5. Laramie
CHAPTER FIVE
laramie
I not-so-subtly crane my head, once again searching over the empty machines and unfamiliar faces around me. It’s ten minutes into the time slot War and I share, but he’s a no-show. As more time passes, the sour feeling in my stomach intensifies. Where is he?
Something light and fluffy sets loose in my chest when I spy broad shoulders, ending in a tapered waist. That same something instantly flitters away when I realize the hair is too dark, the arms not quite as toned.
Ugh. What the hell am I doing? I should not be scanning the room for a glint of red in a head of light brown hair. Wondering why he’s late. If he’s going to show. No, I should concentrate on my exercises. Not remembering War’s parting words about him being a problem solver, and how they stuck with me for way longer than they should have. As in over multiple self-induced orgasms and fantasies.
Scolding myself, I go back to my shoulder lifts. Get it together, Laramie. Physical therapy is not the place for some meet-cute with my other half.
I’m here for one reason: to regain my strength so I can compete again. To salvage what I lost. The last thing I need is a delicious distraction, like War Phillips, keeping me from being one hundred percent focused on my goals.
“So, Laramie, how are you today?”
My heart skips a beat. I swear, Dr. Panter needs a bell.
“Um, not too bad, but I haven’t plunged into the wonderful world of scapular retractions yet.”
She gives me an indulgent smile. “Yes. I‘m quite the taskmaster, aren’t I? But you’re here for a reason.”
“Because you’re the best.”
“Because I’m the best. All the soreness and seeming setbacks will be worth it in the end. I promise, if you keep putting in the work, you will be back to where you were in time for your March competition.” She pauses, serious black eyes narrowing. “Though I wish I could talk you into a less dangerous goal. I don’t want you back here a year from now. Which is also why it’s important to pace yourself and put all your attention into getting better.”
It’s like she senses how split my concentration is. Pieces of it siphoned away by a chiseled jaw and wide shoulders.
As if thinking of him summons him from the ether, War is there, his warm honey-brown eyes locking on mine as a slight grin plays on his full lips. It’s unfair how pretty he is. A bubbling, buoyant sensation and a sudden rush of heat spread through me. Did someone turn the temperature up in here?
“Ah, Mr. Phillips, how nice of you to join us. You’re late.” Dr. Panter scolds him like he’s a wayward child.
War runs a hand through his hair, mussing the neat strands. “Please, Dr. Panter, I’m begging you, call me War. And I’m sorry; I had a personal matter to attend to.” A flash of something, hurt maybe, flickers across his face before disappearing. “It won’t happen again.”
Dr. Panter nods. “Alright, let’s get you started then. Laramie, you know what to do. I’ll check your progress in a bit.”
I watch War move to one of the cardio stations, appreciating how his tapered joggers and tight-fitting t-shirt cling to his toned body. Damn this handsome man. He wields entirely too much power over my brain.
It’s been over a year since I’ve dated anyone, and for good reason. Men are turds. Of course, there are good ones out there—my dad and Ted Lasso, for example—but as a majority? Turds.
Is War Phillips a good one? I tilt my head, trying to study him without getting caught. Physically? He’s very, very good. Broad and trim. Tall with big hands. But emotionally? Who knows?
My instincts, my twin devils, shout at me to take him for a ride. However, those little bastards are also the ones who led me to this point. I wouldn’t be rehabbing a busted shoulder if I hadn’t listened to them.
But I also wouldn’t have half the fun I’ve had without those instincts, and I really love fun.
One night. One night of kissing and tasting and entwining my body with his. One night to work him out of my system. People do that, right? Granted, in every romance book I’ve ever read, once is never enough, but that’s fiction. This is real life.
Plus, I’m not built for more. My last relationship—if one date at the local Dairy Queen and a night making out in a pickup qualify as a relationship—ended when I beat his younger sister’s qualifying time. The one before that was two dates with a Done in 60 Seconds fella, and I prefer more staying power. Or at least a reciprocal offering… And before that was the cheater. My track record speaks for itself.
No, relationships and Laramie Larson do not mix, and despite not even knowing the guy, I get the feeling my Pretty Boy is looking for more than a quick lay.
Blowing an errant hair out of my eye, I give myself a mental slap.
Laramie, get your shit together.
I refocus on my weights. Well, I mostly refocus on my weights. Okay, fifty-one percent of me totally focuses on the weights. The traitorous other forty-nine percent is busy drooling over the sweat dripping down the column of War’s throat.
