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He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and Sera held her ground.
“If that’s the way you want to play it,” he said finally.
“Play is not what I had in mind.” Then, seeking a distraction, she concentrated on her clipboard, focusing on her notes and flipping through his paperwork. As if she needed reminding about his file and all the details weren’t carved in her memory. Just like Saturday night...
On the fifth page, though, something that she’d initially skimmed over caught her attention. For the question on prior hospitalizations, Jordan had marked yes and jokingly written Too many to mention.
Hmm. Sera looked over at him. “This was not the first time you’ve had surgery.”
“I’m a professional athlete. What do you think?”
“I think you’re familiar with doctors, even if I’m your first physical therapist.”
He flashed a brief smile. “I’ve been giving my mother trouble from day one. Literally. I had a collapsed lung as a newborn. I had some respiratory issues because I inhaled meconium.”
She blinked in surprise because this information didn’t fit the image she had of Jordan Serenghetti. Cool...invincible.
“And to top it off—” he started counting on his fingers “—a broken arm at age eight, pneumonia at age ten—or wait, was that eleven? And a ruptured appendix at fourteen. I was also in and out of the ER for more minor stuff like an ear infection and a sprained wrist.”
“Wonderful.”
“Memorable. Just ask the staff at Children’s Hospital.”
“I’m sure it was for them and you.”
He grinned.
Sera felt herself softening and cleared her throat. “Let’s get to work.”
Jordan followed her from the treatment room to the gym, where they worked on normalizing his gait and improving strength with step exercises and leg presses, among other repetitions. More than a month past surgery, he was regaining mobility.
“So how am I doing?” he asked as they were wrapping up. “Think I’ll be able to rejoin the team in the fall?”
Sera tilted her head and paused because, despite his casual tone, she knew the answer mattered to him—a lot. “Mmm, that’s a question for your doctor. You’re recovering nicely, but there’s always some unpredictability post-op. And you’re expecting your knee to perform at a high level in professional hockey.”
Jordan shrugged. “The PRP therapy that my doctor is doing is helping, too.”
“Good. Injections can help speed up recovery.” She regarded him, and then offered, “You’ll get there eventually. Does it matter when? The last thing you want to do is exacerbate an injury or sustain another tear by getting back on the ice too soon.”
“I have some endorsement deals up for negotiation, and my contract with the Razors is coming up for renewal in the next few months. There’s a lot on the table.”
Oh. Now he told her. Talk about pressure. Not only did Dante need Jordan on the ice—he was a big draw for the fans, obviously—but now there were other deadlines. For a big star like Jordan, his contract and endorsements would be everything.
She’d heard stories about his lucrative investments in business ventures, but still, she was sure that continuing to play hockey was integral to his plans. She knew about other sports celebrities who had gone on to invest in everything from franchises to restaurants to car dealerships, after playing as long as possible.
“Thanks for sharing,” she quipped.
Within the four walls of Astra Therapeutics, she’d almost forgotten what a different life he led from the one she did. It was about big money and celebrity and high stakes. Jordan’s physical prowess and athleticism had landed him at the pinnacle of professional sports.
“Have dinner with me,” he offered, “and I’ll tell you all about it. There’s a new place in town I’ve been meaning to try.” He shrugged. “But, you know, the knee injury put me off my game.”
“Another hockey pub? Angus will be jealous,” she parried before getting serious, because she needed to drive this point home. “And we’re not dating—remember? Saturday night was a never-to-be-repeated blip on the radar.”
“It’s not a date. It’s friends having dinner. And no, I have someplace a little more sophisticated in mind.”
Sera fought the little prick of awareness at his words. He was a master of the segue. “That was smoothly done.”
Just like the other night. She’d been replaying the feel of his hands moving over her...again and again. No...just no. She wouldn’t let herself go there. She was putting Saturday night into a tidy little box and sealing it tight. She took a deep breath. “We’re not even friends.” Are we?
