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Torso up, exhaling into the stretch, I answered honestly. “Sometimes. But I don’t think about it much.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Yes.” Funny, when she said family I pictured my friends, Liam, Jax and Ian. The ones I’d been with through hell and back. It had been too long since we’d all gotten together.
“Do you miss them?”
“Yup.” I didn’t explain my answer. I’d made my peace with my parents, but we’d never been that close anyway. As for explaining anything else? Too complicated.
It was time to turn the tables. After she eased me down, I looked at her with a gleam in my eye.
“Have you gone for your run, yet?”
“No, I slept until eight. I’m such a slacker.” There was that smile from her again. Was she teasing me for getting up early? So sassy.
“Why don’t you lie back?” I suggested. “I’ll stretch you.” OK, I hadn’t intended that with a double meaning. I’d really meant I could stretch her hamstring for her. But now that I’d mentioned it…
“No, that’s fine, you’d don’t have to.” She looked away, flushing. Seemed like her mind had gone the dirty route as well. Interesting.
“Have you already stretched?”
“No, but—”
“I can’t have my favorite physical therapist hitting a trail and pulling a hamstring. Where would that leave me?”
She cracked a smile. “So, this is really all about you, then?”
“Or you could think of all the little children out there rooting for me. Where will they be if I don’t even medal in Rio? All because my therapist didn’t take proper care of herself.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes a bit, but I could tell she found it funny. Score one for me. She studiously avoided making eye contact while I stretched her. I’d done it a hundred times, with male and female teammates. Athletes grew accustomed to touching, squeezing and prodding, all with little-to-no clothing.
But I could tell we were both intensely aware of our intimacy as I pressed and pulled, my hands along her supple and lithe limbs. As I drew my hand along her hip, I saw her intake of breath. My stroke along her thigh made her tense before she relaxed into the stretch.
I knew my gaze darkened as I discovered I could practically fold her leg right up her torso. She was really flexible. That opened up so many opportunities, inspired such creativity. Had I thought I had a day of training ahead of me? Wouldn’t it be better to blow off some steam right here in the hotel room?
She was out of my suite before I even knew what had happened.
“Thanks!” she called out over her shoulder as she bolted.
Huh. I didn’t think I’d crossed any lines, in any obvious way at least. Maybe she was a mind reader. Running a hand through my hair, I resigned myself to Plan A. There were gold medals hanging in the balance, after all. Better to stick to my training regimen and play it safe.
§
“Which flavor smoothie do you want? Berry? Or peanut butter and chocolate?”
“Who is this calling me at this late hour?”
Her teasing made me smile. Not that many people teased me. I was too revered, too feared for that. But Emma liked doing it, in her gentle, sweet manner. I’d only known her three days and I already found myself craving her presence. Which led me to do dorky things like call her right after I’d said good night to her after our evening session.
“I’m going to make us smoothies tomorrow morning. I need to take your order.”
We fell into an easy banter, her telling me that I was trying to fatten her up, me assuring her I liked her just the way she was. It was easier to talk to her when I wasn’t so close, looking at her slim hips and long legs, her breasts the perfect size to cup in my hands. On the phone, sitting on the couch, I could relax more.
“Are you seeing anyone?” See what kinds of questions rolled out of my mouth once I relaxed? Maybe it was better if I stayed tense.
She paused, then answered slowly. “No…why do you ask?”
Because I’m only narrowly avoiding violating all kinds of professional standards of conduct. I thought that. But instead, like all people without a good answer, I skirted around the question. “When’s the last time you were serious with someone?”
I could hear her blow out an exhale. Was that a heavy question? I really didn’t have so much experience with this get-to-know-you phase with a woman.
“I’m not sure you need to know the dating history of your physical therapist.” She didn’t answer my question, but I could hear a light, teasing warmth in her voice. I still had her engaged.
“Are we on a need-to-know basis? I hadn’t realized this was a secret ops military thing.”
She laughed and I could picture her doing it, maybe looking down as she held the phone to her ear.
“I don’t know you all that well.” The more she hesitated, the more I wanted to know. What was her story? Had she just broken up with someone?
“I think this is how people get to know each other.” I sounded light. I hoped I did at least. This wasn’t the kind of thing I did every day, making overtures, extending myself.
“All right. But you need to tell me all about yourself, too,” she warned.
“Agreed.”
She started in, giving me the basic run down, the brief, fly-by version of her unsuccessful dating history: two cheaters and a straight-up swindler. Apparently her most recent boyfriend—over ten months ago—had been a real hustler, borrowing money from her all the time, always with an explanation, a compelling story about how things were on the upswing.
“I was such an idiot,” she summed it up.
“Sounds like he was the idiot.” I hated the idea of some asshole taking advantage of her. I could picture the kind of smooth-talking guy she described. He could stand a swift punch to the jaw.
“I’ve got a real knack for picking them,” she admitted, going on to tell me about how her first love and then her second had interpreted the word monogamy much differently than her. I didn’t like it, not one bit, hearing about her getting cheated on. Or hearing about her having fallen for anyone else.
“My best friend Tori says I need to toughen up,” she continued. “Stop being such a sucker.”
“Maybe you just need to date the right guy?”
The silence between us as we sat on the phone spoke volumes. What was I saying, exactly? Was I volunteering for that role? Was I even the good guy I thought I was? I didn’t exactly have the perfect dating history myself.
As if on cue, she asked, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nope,” I answered honestly. My relentless training schedule didn’t leave a lot of time for much of anything else, never mind a romantic relationship. My solo status had contributed to my reputation in the press for being a driven, cold machine. And it wasn’t just reporters who labeled me that way. What was it my last girlfriend had called me? Oh yes, that’s right.
“I have to be honest,” I said with a sigh, wondering why exactly I felt the need. “I don’t have the best track record. The last woman I dated broke up with me by throwing a bunch of dishes around my kitchen and calling me a robot.”
“Nice,” she commented. I couldn’t tell from her neutral tone which side she was on. But I pushed forward, airing my dirty laundry. I guess I figured it was better to get it all out in the open.
“I don’t know if I deserved the broken dishes, but the robot part?” I shrugged my shoulders, sitting on the couch. “She had a point. I train every day, all day.”
