Chapter Four Jeremy
I’m not an asshole. That’s not to say I’m some kind of benevolent creature. But being an asshole takes too much energy and draws too much attention. The only thing I want to put effort in or be known for are my goalie stats.
The Vezina Trophy for the best goaltender of the season will be awarded to me one day. If all goes well, the trophy will be the cherry on top of a Stanley Cup.
Which means continuing to aggravate this snarky, conceited, know-it-all doctor is out of character for me. I can’t help it, though. Watching her struggle to keep her features pleasant even as her face flushes and eyes widen is surprisingly entertaining.
“On your stomach, please,” she says stiffly. “I’ll start with some measurements and go from there.”
I lay down shirtless, my face scrunched into the massage table hole. Hearing her wash her hands, I try to settle in. Massages are usually the relaxing part of my routine, but the gauntlet thrown keeps me alert and aware.
She thinks she can fix what Kyle has barely kept under control for years? She talked about my condition like it hasn’t already chronically taken over my life. If she only knew what I went through before Kyle, she wouldn’t be so condescending.
Suddenly, icy hands wrap around a calf.
“Holy shit! Did you wash your hands in cold water?”
She makes a sound that I swear is a snicker.
“Pardon me, Jeremy. We haven’t implemented hot stones like they have in spas,” she answers sarcastically. “I’ll ask Dr. Lane to upgrade our services for your next appointment.”
There will not be a “next appointment” if she plans on being this disagreeable. Determined to find something specific for when I complain to Kyle about his new hire, I let her work on my legs.
She’s quiet. Kyle and I usually shoot the breeze and talk about hockey or whatever. He was a goaltender in college and a big fan of the Mavericks.
Dr. Kapur, however, is all business. After some measurements that she records on a computer, her warmed and confident hands return.
At first, it’s the usual deep tissue massage. The stretching feels nice, and my muscles begin to relax. But then she’s doing something up and down my spine. She works on different pressure points, isolating them till my back responds. I’m reminded of the term “unwinding” to indicate relaxation. At different points along my spine, there’s an unraveling of knots I didn’t know existed.
She moves in front of the table, leaning forward to work my neck and skull. Weird that her hands are in my hair. It isn’t sensual, though it’s not not , either. I get a whiff of flowers and herbs and something else, earthy and sweet.
“Have you ever considered acupuncture, Jeremy?”
“Tried it once. Waste of time.”
It’s hard to talk because I’m practically drooling at how good her hands are working my skull.
“Would you be averse to needling? It follows similar principles of acupuncture. I would normally wait till at least a second session. However, since I only have about fifteen minutes left, I’d like to try it. If you’re uncomfortable after the first one, we’ll stop.”
I manage a sound between a grunt and a “yes.” Wheels roll as Dr. Kapur prepares an equipment cart. With hands along my hamstring, she performs a combination of kneading, pulling, and pinching.
Suddenly, a rush of heat releases from a pressure point. It feels the way a blow-up kid pool looks when you open the valve and the air exhales. Except in this case, what releases is hot blood under my skin.
“That’s the first one. How does it feel?”
Fucking incredible.
“Good.”
“Can I proceed to other trigger points?”
“Sure.”
Two other areas undergo the same treatment. They aren’t as intense as the first release, but the loosening of tension is undeniable.
“I don’t want to overwork your body in one day. Could you turn over please? We can end with some stretches.”
I lie on my back and get my first view of the doctor since she took charge of my body. She cracks her fingers. There’s a slight sheen on her forehead. I’m reminded of how physical her job must be. I feel like shit for holding back well-earned praise.
“That was great. You don’t need the next five minutes to prove anything, doc.”
She smiles patiently, and I get a bit of that first greeting, cheekbones lifted and eyes aglow. Then, it’s gone. She’s back to all business.
“Good to know. I’ll make note of it for when Dr. Lane sees you next.”
She lifts my leg to stretch it while supporting my knee. Then, she bends the leg by pressing against my inner thigh. I nearly sigh at the deep stretch of a loosened hamstring. It feels so good I don’t realize what she said until she moves to the other side.
“When Kyle sees me next? You mean when both of you do.”
Her palm smooths over my inner thigh, stroking it till I feel my ligaments give way. Then she does a lateral stretch on my knee that even sports doctors in a hockey locker room wouldn’t dare to do. There’s a slight tilt of my hips before a click.
Re-alignment, when done correctly, is what an addict thinks after the first hit: feeling this good can’t possibly last, but I’m riding the high for as long as I can. For a guy like me, living with constant strain and discomfort, being relaxed and aligned is equivalent to a morphine hit.
When she’s done, she finally answers me.
“I’ll forward my notes. There’s no need to put up with me again. Thank you for allowing me to work with you today. I’ll step out so you can get dressed to leave. Or are you using the rehab center?”
“Wait a minute, what are you saying?” I sit up so fast, she raises a brow in concern.
