Chapter 2 #2
Without answering, she pivoted and fetched a cold gel pack she slipped inside a fabric sleeve and strapped to his ankle. “Comfy?”
“Don’t I get a pillow or something for my head?”
She snagged a pillow from a cabinet and gave herself a virtual pat on the back for handing it to him rather than giving in to the urge to hurl it at his face.
As he stuffed the pillow under his head, his bicep bunched like he was flexing it in that way men did when they were showing off.
Except he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Eyes trained upward, he lowered his other hand to his sculpted chest and tapped his long, tapered fingers.
Corded veins crisscrossed the smooth skin of his forearm.
He was quite a specimen, from his square shoulders to his flat stomach to the hockey-player quads that strained his sweats.
Ugh.
He muttered something under his breath, snapping her out of her inappropriate appraisal.
She cupped her ear. “What was that?”
His navy blues drilled into her, and he flashed her a syrupy smile. “I was just thanking you for taking my comfort into consideration.”
Why were the good-looking ones always assholes?
“Anytime,” she tossed back. Grabbing her tablet once more, she directed a barrage of questions at him. How did the injury happen? Had he felt a pop, a tear, a sharp pain, a dull ache? Numbness or tingling? How was the pain now that he was resting versus when he’d been upright moments ago?
He let out a humorless chuckle. “What is this, twenty questions?”
“No, twenty-three. Did you skate on it afterward, or were you helped off the ice?”
“I had help. How long has this ice pack been on?”
She tilted her wrist to check her watch. “Five minutes. Fifteen more to go. Let me ask you another question.”
A grunt.
“Are you always this whiny?” He turned his head, and his mouth parted in surprise.
She continued with a satisfied smirk. “I only ask because we’re stuck together for at least the next six weeks, and I’d like to set up my treatment plan accordingly.
Pro tip: The less pissy you are, the easier this will go for both of us. ”
His eyes went wide. “Six weeks? Playoffs will be over in six weeks!”
“Not if the team goes deep,” she pointed out logically.
“Yeah, and by then someone else will have solidly kicked me out of my spot, and I’ll be stuck in a monkey suit watching from a suite.”
She pushed down the twinge of sympathy trying to work its way into her heart—into that cold, dead corner. She crinkled her nose. “Kinda sucks for you, huh?”
He cocked his head to the side. “You know what? This whole situation sucks. And I’m pretty sure you suck too.” The double meaning seemed to smack him at the same instant it ping-ponged inside her. His entire demeanor softened into something more conciliatory. “What I meant was, uh …”
Crossing her arms, she pushed an exasperated breath through her nostrils. “Do you want to get back on the ice this season or not?”
He bobbed his head.
“Then be nice. I’m your only hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
His mouth curled slightly. “That’s not good news, and I’ll tell you why, Princess Leia. I’ve been warned about you. You have a reputation.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what might that be?”
“I’m told you’re merciless.”
Her first instinct was to find out who’d been talking smack about her.
She hadn’t been here that long, and besides, she prided herself on her skills as a physical therapist. Being labeled as “merciless” left a queasy feeling in her stomach, but she forced it down.
“Only to people I don’t like. But don’t worry.
I always give them a big stick to bite down on. ”
His head flopped back down, and he raised his forearm and draped it over his eyes.
His lips moved, and she was pretty sure he whispered, “Fuck!” Then he slid his arm off his face, rolled his head to the side, and looked up at her.
“I thought this morning was going to be a simple consultation. You know, you ask your million questions—”
“Twenty-three,” she couldn’t stop herself from interjecting.
“Most of which the trainer already asked me last night, by the way, before we set up a schedule. I certainly didn’t come in here expecting to be iced. That I can take care of myself.”
“And it appears you’ve been doing a bang-up job so far,” she deadpanned.
“As for the consultation, they should have told you to plan on sixty minutes. I’ll tell you what, though.
For efficiency’s sake, we’ll consult while you ice.
No point in wasting time. Better to get right to it.
That way you can be back on the game sooner. ”
His eyes brightened with hope, and that inconvenient twang plucked at her once again.
She ran through the rest of her questions and went over some preliminary plans with him for his ongoing treatment. He canned the attitude, and soon she was done with that part of the interview.
