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“So am I,” I assured her.
Ignoring me, she said, “I’m going to poke around, and I want you to call out a pain level with each touch. The spectrum is one to ten. Understood?” I nodded. “I will punch you in the face if I feel like you’re playing with me, I swear to God.”
My lips twitched. “You threatened all your patience like this?”
“Only the ones that I don’t like,” she huffed. “So, don’t go around thinking that you’re special or the only one.”
“Right,” I chuckled. “Because you hate all basketball players.”
Going back to ignoring me, Sinclair started poking around my shoulder, and like a good boy, I called out a number whenever she touched me. There wasn’t anything hurting beyond a five, but I also just hadn’t had a game, which made a difference. My level of respect for her went up a notch when she said as much.
“Between resting and the medicine that I know you had to have taken after the game last night, it’s expected that your pain might not be high this morning.” She continued to poke around. “I’d be interested to see your shoulder after a game.”
“Our next game is another home game,” I told her. “Come watch me play.”
“No, thank you.”
“Why do you hate basketball?” I asked, knowing that I was overstepping.
“I just prefer more physical sports,” she muttered.
“Like football?”
“Football, hockey, rugby, soccer…anything where the men aren’t treated like glass,” she elaborated, not having a care for my balls at all. “I’m not a fan of delicate humans.”
“You mean delicatemen,”I corrected.
Those blue eyes met mine. “I have nothing against men in tuned with their softer side.”
“You’re lying.”
“I have a problem withathletesandtheirsofter sides,” she went on, making my lips twitch again.
“Because we’re not allowed to be soft?” I challenged.
“Not when you’re getting paid millions to entertain the masses,” she answered, and this chick sure as fuck pullednopunches. “While I don’t wish an injury on anyone, I can’t see the justification in paying you millions, offering you the best health care on the planet, and all so that you can sit out five games because you have a hangnail.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking brutal,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you realize that?”
“Can you focus?” she huffed. “We’re here to fix your shoulder, not exchange character opinions.”
“Tell me why you hate basketball players so much, and then I’ll do whatever you want me to,” I bargained.
“Or I can assign you another therapist,” she volleyed, and the woman meant it.
“Stress affects the body,” I told her.
“Then quit stressing yourself out about stuff that’s none of your business,” she suggested, making my lips twitch again.
“Go out with me.”
Her head reared back, her blue eyes wide as she took me in. “What?”
“Go out with me,” I repeated. “On a date.”
Her beautiful face scrunched up in a scowl. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Have you never dated a crazy guy before?”
