Chapter Thirteen Jeremy
I wasn’t ready to see her at the sidelines, even though I expected her to meet with Lionel tonight. Not sure how, but in a sea of faces, hers simply stands out.
I’ve had Vanya in the same room with me, working on my body, focusing on my injuries. We’ve talked about musicals and shared a cookie. Even in friendly settings, Vanya assesses me with the detachment of a doctor evaluating her patient.
I’ve never seen her stare at me as intently as she did at the hockey game. That wasn’t detachment. Leaning forward with her hands on the plexiglass and her face flushed, she looked hungry. Fucking ravenous. When our gazes had locked, the arena was silenced and the world slowed down. The graze of her tongue over her lower lip and the lift of her chest when she held her breath happened in slow, sensual motion.
Then, idiot Blake put his jacket over her shoulders. The force of jealousy nearly knocked me on my ass.
Shit, are my teammates right? Do I have a crush on my doctor?
Speaking of teammates, they don’t hesitate to introduce themselves to my doctor while they use the stationary bikes or stretch with a trainer after the game. I rush to my doctor’s side to prevent the swarming of these horny-ass jerks.
“Hi, great game!” Vanya says.
“Thanks. I thought you’d be at the visitor box.”
“We kept her down here longer than expected,” Lionel states. “Should we get started?”
I lie down and let Lionel work on me while Vanya barely says three words to either of us. Maybe she’s distracted by the shirtless athletes all over the room. I sneak a glance to find that she’s not looking at anyone else. Vanya is staring at a bruise spreading over my left thigh. It’s the shape of the hockey blade that was slashed against it.
“Hey, doc, can you do that hip stretch for me? The one where you climb on the table,” I say to get her attention.
“Did it help last time?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“I can walk Lionel through it,” Vanya offers.
“Sean needs him.” I lift my chin in the direction of my teammate waiting by a massage table. Lionel looks at me with one raised brow before muttering something about coming right back.
“Let me make sure you’re loosened up,” she says, running her hands over my legs and kneading the knots into submission. Her grip isn’t as forceful as the other guys. What she lacks in strength, she compensates with precision.
“Turn against the wall, please,” she says while wiping her forehead’s sheen with a clean towel. It’s warm here and stinky as usual. She’s a trooper for sticking around and not complaining. I do as I’m told and feel the table shift while Vanya guides my legs into place.
I’m enveloped in her fragrance, her confidence, her care.
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask to lessen the acute awareness of our bodies touching.
“You’re a magician out there.”
“It’s not magic, doc. It’s science.”
She chuckles at my repetition of her own words. She deepens the stretch and I close my eyes. I’m as relaxed as I am aroused, if that’s possible.
“Why the hell is everyone still in here!” A shout comes from the door, jerking me out of the stupor. “Coach is waiting in the locker room!”
Not sure if it’s the booming voice or if it’s my movement that does it. Vanya tilts backward and her knees lose traction on the massage table. Without thinking, I reach around her waist and pull her tight so she doesn’t crash on the floor.
In a flash, I’m on my back with my doctor’s sweet breasts pressed against me, her legs tangled with mine, and her pliable body under my grip. My fingers flex against her pliant skin. How is it possible to be this turned on by another person while she still has her clothes on? She shifts and there’s no way for me to hide my arousal. Her eyes widen in shock.
And then I hear it. The stillness of a room that silenced abruptly. Clamoring noises hushed to muffled words.
Arriving at the same conclusion—which is that everyone stopped what they were doing to watch me manhandle my doctor—Vanya wiggles out of my hold and stands on her own.
She’s flushed and unblinking. Clamped fists sit heavily on those pear-shaped hips that felt so good under my palm a second ago. She’s almost too beautiful to look at so it takes me a moment to realize she’s fuming.
“Your coach is calling,” she says with her chin held high. The coldness of her tone might as well be an ice bath.