Guess it’s a good thing I can multitask?—
I'm busted as soon as the dumbbell slips from my grip and hits the ground. Dr. Panter and War’s heads snap in my direction, one tight with concern, the other with a shake of her head. War takes a step forward; this man is always half-rushing to my aid. It’s like he’s part white knight but only just got his horse and has no clue what to do with his shield.
Dr. Panter points to a massage table. “Go to the massage table, Laramie.”
Sufficiently embarrassed, I skulk behind Dr. Panter to the furthest corner of the PT room and haul myself up on the padded table.
“There are,” she pauses and waves, “distractions everywhere. My job is to give you the tools to rebuild your body. Your job is to let me, and that means giving it your all when you’re here.” She lowers her voice. “He is handsome, but I can’t have you injuring yourself. It’s not safe if you aren’t paying attention to yourself, your muscles, your motions.”
Dr. Panter works the stiff tissue in my shoulder as she delivers her motherly lecture. Not that I don’t deserve or need it.
“Laramie, are you hearing me?” I nod at the doctor without seeing her. Her snort proves she isn’t buying my bullshit. “You aren’t, but I need you to.” She pauses in her massage and settles her hands on my shoulders.
Not meeting her eyes, I pick at the sheet draped over the table. A hundred excuses rise and die on my tongue. I want to shrug off her gentle reprimand. Defend. Deny.
“It might be best if you switch to a different time. You’re an adult, so I can’t force you to do anything, but in my professional opinion, you’ll make a faster recovery with better results if you fully focus. And right now…”
She doesn’t have to say anything else. I slump forward, huff out a breath, then meet her gaze with mine. “Right now, there are other things diverting my attention.”
Her voice is soft and sympathetic. “I’m not suggesting you don’t explore your options, but those pursuits are better left outside my office.”
“I hear you, Doc. No more eye-banging the other patients.” I hope the bravado and humor I inject into my words can conceal the disappointment curling through me. Disappointment with myself, and even sharper, disappointment at the idea of not seeing War again.
Dr. Panter studies me. “You’re a smart woman. Sharp. Driven. You’ll figure out what you want. If you decide a different time might fit better, stop by the desk before you leave. I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Thank you.” I mean it as I say it. She’s right, after all. I need to re-prioritize. I can’t let a pretty face derail my dreams.
Five minutes into my soak in the hot tub, the door opens. Lifting my head from the ledge, I see the person I most and least want to. My conversation with Dr. Panter rings in my ears, warning me why I have to get this man out of my head. And along with it, my friendly devils pointing out that now I can move ahead with a roll in the hay. Release my desire and distraction by getting under—or on top of—him. After, I can start fresh in a new time slot and pour my energy into meeting and surpassing my goals.
War cuts an impressive figure, his bright blue swim trunks setting off his golden skin. The water rises as he sinks into the hot tub, his arm casually settling behind me. Like a magpie, my eyes are drawn to the expensive watch still on his wrist. Must be water resistant. I wonder if he ever takes it off… The image of War’s fingers inside me, the glint of the rose gold cage of his watch glittering between my legs, sends a charge straight to my pussy.
“We have to stop meeting like this. At least you weren’t underwater this time.”
Shifting and covering my brain-haze with a scoff, I say, “I find it interesting how it’s always you who follows me in here. A lady might think you have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh, no, I’m here for the soothing water, not at all for the beautiful woman.” The fine wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles.
“Do you flirt with all the PT patients?” I keep my tone even, but internally I resemble teen me at my first One Direction concert.
“Nope, just you.” Everything about him softens as he speaks. “I have a confession.” His sexy voice curls around my ears and drips down my spine like honey. I hide a shiver and raise my eyebrows, a silent invitation for him to go on. “I wasn’t just flirting when I told you I wanted to learn more about you. You’re a puzzle I’m desperate to piece together.”
Warmth floods my cheeks and down my neck and chest. Why is that so hot? My tongue tangles, and no words come out.
“I-uh-what?” I finally manage. Smooth, Laramie.
War skims a long finger down the exposed portion of my shoulder. “There’s something about you, Trouble.” My skin tingles where he touches me, and I ache to sink my fingers into his hair.
Swallowing, I lick my lips. “Why were you late today?”
As soon as I ask the question, the spell between us breaks. War straightens, and his hand falls away. Clearing his throat, he says, “I had some family business to take care of. My father and I… we’re currently at odds, and since we work together—or did work together…” He trails off before sighing. “It’s complicated.”
