CHAPTER FIFTEEN DIEGO
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DIEGO
“Three more.”
I keep my focus on a blank space on the wall across from me and listen to Dr Ellis as I jump off the box, land into a squat, rise, and push on my legs to mount the box again.
These kinds of sessions are my favorite, because he keeps me moving. The slower ones, where we stretch and massage my muscles, are equally beneficial for me, though.
“Alright. That was great,” he says, once I’m done. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good,” I answer honestly, turning to him.
With his t-shirt pulled against his muscular physique, his salt-and-pepper hair, and his dark-framed glasses, he appears a bit older than he is, but, based on our casual interactions, I know he’s barely thirty-five, with a kid on the way.
Truthfully, I kind of have a man-crush on him.
He nods. “Your knee? Not feeling any discomfort?”
“Nope.”
A grin spreads slowly across his face. “Looks like you keep progressing well. A few more sessions and you might be able to go back to training by the end of the month.”
?A poco!
Motherfucker.
I’ve been feeling pretty self-assured about my recovery, but hearing it directly from Dr Ellis only emboldens my confidence.
Despite wanting to jump and scream, I stay composed and smile widely.
“Cool. Any chance I could start riding again? Not at the snow park, I mean,” I quickly recover, when I notice the way his brows soar.
“Just a quick, easy run at the resort. With an instructor to keep an eye on me, if that would make you and Coach feel better about it.”
He looks down at his iPad, on which he has been scribbling notes ever since we started working together. “Don’t get too excited. We’ll see about that next week.”
That’s not a no.
But maybe he knows that I’m lying about not feeling any discomfort. A light, barely-there pain shoots through my leg as I stand there, catching my breath, but I refuse to let him know. He needs to give me the green light.
The thing is that, as much as I am thankful for the Bradfords for helping me through these tough times, I’m still frustrated that things aren’t moving the way I’d expected.
I’m insanely desperate to leave this town and find my snowboard again.
The only way I can do that is by being dishonest. I don’t like lying by omission, but I don’t see another choice.
Dr Ellis walks past me and claps me on the shoulder.
“Good job, though. Your movements are definitely more fluid. Take your time to stretch and then you’re good to go.
Our next session will be more focused on relaxing your muscles, but I highly encourage you to continue working out on the side and doing all the exercises we’ve been working on. ”
“Will do. Thanks, Doc.”
He gives me one more encouraging squeeze to the arm, then saunters off to his next patient, who’s just buzzed for access to the waiting room.
He always leaves me to stretch and change out of my workout gear, so, when I’m done half an hour later, I walk out into Main Street.
When Alara dropped me off after our skiing lesson, it was mid-afternoon.
Now, as I weave through people lingering along the sidewalk and window shopping, I look at the way the golden hour illuminates the street and catches the icicle lights hanging overhead, creating reflections that shine like a mirror ball.
Without thinking, I fish my phone out of my pocket, snap a picture of that kaleidoscope of vibrant colors, and send it to Alara.
Ever since our heated moment in the storage room on Monday night, we haven’t been able to catch a moment alone.
That time I had her pressed against my bedroom wall?
It was quickly interrupted by my phone ringing.
It was Coach – a call I declined as Alara watched me, confused.
Then, Gaby finished showering, and Alara and I agreed not to being reckless under my mother’s roof.
I’ve spent the last two evenings with my sisters because I’ve been missing them.
I was forced to watch One Tree Hill with them, however, and when I had the audacity to ask why they were watching the show for the millionth time, I had the reward of hearing all the reasons why it’s their favorite TV series.
Never again will I question my sisters about such things.
Anyway. I like teasing Alara with light touches when no one’s around.
I like pulling her into the storage room when I’m supposed to be doing the inventory, even if our moments get cut short because Alara needs to help out front.
During those fleeting seconds, I’m able to steal a kiss or two, slip my hand under her sweater to feel her skin, and slap her ass because she looks too damn good, but I want more.
We text – a lot. Nothing in our friendship has changed, though, and I have to be thankful for that.
