2. Alexei
Ihate wearing sunglasses inside. It makes me look like an asshole.
I can almost hear my father saying, “We must be respectful inside, mon petitchou.”
My little cabbage. I couldn’t stand being called that as a kid, but I’d give everything I had just to hear him say it one more time.
Under the cover of the mirrored shades, I scan the room and what little I can see of the outside corridor.
No reporters.
I haven’t been followed. The close call in the parking lot made me more paranoid than usual. I’d been so sure she was a reporter.
Well, I had been until she tore me a new one. It was kind of refreshing to be treated like a regular guy by a stranger. I should feel worse than I do for being such an ass, but I had thoroughly enjoyed my encounter with her. There was only one thing that bothered me about the whole thing. What the hell was an ilium?
Maybe I’ll ask the physical therapist.I’m sure they’ll know. I’d rather not take the risk of searching for a random body part on the internet.
I shudder internally at the thought.
A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. “Mr. Kozlov, I”m Emily and I”ll be your physical therapist to?—”
I use her stunned silence as an opportunity to get a look at her. The makeup splotched across every inch of her face makes it hard to get an accurate read on those features.
Maybe she moonlights as a party clown? Jenna did say I might have to wait a while when we talked on the phone. That might have been what she was doing before this.
The most garish makeup in the world couldn’t distract from her perfectly shaped mouth, graceful neck, or curves that put the Lely Venus to shame. I can say that with some authority, too. I saw it in person when I went to the British Museum.
Her scrubs hide a good portion of her figure, but it only makes me more interested in what’s underneath. Is she a lace-at-work type? Or maybe she’s all business beige here with a drawer full of dainty little nothings I can rip off her or shove to the side when I?—
The receptionist clears his throat, startling the both of us.
I recover first.
“It’s nice to meet you again, Emily,” I say coolly.
A flush creeps over her cheeks. Or at least I think it does. It’s hard to tell under the large splotches of neon-red blush on her cheeks. It doesn’t last long before she dives under a professional mask. Her cool self-control is a stark contrast to the feisty woman in the parking lot. I wonder what it will take for that self-control to break.
“If you follow me to my office, sir, we can discuss your treatment plan in detail,” she says politely and beckons me to follow her.
The sway of her hips is hypnotizing.
We settle in on opposite sides of her desk, and it’s only here behind the closed door of her office that I feel comfortable taking off my hood and sunglasses. Her brows knit together when she gets a full look at my face.
I tense, waiting for the inevitable kowtowing.
It never comes. She just tilts her head to the side like someone trying to understand abstract art and returns to my file.
Does she not know who I am or is her poker face that good?
Either way, I’m intrigued.
I study her face closely.
The canary yellow eye makeup dulls the glow of her amber eyes, but no amount of electric blue mascara can hide those beautiful long eyelashes.
Since when have I ever cared about eyelashes?
I think there is a smattering of tiny freckles across her upturned nose and high cheekbones, but it’s hard to tell under all the rainbow glitter.
All this confirms my suspicions. Under all of that is an exceptionally beautiful woman, and the longer I spend with her, the more danger I’m in.
“Alexei LaRue?” she asks.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“And you’re here for some lower back concerns?” Emily raises her eyebrows.
I shrug. “Ian pushed me into coming. Ever since his shoulder injury, he’s been militant about treating any injuries, however minor, professionally.”
“Ian is your coworker? Friend? Boyfriend?”
Depends on which tabloid is running the story.
I wonder if her question is personal or professional.
“Teammate, friend, roommate,” I answer.
Was that a smile that stole across her face just now?
Knock it off. She’s your doctor, not some empty-headed socialite looking for a good time,I scold myself.
“That reminds me,” Emily says. “Jenna’s notes about the phone consult were fairly sparse. She told me you were a high-profile client, and based on ‘teammate’, I’m assuming athlete. I don’t need to put anything more specific than that in your file, but I would like to know for myself so I can get a more holistic picture for your treatment plan.”
I can’t keep the surprise out of my tone. “Pro Hockey for The Cold Hearts. Team captain, in fact.”
Recognition floods her face, “Oh, that’s why you’re familiar. My parents are massive hockey fans.” She laughs. “If I had a dollar for every game they dragged me to as a child, I wouldn’t have had to take a loan out for my degrees.”
“I take it you’re not a fan?” I ask.
Her smile fades.