Holy shit. I’m a dumbass. “You’re War Phillips, as in Phillips Construction.” The wince he makes has me wishing I could suck those words out of existence. He tenses but doesn’t say anything else. “Your family bought a horse from my dad. Prairie Sky Equine?”
A flicker of recognition sparks in his eyes. “Crown Dominion.”
I nudge him gently, remembering—this time—we both have shoulder injuries. “We just called him Biscuit, but Crown Dominion fits. He’s a gorgeous horse.”
Some of the tension bleeds from his body, and he shifts enough for our knees to touch. I take the initiative and close the small gap between us, twisting so our bodies press together. Without worrying about the consequences or what may happen, I lean forward and brush my lips against his. “Who knew we had a past?”
Warm air spills from his lips, ghosting over mine. “Another layer of the mystery that is Laramie Larson. ”
“Not that mysterious. In fact, I’d argue I’m being pretty clear.”
War tangles his fingers in my hair, tilting my head where he wants it. The gap between our mouths shrinks. One more millimeter and I’ll be able to taste him. We move in slow motion; my stomach clenches and quivers, and my heart pounds like a drum. Can he hear it? Our lips meet, a mere buss. I part my lips, ready for more, as the door to the aquatic therapy room swings open, and we both jerk back, putting a berth of space between us.
The clueless PT patient stares at us for an awkward beat before diving into the hydrotherapy pool on the far side of the room. Our eyes meet, and we break into loud laughter.
Once we gather our wits, silence falls over us. I sink into the water, letting my legs drift toward the surface. Nibbling my lips, I say, “Do you—” as War says, “How did?—”
Smiling at him, I wave him on.
“Are you sure?” At my earnest nod, he says, “You grew up around horses; how did you end up riding broncos? Are you an adrenaline junkie?”
“Barrel racing.” At the confusion on his face, I shrug. “The bronco was a one-time thing. I’m a barrel racer. And to your other question, that’s a piece of it, probably. But I’m not a pain slut, and I don’t have a death wish?—”
“Hold on. A pain slut?”
This time, my cheeks burn from embarrassment, and I crane my head, thankful when the other patient continues swimming laps, paying us no attention. I can’t believe I blurted out pain slut . Ducking my head and wiggling my arms in the warm water, I say, “Yeah, you know, the ones who get off on getting hurt. It fills something in them. Let’s them feel something. I’ve seen cowboys cream their jeans when they land face-first in the dirt or take a hoof to the back. ”
War’s eyebrows rise, and his jaw drops. “Cream their jeans?”
The giggle slips from me unbidden. I don’t giggle. Laugh, chortle, obnoxiously snort? Sure. But giggle? What is this man doing to me?
Grinning at him, I say, “It’s interesting that cream their jeans is all you took from what I said. But what can I say? Rodeo is a harsh mistress.”
“Apparently.” He appraises me, and I can’t tell if I made the puzzle picture clearer or muddied the waters.
“What about you? No offense, but you don’t strike me as the thrill-chasing type.”
“No, usually I’m not, but recently…” When he pauses, I can’t stop myself from soothing the crinkles in his brow away.
“You can’t leave me hanging like that.”
He flashes a charming grin, but it dims before taking hold. “Maybe another time.”
Once again, the momentum between us comes to a screeching halt. I have to fix it, to get my fix of him. Before I know what I’m doing, words tumble from my mouth. “Have dinner with me.”
War cocks his head, his brown eyes appraising and curious. “Are you asking me out, Laramie?”
May as well go whole hog. “Yep.”
His toothy smile is worthy of a dental billboard. “I’d love to. Can I get your number? Does Friday night work for you?”
I clear my throat. “Tonight. Now.”
“Now?” If his eyebrows rise any higher, they’ll disappear into his hairline.
My stomach flutters. He probably thinks I’m desperate, and he’s not wrong. If I don’t do this now, I won’t see him again to make it happen. And while I would regret not giving PT my all, I also know I’ll forever regret not properly kissing this man .
“Yep. Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He rubs his jaw. “It’ll be hard to get a decent reservation this late.”
“ Pfft ,” I make a sound akin to a deflating balloon. “I have the perfect place in mind; no reservation needed.”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
War gets out of the hot tub and helps me out. He wraps a towel around me, his large hands rubbing up and down my arms. Even through the thick material, his touch is a brand searing my skin.
Yes, this is what I need. One night with this intriguing man. One night to burn off this attraction. Then I can focus. Then I can heal.