out that Dom can certainly help Cameron overcome his resentment about leaving London. What little boy wouldn’t be in seventh heaven to spend time with a professional football player of Dom’s fame and status?
As Billy nods slowly, both men know that a silent understanding has been achieved. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” Billy agrees, holding out his small hand. “And a weary father’s heartfelt thanks.”
As Billy’s fingers disappear into Dom’s grip, Dom grants himself the pleasure of holding Billy’s small, warm hand longer than necessary for a casual handshake. Knowing it to be a risky gesture at this point, Dom pulls Billy a step closer and sniffs.
“That’s a very nice aftershave. What is it?”
Tugging his hand free and stepping back, Billy decides that this has to be the shortest truce in recorded history. “Antibacterial soap,” he retorts. “And we’re talking just friends here, Monaghan. So don’t forget.”
Dom merely grins cheekily, a devilishly attractive smile “Just friends,” he agrees cheerfully. Giving Billy a snappy salute, he turns in the direction of the therapy room, apparently oblivious to the fact that his denims are barely clinging to his hips. “Oh, and Billy?”
On his way to ring the school about the change in plans, Billy pauses in mid-stride, eyeing Dom over his shoulder. As Dom stands so unselfconsciously in the center of the room, Billy realizes that Dom is definitely not shy, and had only insisted on the screen to ensure a chance to speak with him privately. The man is most definitely an expert in manipulation. Billy will have to stay on his toes, that’s for sure.
“Yes?”
Dom waggles his eyebrows in an outrageously lustful manner in Billy’s direction. “I’ll pick something up for dinner and when you come home, you’re invited to be as friendly as you like.”
Giving Billy a saucy wink, Dom turns and is gone before Billy can destroy him with a few well chosen words. The resulting laughter from the examining room, chock full of spectators, demonstrates that everyone has enjoyed Dom’s performance immensely. Everyone, that is, except Dr. McKellan, who is eyeing Billy with overtly cold disapproval. It’s exactly what Billy doesn’t need today.
Forcing himself to ignore the lingering chuckles, Billy goes to dial the telephone number of the school, receiving a frustratingly busy signal his first two tries. It has already been an incredibly long day, and Billy has the uncomfortable feeling that with Dom determined to call the shots, the evening is bound to prove even more of a challenge.
* ^ * ^ * ^ * ^ *
Chapter 3