Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
XANDER
The therapist will be here in twenty minutes to get started on my PT. I don’t have any idea who it is because, as predicted, the team took care of it. As long as we can get along and I can trust them in my house, I don’t really care who it is.
I’ve just finished eating and put the dishes in the dishwasher when I pull my phone out and call Cassie, a personal chef based out of Silver Springs that I’ve known for a while.
She usually cooks for me when I’m home in the summers because I have to eat extremely high protein, and I don’t want to choke down forty chicken breasts a day.
“Hey, Xander,” she says in greeting. “How’s it going?”
“Better now that I’m home for a while. I hope you have time in your schedule to bring me on as a full-time client for the next, oh, year or so.”
I can hear the stunned silence on the other end of the line.
“For the next year?”
“Okay, probably closer to nine months. I’m home with an injury. No playing for me until I’m healed up.”
“Well, that sucks. Do you want the usual? Mostly dinners and snacks, high protein, low carb, no sugar?”
“Yep, that’s awesome.” And by awesome, I mean boring. But it fucking works like a charm.
“I can do that. I’ll do some shopping today and have some meals in your fridge by tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’re a fucking goddess, Cass.”
“Oh, trust me. I know. See you later.”
I can hear her laughing as she hangs up, and it makes me grin.
The doorbell rings and I check the time. They’re five minutes early, which I appreciate, and I walk easily to the door.
Today’s a good day on the knee. There’s no pain and I’m walking normally.
I open the door and feel surprise move through me and then awareness.
“Ivy.”
The petite woman with the curves for days, long red hair, and freckles that just beg for my thumb to brush over them smiles up at me.
“Hey, Xander,” she says.
I’ve felt like an asshole for the past several months. I was home between games and out with my family, playing pool at Lucky’s, and I didn’t recognize Ivy, even though everyone told me that I went to school with her.
I still don’t remember that. Apparently, I’ve known this gorgeous creature my entire life, but I have no recollection at all.
And it fucking pisses me off.
But I could see the hurt in her pretty eyes when I addressed her by the wrong name, and I felt like a complete douchebag. She accepted my apology, but I still feel like shit.
Goddamn memory.
“Come on in,” I tell her, moving back so she can step inside. “Please tell me you’re my physical therapist.”
“I’m your physical therapist,” she confirms and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes are on me as I walk across the room, but not in a flirty way. No, this woman is analyzing me. “No limp that I can see.”
“Not today,” I confirm. “But when I’m tired, there’s a small one.”
“Hmm.” She nods thoughtfully and bites her lower lip.
I admit, I was attracted to her at the bar. Here in my living room with her green scrubs? She’s hot.
She’s also off limits because I can’t fuck her and then go on with my life, and I don’t do anything permanent.
Too bad.
“Can we sit somewhere and chat before we start the workout?” she asks, pulling me out of my inappropriate thoughts, and I gesture toward the kitchen.
“Come this way. Do you want something to drink?”
“I have water.” She holds up her refillable water bottle. “But thanks. Are you getting enough water?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Is my water intake part of physical therapy?”
“Hell yeah, it is. I need you hydrated, Xander. I need you well fed and healthy because I’m going to be putting you through your paces.”
“You look smug about that.”
Ivy grins and my heart rolls over.
What the fuck, heart?
“Oh, I’m smug. I’m excited for this job. I want to help you.”
“Why?”
She blinks at that and boosts herself up into the stool. She’s short, but she’s strong. I can see biceps flex as she shifts on the seat. She’d have to be strong to move people around the way she does.
“Why do I want to help you?”
“Yeah.”
I lean back against the countertop and cross my arms over my chest, and her eyes immediately drift to my shoulders.
“Because working with elite athletes is exactly what I went to school for. This part of PT is what gets me excited. At one time, I thought I’d work with a professional team.”
She frowns and clears her throat, as if she didn’t mean to tell me that much.
“Why aren’t you, then?”
She shakes her head, schools her face, and ignores the question.
“I’m excited to work with you because this is what I’m trained to do. I’ve looked over your medical records from the incident, but I want to hear from your own mouth how you’re feeling. Does the knee feel unstable?”
“Not as much as it did,” I admit. “I don’t wear the brace when I sleep anymore. Range of motion is coming along.”
“We’ll test that today,” she says, nodding.
This professional side of Ivy is . . . sexy.
If she pulls out glasses to read something later, I’ll be a goner.
“I’ll evaluate you and decide what exercises are best for you at this stage of healing.
