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“The office tried to call you.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you come to your appointment today?”
Several seconds of silence pass.
“I couldn’t,” he finally says.
Okay. Maybe he’s just frustrated with his injury? I’ve seen that in patients before, and I feel like I can detect frustration in his eyes right now.
I offer him a gentle smile. “Listen. I know therapy can be tough. When I say it’s all incremental…I know it’s a mental challenge as well as a physical one. Particularly for hard-working, healthy, fit men like you. It’s difficult to feel limited by what your own body can and can’t do, and to accept it where it is without pushing too hard.”
“It’s not that,” Ethan says, the volume of his voice so low that I have to take a step closer to hear him.
“Okay,” I say patiently. “What is it, then?”
He doesn’t respond.
“All right,” I say. “We don’t need to talk about it. But Ethan, Ireallythink you should stick with the therapy. I’m not just saying that because it’s my job. I’m saying it as someone who cares about your well-being.”
He rubs the back of his neck and sighs.
“Why don’t we run through a few exercises right now?” I suggest.
His eyes shoot up to meet mine. “What? Here?”
“I’m here now,” I say, shrugging and smiling. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. There’s the issue of liability, for starters. But I can’t walk out of that door without at least trying. “We had an appointment for today. So let’s do your session right here, right now. What do you say?”
Chapter Five
Ethan
“Does it hurt?”
Victoria’s gentle fingers apply just the right amount of pressure on my shoulder—not too much, not too little. There’s effort involved in the way my arm is moving, but no pain to speak of.
I shake my head.
“Good,” she says. Her fingertips trail down to my bicep. Even though my shirt is in the way, her touch still makes it hard for me to focus entirely on the exercises. I go through the motions, but my mind is betraying me.
It’s my own damn fault, of course.
I could have refused to open the door for her. I could have told her I didn’t want to do any damn exercises right now. But the truth is, I want her here. I want to know if there’s a chance of something more. I’ve been resisting, telling myself that no good will come from it, but this woman, fuck, she’s irresistible.
“I can tell you’re making progress, Ethan,” she says, her hands gently pulling my arm back. “You really should keep doing this. It would be a shame for your efforts to go to waste.”
Jesus. The scent of her perfume…the way her voice dips into a whisper…
“Stay for dinner,” I say. “I want to thank you for coming over and doing this.”
“Oh, I…”
“I’m not much of a gourmet cook, but I know how to cook a steak.”
She laughs and moves her hand along my arm again, guiding me into a new exercise. “Okay. Dinner sounds good. Thank you.”
When we’re done with the exercises, it doesn’t take long before I start missing the steady touch of her hands on my arm. At least she’s not leaving yet. I show her into the kitchen and offer her a beer, then start getting everything set out: I put a couple pans on the oven, lay two steaks out side-by-side, arrange some seasoning on the countertop, and line up some vegetables on the cutting board.