“I’m not sure where I’ve been unclear.” Her concern has morphed into haughtiness. “I appreciate your time with me today. However, there are lots of other patients who won’t put me on a timer in order to prove what I can do.”
Because the universe likes to play tricks on me, that’s the moment the timer pings. It’s the soundtrack of me being a jerk.
“I thought you were part of a joke is all,” I blurt before realizing how little that helps my cause. “I mean, you’re not a joke. I am. Look, I’m sorry. Offending you is the last thing I want to do.”
Her face is so placid, she looks bored. “Let’s just admit it isn’t a good fit, shall we? Have a good day.”
She turns her back to me. I’ll have to say something for her to turn around. Say something, Lopez!
“By the way, that timer was your idea,” I argue petulantly.
That makes her turn around, alright. If her glare is any sign, argumentative was not my best approach. Unfortunately, since I’m committed to making bad decisions today, I double down.
“I’m the client. Don’t I get a say?”
There are fiery coals stoked behind her dark brown eyes.
“Certainly, with your doctor,” she mumbles through gritted teeth. “Take it up with Dr. Lane.”
“Oh, come on! Seriously? Are you still mad because I thought you were a stripper? I apologized for that!”
“A stripper? I…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think there was anything worse than being mistaken for a puck bunny ambushing a hockey player to strip for him, but you’ve proven me wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper.” That’s not the point of the conversation, though it had to be said. “Or a puck bunny.”
“It’s not the profession or the, um, pastime that I have a problem with.” Her lips twitch slightly when she says pastime and I have to suppress a snort. Unfortunately, our mutual amusement lasts two seconds. Her scowl returns with a vengeance.
“It’s that men like you treat the entire world as if it’s your personal strip club. Please spare me the lecture on adult entertainment. I appreciate porn as much as the next person, though not in my place of work.”
“Yeah? What kind of porn?” I ask, because I’m an idiot, as well as stupidly curious. Images of this voluptuous, sharp-witted doctor getting horny fill my head.
Nope. I’m not going there.
This is an arrangement that I already muddled when I saw how pretty she was. Unlike my father, I’m not some sex-crazed lunatic. I have boundaries. If I want this hot-as-fuck doctor to work on me, my brain needs to put an impenetrable wall around my stray thoughts.
Did I say hot as fuck? I meant whip smart and very skilled with her hands. I glance at those capable fingers and consider what they can do. As if she misread my expression, she crosses her arms over her full chest and tilts one hip. It is the unmistakable stance of annoyance.
“If the last few sentences haven’t proven to you we can’t work together, you haven’t been paying attention. Your neuromuscular system is in expert hands with Dr. Lane. Goodbye, Jeremy.”
She takes a step back and everything shifts to slow motion.
I left my runners beside a chair. In order not to crash into her cart of needling tools, she steps back diagonally, landing a foot on my shoes and wobbling. Her hands flail outward to grab something before her ass crashes to the ground. In a flash, I reach for her elbows and pull her to me.
We collide, her chest pressed against mine and her hair tickling my nose. For a beat, we’re holding each other tightly. My hand flexes around her generous curves. I’m not wearing a top, so I feel our heated bodies meld. Dr. Kapur’s nipples are diamond hard, and the sensation stirs me.
Blood rushes to all the wrong places. Roughly, I move her to the side and away from my body.
“Thank you for keeping me from falling,” she mumbles breathily.
“You’re welcome,” I say past gritted teeth, trying to think of something other than the press of her curves.
C’mon, Lopez. Think of anything other than hot doctor breasts.
Three things to kill a boner: The stink of a locker room. The green sludge I drink every morning. Taxes.
That does it. Erection averted.
“It’s my first day, so I’m not used to my surroundings,” she declares.
“Today is your first day at the clinic?”
“Yes.” That’s all she offers, which you’d think I would take as a hint to shut up. You would be wrong.
“New to Columbus, too?”
She tilts her head slightly, like I’m a critter that grew a limb. She’s both interested and repelled. “Yes.”
“So how can you be sure there isn’t a lineup of patients who will put you on a timer? I bet I’m the only patient you’ve seen if this is your first day.”
“You’re the third patient I’ve met this morning.”
“What kind of doctor comes to a conclusion after three data points? That’s not very scientific. For all you know, every one of your patients after me could be as rude as I was.”
“Rude is one thing,” she huffs. “Paying me not to take off my clothes is not likely to happen again in this lifetime.”
I chuckle at her choice of words. After feeling what’s under those scrubs, I’m pretty sure most people would pay her to take her clothes off.
“Oh my god, your face basically spelled out what you were thinking. I’m out of here.”
“What was I thinking?” I blurt. She raises a brow, and there’s nothing to do except concede. “OK, don’t answer that. My point is, c’mon, doc. That was a great session. If that’s what you can do in thirty minutes, I’m in. Work with me.”
“Have a great day, Mr. Lopez,” she says in a tone one would use to say go jump off a cliff.
Dr. Kapur walks out without once looking back.