The fact that you are an elite athlete is on your side.
You tend to recover more quickly from these things, but it’s still a lengthy process. ”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
She offers me a small smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I watched that game. Well, I watch every game. My stomach sank when I watched it happen.”
“Wait. You watch every game?”
For some reason, that fills me with satisfaction.
“Yeah, I’m a hockey fan.”
She blinks and looks down at her phone.
“Now, let’s—”
“No, back it up. You’re a hockey fan. Who’s your team?”
Ivy stares at me like Really? “I’m not here to discuss hockey with you.”
“You’re in my house, and I was told that I’m your only patient, so we have time. Who’s your favorite team, Ivy?”
“I follow Denver, okay?”
A smile slowly spreads over my lips. Yeah, I like that.
“Do you have a favorite player?”
“Now you just want me to feed your ego, Xander Hendrix.”
“Guilty. Who is it?”
“Maybe it’s Cooper.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Or?”
“I’m not participating in this conversation. Now, where’s your gym?”
I want to push her. I want to hear her say that I’m her favorite player. Why? I have no fucking idea because most of the time I don’t care.
But rather than threaten to submit her to torture to get the answers out of her, I gesture for her to follow me to the other side of the house.
“Your home is beautiful,” she says.
“Thanks. I had it built about five years ago, and my sister Ava decorated it. It’s way too big for one person, and I’m only here a couple months out of the year, but it’s my favorite place. And this gym is about to blow your mind.”
I open the door, and she walks in ahead of me, and I grin when she gasps.
“Told you.”
“Holy shit. You could charge a lot of money for memberships to this place.”
I laugh and look around at all the free weights, the cardio equipment, the mats and medicine balls. I have kettlebells, boxes for standing jumps and step-ups, ropes.
You name it, it’s in here.
“This will be perfect,” she assures me and then turns to the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out to the mountains and the pond behind my house.
Fall is starting to settle into Montana, but it’s still warm and sunny out there, and when she sighs and bites her lip, I can’t help but nod in agreement.
“It’s a hell of a view.”
“It’s insane,” she agrees. “At least you’ll have something pretty to look at while I whip you into shape.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She glances at me and finds me looking at her, and she laughs.
“Right. Okay, then. I want you to walk to the other side of the room and back.”
“That’s it?”
“To start.”
I’m fucking impressed.
Two hours later, I’ve been stretched, tested, and trained until I’m sweating and practically ready to beg for mercy. Ivy knows what the fuck she’s doing.
She’s damn good.
She absolutely should be working full time with a pro team. Her talent is wasted here in this tiny town. I’m sure she’s appreciated in her current position, but if this is what she wants, she absolutely has the chops for it.
“You did well today,” she says calmly as she types into her computer.
She’s sitting on the floor, crisscross with her laptop on her legs.
I don’t like her sitting on the floor. “Your range of motion is almost back, which means you’re just about ready to start running again and we can work on your strength and endurance. ”
“When can we start that?”
She glances my way and keeps typing.
“Next week at the latest, I think. I want you to ice several times today. You might be a little sore this evening.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Hmm.” She continues to type, her fingers flying over the keyboard, and I find it fascinating.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I’m going to leave you my number,” she continues. “You’re welcome to text or call with any concerns. I may be slow to respond in the evenings, but I’ll get back to you.”
Who are you with in the evenings, Ivy?
I want to ask. It’s absolutely none of my business and out of line because she’s my therapist, not my friend, but I still want to know.
“Did you end up adopting that cat?”
Her gaze whips up to mine in surprise.
“I remember that night at the bar,” I continue, “when Darby talked you into one of the barn kittens. Did you take it?”
“Yeah, I did.” She looks flustered for a heartbeat and then closes her computer. I can see that she’s going to gather her things and go, and I’m not ready for her to leave yet.
Which is stupid. I have shit to do. I’m going out to the ranch to help out for a while. I’m sure she has a life too.
But I like hearing her voice.
“What did you name it?” I ask, wanting to keep her talking.
“Cally,” she says. “Her name is Cally the Calico. She’s pretty cute and gives me company. Okay, I think I’m all done here for today.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
I see that she drives an older model truck, which is not what I would have expected, but I’m learning that seems to be the case with this woman.
She intrigues me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Does this timing work for you?” she asks.
“Yeah, it works for me.”
She sets her bag in her truck and nods. “Good. Have a good day, Xander.”
“You too, Ivy.”