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I look anywhere but at him, instantly feeling stupid. Of course it’s not for me. It’s a space for therapy.
“Alright,” I say, needing to brush away the awkwardness. “Well, let’s get started.”
Lake nods, then drops his crutch against the wall, pulling apart his tear-away pants to reveal his fitted Nike shorts with what looks like tight, black athletic shorts beneath. His muscular thighs, carved by deep cuts showcasing his quads with that light dusting of dark hair that thickens as it nears the apex, have me chewing my lip again. Fucking uncontrolled body responses.
He removes his Chicago Bears sweatshirt, revealing a tight Under Armour tank stretched across his broad chest beneath. Moving to sit on the black massage table I have set up, I see the bulging muscles of his biceps and triceps flex as he lifts his lower half into a seated position. His knuckles grip the edge of the table, and for a moment, I imagine his hold is on me.
His eyes peer up at me, his forehead wrinkling as I quickly dart my gaze away. I’m now looking at the bare white wall. Why would I be looking there? Because I’m an idiot. I pretend to scratch an imaginary itch on the back of my neck, then clear my throat, approaching the table. I slip back into professional mode, assessing the knee with my hands and helping to reposition his brace correctly.
“So, did you at least sleep well? In your bed of massiveness?” he asks with sarcasm.
I touch along the knee, contemplating my answer. “I, uh…no. I didn’t.”
His brows knit together out of the corner of my eye, and I know the vague answer won’t work for him.
“I just got in. Red-eye from Chicago.”
“Red-eye?” he questions, tipping his head. “It’s a three-hour flight?”
“It should be,” I begin, softly manipulating his knee. “But when your discount flight takes you to Minneapolis for a four-hour unexpected layover, well, it turns into an all-night event.”
He says nothing, and I’m totally okay with that. I’d rather not hear his opinions at the moment. I busted my ass to be here, and now he knows that.
“It’s looking better.” I’m still looking down, too nervous to look up.
I can feel his eyes on my face and it’s a little unsettling, being that we’re so close. Why can’t he understand normal social cues? You don’t stare at people when they’re standing directly above you. It's considered quite rude.
“I have the exercise bands in my bag that we can get started on, but the other equipment is currently MIA at the moment.” I back away from the table and grab my bag in the corner.
“Why? Where is it?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” I retort, sounding snarky again.
I grab the exercise bands and turn to face him. From this distance, I feel I can.
“Did they lose your bags?” he asks, connecting the dots.
His tone is one of legitimate concern, and it feels foreign to me. I hate that anyone’s legitimate concern for my well-being feels foreign, because it just solidifies how alone I truly am.
“It’ll be fine. I’ve already contacted the airline. It will be handled.” I walk towards him with the bands in hand, leaning against the edge of the table directly next to him. “They are tracing it, so I promise I’ll at least be dressed more appropriately at our next session. I apologize for the lack of professionalism.”
“No.” He swings his legs around so they are open and hanging off the side. His good knee brushes along my thigh, and I hate that I’m extremely aware of the simple contact. “Don't...apologize. I just…I-I feel awful.” He shakes his head, looking down until his cobalt blue eyes with those thick, black lashes blink up to meet mine again.
I suck in a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling his scent before slowly releasing it.Fuck, he smells good.Like smokey oak, if oaks can be smoked. He smells like a sexy forest fire, but I need the Lake to put it out.
“Why didn't you fly in with the team? This never would've happened. Greg never gave me a reason as to why you missed the flight.”
I look down at my hands, my mouth opening to say something, but words don’t come out. I can't explain the complexities of my guardianship over Colin, nor do I want to. I don't want him to judge my circumstances, nor do I want my circumstances to take away from this job. We need this money.
I look away from him. “I just needed to tie up a few things before I left town.”
He's silent at my statement, so I find his gaze again. It's so direct. His eye contact. Almost too direct. He swallows and nods lightly, as if understanding something. I watch his throat bob as his stare bores into me. His closeness and the lack of sound in this private space make the massiveness of the room seem stuffy and microscopic.
Those eyes assess my face again, a curiosity in his expression paired with a magnetism I’ve never felt before. I have no idea what he's thinking as he lifts his chin, his lips slowly parting.
No clue what's going through that head of his as he grabs the bands from my hand, slowly taking them from me without breaking eye contact, before dropping them to the floor.
No concept of anything anymore as his rough palms slide up my arms, gently gripping the backs and pulling me into the open space between his legs.
