Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATE
Park City, Utah
“Dude,” Jeff says as we undo the straps from our waist so we can roll the weights attached to them back to the start of the sprinting strip that runs through the gym. “I heard you were at Toast on Friday night with a ridiculously hot blonde.”
“Did you now?” I say, refusing to give him any more information.
“Yeah, Steve said he saw you having dinner with . . . how did he describe her . . . a Kate Upton lookalike?”
I had assumed it was a safe bet that I wouldn’t run into any of my teammates at restaurant known for its champagne bar.
“Hmm.” I consider Zach’s assessment. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance.”
“Soooo?” he says, drawing the word out as we walk, bent at the waist, each rolling our heavy disk weights back toward the start line. “You dating someone?”
I glance down at the end of the track and see Jackson there, arms folded in front of her as she glances down at a clipboard she’s holding. “Don’t be a gossip,” I tell Jeff, hoping that stops this conversation before Jackson hears anything she shouldn’t.
“You had dinner with a Kate Upton lookalike and you think we’re not all wondering who she was?” he asks, his voice louder than I’d like as we inch closer to Jackson.
My realtor is newly and, as far as I can tell, happily married.
She lives with her husband in Salt Lake City, and her real estate firm specializes in properties in Park City.
But she’s also a curvy bombshell with gorgeous white-blond hair, so I’m not surprised that tongues have been wagging around the Center after I was apparently seen with her.
“She’s just my realtor,” I say, and Jackson’s eyebrows raise in a way that would be imperceptible were I not watching her so closely. In my peripheral vision I notice Jeff glance over at me before he follows my line of sight.
“Oh,” he huffs out under his breath. That word can mean so many things, but he doesn’t elaborate; instead, he peels off to rack his weights as I approach Jackson at the end of the track.
“Does this mean you’re moving out of my building?” she asks as I stack the weights at her feet.
“Ahhh,” I say, standing with my hand over my heart. “You already miss me, and I’m not even gone yet.”
“Just hoping this means I won’t have to run into you outside of work,” she says, and narrows her eyes.
I can’t get the vision of her in the elevator on Friday night out of my mind.
Those legs that went on for days clad in thigh-high boots, and that ridiculously short sweater dress that brought out her green eyes.
I’d never seen anyone look so sexy showing so little skin.
When I don’t respond with more information, she pushes on. “So, were you looking for a new place to live?”
Clearly we’re at the fishing for more information stage, and while I’m not sure if she’s curious about my hot realtor or whether she’s actually hopeful I’m moving out of her building, I know it will drive her crazy if I don’t give her answers. So I reply, “Not exactly.”
“What kind of real estate were you looking at, then?”
“The kind I can invest in,” I say, then reach down and pull the hem of my T-shirt up to wipe off my face.
A small hiss of air escapes her lips. “Keep your clothes on, Davenport.”
I eye her over my shirt and don’t miss the fact that she’s totally focused on my abs, or the way she licks her bottom lip before pulling it between her teeth.
“Eyes up here, Shanahan,” I tease as I drop my shirt and jerk my chin up.
She meets my gaze, her eyes giving away nothing.
“You know, for someone in a serious relationship, you sure have a hard time keeping your eyes off me.”
“I’m your physical therapist, Nate. It’s literally my job to watch your body. But maybe you could make this less awkward for both of us and just keep your shirt on.”
“Keep your eyes off my body and you won’t have to feel awkward about it,” I say and shrug, literally for no reason other than I know it’ll piss her off.
Speaking every word carefully, she asks, “Have you, any time in the past week, removed your shirt with the intention of me looking at your body?”
I take a step closer to her, noting that her hair smells like the coconut shampoo she favors. “If I have?” I reply, dropping my mouth near her ear.
She looks up, fire in her eyes. She drops her voice to a low, husky growl. “Then don’t you dare insinuate that I’m somehow the problem here!”
And now I have to shut my own thoughts down because I’m honestly never more attracted to her than when she’s pissed off.
I’m sure it stems from our high school days, when I used to do whatever I could to rile her up before every race because she skied better when she was mad.
I was in love with her even then, and just waiting for her to catch up. I’m always waiting for her to catch up.
I step back, knowing I need to put physical distance between us or my body is going to respond like it always does when I’m around her.
That’s the problem with being a guy and choosing to abstain from sex—your body is always ready, even if your mind isn’t.
But until I make my way back into Jackson’s heart, my mind will have to win out because there’s no one I want but her.
“Go put your weights away,” she says, as she turns and walks toward the sports medicine room. I carry my two disk weights to the rack, and in an attempt to focus on anything other than my reaction to Jackson’s proximity, I force myself to think about business instead of pleasure.
My dad sent me another message this morning about the family business.
He’s been trying to get me to join him in buying and managing commercial properties in Boston for almost a decade.
And while commercial property has never been that interesting to me, owning and managing rental properties has.
The company I started four years ago owns property at various ski resorts around North America and offers custom ski vacations, complete with a private chef and valet transportation.
And now I’m looking to expand into the Park City market, hence my meeting with Whitney.
But that’s just a small side project, not the one that has my full attention right now.
Because in my spare time I’m working on my biggest property acquisition yet, one that I hope will help me win Jackson back.
Jackson is waiting for me at the door to the rehab room when I return from racking my weights, like she didn’t want to be cornered in the room when I stepped through that door.
Some things haven’t changed, she cedes control slowly, if at all.
“After you,” she says, her voice tight as she gestures me through the door.
“Hey,” I say softly after she enters the room behind me. I know this can’t be easy for her, having to be my physical therapist.
Though it’s a large room with plenty of space for multiple people to work on rehab and recovery, we’re the only ones here at the moment. She glances up from the clipboard where the athletic trainer had recorded all the details of the training session we just completed. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asks, her voice both curious and accusatory.
I focus on her mouth, the way her normally full lips are pursed together. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. That isn’t my intention. It’s just—” I pause. “You won’t even talk to me.”
“We’re talking right now,” she says quietly, like someone might walk by the room and overhear us.
“You won’t talk about anything that matters. You’re all business, all the time. You won’t let me explain what happened. You won’t even admit that you’re training me. You keep acting like this is all temporary.”
“It is all temporary, Nate,” she says, the words harsh and impassioned.
“Jackson, at least for this season, you’re my PT. We can make this work, but you have to work with me and not against me.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” she says, stepping closer to me but dropping her voice lower, so it’s barely more than a whisper.
“I’m doing everything I can to make this work in the short-term, to prepare you for racing even though you don’t deserve my help.
” Behind her eyes I can see the volume of truth she’s keeping to herself.
“But there is no way I can work with you all season. Not after how you left me—” She stops short as footsteps sound outside the doorway.
Someone passes and keeps going, while both of us hold our breath.
I want her to finish that sentence. It feels like the most honest thing she’s said to me since I’ve been back.
Finally, she exhales. “Let’s go for a run. ”
I’m so taken aback by her sudden shift that I’m not sure how to respond. “I just had a two-hour workout. I’m way too stiff to run. Are you trying to make sure I get injured?” I’m not sure I’d put it past her right now.
“No, I’m trying to loosen up your muscles so we can stretch them out, and we can’t have this conversation here,” she says, gesturing toward the doorway and the variety of athletes and trainers working in the space beyond.
“Fair enough,” I say.
She says nothing as I follow her out of the training room, along the corridor, and out the glass doors.
Once outside, she kneels first on one leg, then the other as she tightens the laces on her sneakers.
I twist at the waist while I wait, trying to loosen up my lower back which is a little stiff from the workout.
It feels like the temperatures are falling, but we’ll be warm when we start moving.