“I do have to write up my notes, so this would be a good time to pull out some earbuds and listen to that headbanging music you used to like.”
“Still like it.”
When he didn’t move, she added, “Unless you prefer listening to the whirs of the ice machines, the beeps of the equipment, and the cries of other patients currently being tormented.” She almost laughed out loud when his eyes widened once more.
“If you didn’t bring earbuds, we have some earphones you can use. ”
He slipped his hand into a pocket and produced a small earbud charging case, which he held up to her.
She gave him a head bob. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
The rest of the appointment ran smoothly—mostly because he lay on the table with his eyes closed, head rocking to whatever beat was playing between his ears.
Though she tried not to, she continually sneaked glances at him, partly because she still couldn’t believe he was real and partly because she was still assessing his musculature.
So she could best treat him, of course. This was about him, not about her general appreciation for the male form.
Nope, that would be grossly unprofessional.
She certainly didn’t do it with her other patients.
When she had gone over everything she needed to cover in this session, she removed the gel pack and rewrapped his ankle before preparing a goodie bag that included two more of the ice packs.
She held one up. “I want you to ice every two hours for the rest of today. Rotate these out so while you’re using one, the other one’s back in the freezer.
Now let’s talk pain control. Have the trainers or doc given you anything yet? ”
“They handed me some Tylenol last night.”
“That’ll help with pain, but it won’t touch the swelling. If your stomach tolerates it, ibuprofen’s usually better for the first day or two because it tackles the pain and inflammation. Discuss it with the team doc first, though, and stick to what he prescribes for you.”
He eyed the gel pack she still held in her hand. “So ice and ibuprofen, if the doc says it’s okay?”
“Exactly. RICE.”
A dark eyebrow quirked. “I’m eating rice too?”
“No. RICE stands for rest, ice, compression, and elevation. I want you to rest and keep your foot elevated. When you have to get up, I want you to use this. In fact, let’s put it on you now before you head out.”
He eyed the pneumatic boot warily, as if it might explode. “Why do I have to wear that thing?”
“It will help stabilize your ankle. Prop yourself up and watch while I put it on so you can see how to do it at home.” She leaned over and fit the boot.
“The more stable the ankle, the less inflammation and the quicker we can get to work. For now, you’re on the RICE regimen.
” When she looked up from her work, his eyes were riveted to her.
He seemed to remember himself. “And when am I supposed to come back?”
She dropped the gel pack she’d been holding into his bag and picked up a piece of paper. “It’s all right here. I’ll also send you an email invite, and once you accept it, it’ll drop the schedule into your calendar. Your next appointment is tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”
“Bat what?”
“Seriously?” she scoffed. “You’ve never heard … Never mind.” She flapped a hand at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Swing your legs over the edge and put your weight on your good leg. Let’s see how this feels.
” She handed him the crutches. He fit them under his armpits and reached one out but didn’t plant it well.
He wobbled, and she wrapped an arm around his trim waist, steadying him.
God, it was like bracing against a side of beef without any marbling to it.
He was all hard muscle. “Lean your weight on me.”
He lifted his arm and stared down at her with a snicker. “That’s rich. You’re going to be my human crutch?”
“Not a chance.”
“Good thing because you’re a little small for the job.”
She let that one roll off her back. “Look, if I let you face-plant, that’s more work for me and more repair work for you.
” She slid out from under him, ignoring the inconvenient quickening of her pulse and the pleasant citrus-and-cedar smell that drifted off him.
The scent tickled memories she wanted to keep buried.
Putting just enough distance between them that she could catch him if he toppled—but no closer—she folded her arms protectively over her chest. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours, now would we?
I’m sure the ladies prefer it the way it is. ”
Did I really just say that? Too late to reel it back in.
He looked at her as if he couldn’t decide how to respond or what to say. Sam Durbin tongue-tied in her presence? When had that ever happened? She’d always been an afterthought, except that one night when he’d been nothing but silver-tongued smoothness.
In the end, he adjusted his crutches and headed for the door. The best thing would have been to let him maneuver his way out so he could get used to the motion and dealing with obstacles like doors, but she couldn’t hold back. She walked beside him and held the door for him.
When he cleared the doorway, he turned partway. A ghost of a smile played over his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she watched his back retreat toward the elevators, she puffed out a breath that hit her hairline.