His impish glint turns lethargic when I nudge my head to the carpeted floor beneath his feet. “On your feet, old man.”
I snatch the bag of chips out of his hand, dump them next to his thigh, before moving to stand in front of him. He doesn’t appreciate me calling him old man, but with adrenaline still thick in his veins, he lets it slide.
“Spread your feet to the width of your shoulders, then raise one knee to your midsection.”
Elvis’s brow pops up. “Why?”
“Just do it.” I kick his cleats with my shoes to widen his stance. “I want to check your balance.”
“I was joking about my balance being off. I just wanted you to rub my schlong—”
He swallows his words when I glare at him. “Just do it.Please.”
“Fine.” He does his right leg first, and it’s a nice, straight movement. His left raise is nowhere near as balanced.
I grab his file off my desk to take notes before asking, “How is the pain in your lower back?”
He waits for me to pivot around to face him before answering, “I broke discs in the thoracic area of my spine. That’s nowhere near my lower back.”
I give him myduhface. His entire medical history is set out in front of me, but even if it weren’t, I’m aware the spinal cord he nearly severed is in the top half of his spine. “Your balance is unsteady, meaning when you’re lifting weights or doing squats, you may not be evenly distributing the weight. That, over time, will cause lower back pain.” I step closer to him, ensuring he knows our discussion right now is between a sports therapist and her client. “So, truthfully, how’s the lower back pain?”
His cheeky smirk reveals things will always be personal between us, but he plays along with my endeavor to keep things professional. “It niggles occasionally, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
I place my file on the massage table before taking two big steps back. “What starts as a niggle can flare into something much worse. With that in mind, hit the deck, old man.”
He growls at my age reference again before doing as instructed.
“Lie on your side. I’ll show you a trick that will instantly eradicate the pain in your lower back, then I’ll pass on some notes to your weight trainer to make sure he checks you’re evenly distributing your weights during sessions.” I position him how I need him before moving his hand to sit just above his ass. “Place your thumb on the gluteus medius muscle; it’s on the surface of the pelvis. Can you feel it?”
“Uh-huh.” The grunt that comes with his reply reveals his pain is more than just a niggle.
“While placing pressure on the muscle, bring your knee forward until it touches the carpet.” I smile when he does as asked without hesitation. “Okay, good. Now extend your leg back until it is level with your thumb.”
We do ten repetitions before adding an abduct to the move. He grunts even more, showing how much pain there is in his hip region. For a man known for his fitness, his wobbling thighs as he struggles to hold his leg in the air is hilarious. From how red his face is, anyone would swear he was doing the splits.
“Willow. . .”
I stuff my laughter into the back of my throat with a deep swallow. “What? I wasn’t laughing. It’s just. . .”
My words trail off when Elvis sweeps my hands out from underneath me, causing me to topple onto him. I’m not strong enough for this. I’m lying on top of him. My hands are splayed across his mouthwatering pecs, and he’s sweaty and panting. No woman would be strong enough for this.
He runs his finger down my cheek before tucking one of my wild locks behind my ear. I assume he is feeling the sentiment in the air the same as me. . . until he says, “I’m sorry about what you witnessed today.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He angles his head to the side and arches a brow. He appears utterly confused.
It clears when I murmur, “If I had walked in on something like this, then I’d have a problem, but words mean nothing without actions to back them up. I’m sorry you busted me spying. I shouldn’t have; I was just worried about what had gotten you so worked up.”
Nothing but honesty rings in his tone when he grumbles, “She frustrates the shit out of me.”
“And I don’t?”
I hope my question will ease the tension radiating out of him. It does exactly that when he murmurs, “Only on Tuesdays.” He rolls over until the lower half of my body is pinned to the carpet by his hips.
“Thank god today is Saturday.”
With a smile that proves he appreciates my sass, he rocks his hips three times. He’s pretending he’s testing out how well my exercises reduced the pain in his lower back, but in reality, he’s teasing me as only he can. “Oh, you’re right, that does feel better. There are barely any spasms. Can you notice the difference, Will? Am I more evenly balanced now?”