She still loves to give me shit, and I still love being a grumpy asshole when I’m not in the mood to socialize.
It’s been three days, and my body is craving her.
I can’t stop thinking about her – the sounds she made, the way she looked, the way she kissed me.
I promised we’d see each other every day, but I realize sneaking around demands a lot of effort in order to find the appropriate moment and place not to get caught.
It’s thrilling.
As I start making my way toward my house, my gym bag hanging from my shoulder, I check the time and convince myself to make a few pit stops to buy my mom and sisters their presents.
I cross the road nonchalantly, and, like a moth to a flame, I’m pulled toward Alara as she comes out of the nail salon.
She doesn’t see me yet, and I don’t even know how I noticed her so quickly in such a crowded place, but a smile pulls at my mouth at the sight of her.
She has three shopping bags in each hand. When I jog to fall into step beside her, she doesn’t seem surprised to see me.
“How did it go?” she asks.
I reach down to her left hand to take the bags from her. At the same time, I glimpse her cherry-colored nail polish. “I love your nails. And it went well. Dr Ellis confirms that I can be out of here by the end of the month.”
She quickly averts her gaze away. “That’s great! That’s exactly what you wanted.”
My brows tug together at her dramatized, forced joy.
At first, I think I might have imagined it, but I know that cheeriness was fake.
Any time I mention leaving, she seems to smile a bit too widely to conceal how upset she truly is.
Maybe I’m overthinking it, though, so I won’t bring up her reaction. This isn’t the place nor the time.
Still, I’m hugely relieved that everything is finally working in my favor. “Yeah.” I peek inside one of the bags, grinning. “Did you treat yourself to some new lingerie?”
Her face flushes as I fish out a pair of sheer panties with pastel flowers dotted on them. Cute. Sexy as hell. “Diego,” she hisses.
“Will you, pretty please, wear this for me?”
She bats my hand. “Get fucked.”
“By you is the only way I want it.”
As we stop in front of the bookstore, she moves to stand in front of me. I’m hypnotized by the gold and green dancing in her irises, by the way the golden light falls upon her face like a gentle caress from the sky.
So pretty.
Unreal.
Getting involved with someone was the last thing on my list when Coach sent me here, but how could I ever refuse this woman’s attention? She basically had me on my knees that first day, when I bent down to grab the pair of gloves she’d dropped.
“Well, when are you free?” she inquires seductively, and, fuck, if that doesn’t send a rush of heat to my groin.
“Tomorrow? I promised Mom I’d cook with her tonight.”
“Good luck to her. There’s a high probability you’ll set the kitchen on fire.”
I bark out a laugh. “Brat.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I nudge her toward the bookstore’s entrance. “You’re so not ready for me to sweep you off your feet when I come over and cook you a dish worthy of a Michelin star.”
“Can’t wait,” she muses. “What is it going to be? Instant ramen?”
Is it weird that I find it annoyingly hot when she’s rude to me? I must have some issues.
I lean in to whisper in her ear, looking around to make sure no one’s looking at us. “It’s a date. Then, after that, I’ll fuck you nice and slow on the kitchen counter. Harder in the shower. Faster in your bed. I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Her breath hitches and I grin before lightly smacking her ass and walking away to find a few books for Valentina. When I peek between aisles to see what Alara’s up to, she has three novels clutched to her chest, a tinge of rosiness still coloring the apples of her cheeks.
I love being the one who’s able to make her blush like this.
Twenty minutes later, we meet by the front desk, and she eyes the young adult romance books in my basket with amusement. “Decided to explore a new genre?”
“Ha ha. They’re for Val. If I wanted to read some romance or smut, I’d have just everything I need at your place.”
“True. If you want to learn a thing or two, I have some really kinky books.”
One of my brows lifts in bafflement. “You think I need those?”
“I’ll give you my opinion after our date,” she jests back, determination shining in her gaze.
Fuck me. I’ve honestly hit the jackpot with this woman.
I extend the basket toward her. “Give me your books. I’ll pay for those too.”
“What?” She takes a step backward, frowning and cradling the books tighter. “No.”