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Summary
Except Old Man McDentist didn't stand in the doorway when Ronan looked toward it. A very non-geriatric guy did. Youngish, but not young. Maybe early thirties—Ronan's age—or possibly a year older. Two at the most. How long was dental school? Four years? Eight? However long, the guy didn't look like a fresh graduate in his perfectly pressed chinos and light blue collared shirt, a gray quarter-zip fleece layered on top of it with his practice's name and logo embroidered on one side of his chest, his name embroidered on the other.
Adam Parrish, DMD.
It might have been the pain thinking, but Ronan prayed to God that cavities would start rapidly eating away at his teeth, if only so he had more reasons to visit this guy at his office. Gaunt cheeked. Dusty haired. Blue eyed—and shit, they were pretty blue eyes.
Goddamn, he was perfect.
Dr. Parrish.
Dr. Adam Parrish.
And, in a minute or two, Dr. Parrish's hands would be in Ronan's mouth.
It was definitely not the pain talking when Ronan said, "Fuck me."
When Ronan gets three teeth knocked out during a game, he meets the Capitals' new team dentist: Adam Parrish, DMD.