“I used to be,” she says guardedly. “I haven’t kept up with it for the last five years or so. Life got in the way, you know?”
Her answer shouldn’t bother me, but it does. That’s my problem, not hers, though, so I just nod politely.
“Anyway,” she continues, “we’re here for you today. Take me through what happened and we can go from there.”
I walk her through the past week and a half and the minor issues I’ve been having. She stops me a few times to ask specific questions about the frequency and intensity levels of some of the symptoms.
“I know exactly what to do with you.” She gives me a satisfied smile.
I clench my fists in a vain attempt to keep all the blood from rushing to my dick.
This is going to be more difficult than I thought.
By the time she finishes explaining the plan for today, I’m in control of myself again.
The open-space treatment room is a jungle of familiar and unfamiliar machines. Most importantly, it’s empty so I don’t have to obscure my view of Emily.
After a quick warmup on the bike, it’s time for lunges.
“Sit there so I can hook you up to a resistance band,” she commands.
I fight the urge to bury my hands in her thick hair as she kneels in front of me to Velcro the resistance bands to my ankles.
Emily bullies me through a few sets of those, and after a blood pressure check it’s on to squats. These types of exercises don’t usually faze me, but after a team workout session and the ache in my back, I’m ready to tap out.
“One more set of these, then we’ll stretch.”
I groan.
“Don’t they teach you about stamina on that hockey team of yours, Mr. Pro Athlete?” Emily teases.
“Come back to my house after this and I’ll show you stamina,” I grumble.
She chuckles. “I’m not that cheap of a date, Alexei. I think I’m at least worth a nice dinner or two.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, enjoying the way she blushes.
She checks my blood pressure, oxygen levels, and pain levels before guiding me over to the far corner of the room.
“Are these yoga mats or feather beds?” I ask, poking at the squishy mat.
“Would you rather do it on the floor?” Emily asks.
I quirk an eyebrow at her.
“I meant the stretches,” she sputters. “What on earth am I going to do with you?”
“I can think of a few things.” I smirk at her.
Emily rolls her eyes and gestures firmly at the mat.
Normally, I do the bare minimum as far as stretching goes, but the ones she guides me through feel so nice I’m thinking about adding them to my post-workout routine. I tell her as much.
“You should.” She grins. “Actually, that’s your homework for between sessions. I want you to do these stretches at least once a day.”
“Homework?” I groan. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” She nods then shifts to a tone more fit for a kindergarten teacher. “If you’re good and do your stretches, I’ll have a sticker for you next time.”
I laugh in spite of myself.
“What if I want more than a sticker?” I ask.
Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment I worry that I made her uncomfortable.
“I already told you, you need to take me to dinner first,” she teases.
“I bet you say that to all the patients who flirt with you,” I accuse.
“Whatever it takes to get them to work harder.” Emily shrugs then says, “Last stretch before we move on to the ice and hands-on work. It’s called the cat-cow stretch, and it will do wonders for your lower back.”
I can’t take my eyes off her as she demonstrates the stretch. Fantasies of that position in an entirely different context fill my mind. My hands twitch as I imagine gripping those hips and yanking her against me. Based on the way she’s been flirting with me, I don’t think she’d mind very much if I did.
“Alexei.” Her tone makes it clear this isn’t the first time she’s said my name. “Do you have any questions about the stretch or are you in too much discomfort to attempt this one today?”
“I’m not too sure about that one. Do you think you could show me one more time?” I ask, tracing my eyes down the length of her figure.
“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head. “But maybe some other time if you play your cards right.”
I won’t admit it to her face, but that stretch released a good bit of tension from my lower back.
When I’m finished with the stretch, Emily wipes off the mat and then guides me into one of the private treatment rooms that border the main treatment area.
“Do you have any questions or areas of concern you want to address about your treatment today before I go hands-on with your lower back and end your appointment?” she asks once I’m settled on the table.
“I have to ask, is this a purposeful choice so men don’t hit on you?” I ask, gesturing to her face, “or is this your preferred look? If it’s the latter, please lie to me. If it’s the first one, you’re going to have to try harder because it clearly didn’t discourage me.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice is sharp.
I sit back up on the table. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Emily demands.
I dig in my pocket and pull out my phone. I set up the camera for a selfie and pass it over to her.
Every drop of color drains from her face when she sees herself.
She hands my phone back robotically and buries her head in her hands.
“Audrey,” she groans weakly.