The team begins filing out. I should follow, but I don’t like how this all played out.
“You almost fell, Vanya. Was I supposed to—”
“Go, Jeremy.” She’s obviously embarrassed that I was groping her in front of everyone.
There’s not much I can do about it right now, is there? She turns away, so I go.
***
After showering, I head straight home instead of grabbing a drink. I usually need to relax with the guys to distract me from the expected aches after a game, but tonight there’s a more pressing discomfort.
It doesn’t sit right that Vanya walked away upset or embarrassed or mad. Did she think I was going to let her crash that pretty head on the concrete floor? The thought of Vanya getting hurt is a sucker punch to the throat.
I speed up and take the corner toward Cassidy Ave too quickly. It’s nearing midnight on a quiet suburban street. The sound of my screeching tires rips through the air. Light filters past the drapes of her living room, serving as a beacon in the night.
After parking my car on my driveway, I don’t give myself time to consider my actions. In a blink, I’ve crossed the street and knocked on her front door. There’s the sound of feet shuffling, but no answer. I knock again with more urgency.
“It’s Jeremy. Open up. This won’t take more than a minute.”
“What won’t take more than a minute?”
“Open up, Vanya, before half the street starts gawking.”
She pulls at the door I’m leaning on. I slip in without being invited because fuck it, she’s already pissed at me, right?
“What the hell, Jeremy? You can’t barge into someone’s house in the middle of the night. Whatever you have to say can wait.”
“No, it can’t wait.”
She glares at me with a raised brow. “Well? Get it over with then.”
Clearing my throat, I launch on the spiel I prepared while driving home. “I’m sorry if grabbing you in front of everyone was awkward—”
“That’s one word for it,” she mumbles.
“What would you call it?”
Do I really want to know, or do I simply want to prolong this conversation? If I’m being honest, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Embarrassing. Demeaning. Most of all…unnecessary!”
“Unnecessary? I wasn’t going to let your fall on your ass. Wouldn’t that be worse?”
“Worse than us grinding on a massage table in front of everyone?”
“Technically, the coaching staff was waiting in the next room.”
I’m not stuck on the image of us grinding. I’m not.
“This might be a joke to you, but it isn’t for me. I was literally the only woman in that room. The position you put me in was not an endorsement of my qualifications.”
I’m not obsessing about the position I put her in . I’m not .
Clearing my throat, I restart my apology. “I know. That’s why I came over, Vanya. I’m sorry I grabbed you. I didn’t mean for you to feel, you know…”
“Your erection?” she blurts out with a huff. “Don’t worry about it, Jeremy. It happens sometimes.”
“ What happens sometimes?” I already know I won’t like the answer, but I’m a sucker for punishment. “What happens, Vanya?”
“Reactions to being touched. It’s not a big deal when people don’t act on it.”
“Wait a minute. You work on guys with hard-ons all the time and that’s not a big deal?” There’s no hiding how pissed I am.
“It happened, like, a couple of times.” She lifts her arms in frustration. “This is not a conversation we need to have tonight. Or ever.”
She tilts her head toward the door, a clear indication that I’m to walk through it.
“Have a good night, Jeremy. I accept your apology. You didn’t need to come here to extend it. An email would have sufficed. Or silence. That works too,” she gripes sarcastically.
Vanya crosses her arms over her chest. I finally look past her pretty face and notice that she’s wearing a hoodie underneath a flannel jacket.
“Why is it so cold in here?”
“It’s fine.”
“Is your heater busted?”
“I left a message at Professor Sorel’s voicemail this afternoon. If he doesn’t get back to me by morning, I’ll figure it out. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ll freeze overnight.”
“I moved here from Boston and grew up in Toronto, where winter was invented. This won’t be a problem.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
I shrug off my suit jacket and walk to the kitchen. These duplexes have floor plans similar to my bungalow across the street.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I barely hear, because I’m already halfway down the basement stairs.