“Good.”
She heads toward her office, and I’m left with a shoulder that feels fine and everything else feeling worse.
Dex waits exactly three seconds after she’s out of earshot before making kissing noises at me.
“Shut up.”
“Never. This is too good.” He’s fully grinning now. “The mighty Captain Varga, brought to his knees by a PT who won’t give him special treatment. Just ask her out, Cap.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s my PT. Because Winters would love an excuse to fire her. Because I’m probably a complication she doesn’t need.”
“Or maybe she wants the complication.” Dex claps my shoulder, the good one, before sauntering out of the room.
That evening I’m home,shoulder properly iced, staring at my phone like it holds answers to questions I’m not sure I should be asking.
Her name sits in my contacts. Our previous texts are all professional. PT schedules, protocol adjustments, reminders not to do extra reps.
I should leave it alone. Should maintain the boundaries she’s clearly reinforcing by making me wait, by keeping things clinical, by not giving me anything more than necessary.
Before I can decide what to send, my phone chimes. Shetexted me first.
Marnie
Good job today. Jake says you actually listened for once.
I always listen.
Marnie
Ha. Your shoulder says otherwise.
My shoulder’s getting mixed messages. You keep touching it then telling it to behave.
Fuck. Too honest. I’m about to text something to walk it back when she responds.
Marnie
That’s literally my job.
Doesn’t make it easier.
Marnie
The exercises will get harder next week. Less boring.
Promise?
Marnie
You might regret asking for harder.
I never regret hard.
She starts to type, then stops. Then nothing for five minutes.
