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I went into the dressing room and stripped off my shorts and shirt, returning to lay on the table as she directed.
“Well, I’m very pleased poor Carlo is sick, sorry Carlo,” Mia said. “You’re the first Suns’ player I’ve worked on.”
I braced as she began to work over my leg and knee. It was much better, but with the pressure the physios applied, there was always an element of pain.
“Speaking of that,” I said between sharp breaths, “I spoke with Carlo and he’d love to hear from you if you want some casual Suns’ work.”
“Really?” she asked, “fantastic, thank you!”
“Pleasure,” I said with a groan, and Mia laughed.
“I do have something that will be a pleasure,” Mia teased. “After we finish this session, the Saints’ boys should be training on the beach out the front. We could have a drink and watch? Purely on a professional basis ... physio, journalist ...”
Visions of The Russian working out on the beach flooded me.
“What a brilliant idea,” I agreed. “Brilliant.” I closed my eyes and tried not to think about my injury, while Mia worked her wonders.
Thirty minutes later Mia declared us done. I could hardly move; I think I was plastered to the table.
“I’m stuck here,” I moaned and Mia laughed, helping me up.
“Do you want to shower?” she asked.
“No I’m good, thanks. Really appreciate it, Mia, especially on short notice.”
“Happy to do it. I’ll just go wash my hands and then we can watch the boys suffer ... um, I mean, work out,” she said, with a smile and a glance at the clock.
I pulled my shorts and top back on, and, grabbing my bag, slipped out some cash to give her. She walked in seeing me holding it.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, graciously, “I’m happy to do it.”
I knew she didn’t need the money, but I insisted on paying her.
“I won’t feel like I can ask you for more physio in the future if you don’t let me pay,” I said, and slipped the dollars under her desk paper weight near the door. “Besides, the club reimburses me, so don’t give it a second thought.”
“Thank you, I’ll send you a receipt if you can message me your email address,” she said. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”
I followed her from the white physio room back down the hallway to the front of the house. She entered the kitchen, opened the fridge and offered me a drink.
“I’m having a diet cola, want one?” she asked. “Or I have juice, water, normal cola ...”
“Diet cola is perfect, thanks.”
She handed me two glasses, grabbed the cans of diet cola and stuck a bag of pretzels under her arm.
“There’s something wonderfully decadent about eating and drinking while you watch the boys work out. Kind of like payback for all the times they annoy us,” she said with a grin.
“Well, The Russian and I are fairly new together, so he hasn’t annoyed me too much ... yet.”
“Just wait until they lose a game,” she said, heading to the balcony. Then she remembered I was a professional athlete. “Oh sorry,” Mia’s eyes widened. “You’d know what that’s like of course. I don’t mean to dismiss the sense of frustration and disappointment, it’s just that they can be unbearably grouchy for days after.”
I sat in a high, white leather chair opposite Mia with our drinks between us as we looked over at the beach. The chairs were deep but high, so we could see over the balcony edge with an uninterrupted view of the sandy beachfront and crashing waves.
“No apology necessary,” I said, “I’ve been known to be a bit unbearable to live with myself on those days!”
We both extended our bare legs to catch some sun and then Lucas drove into the garage below. He looked up to see us and gave us a wave and a surprised look in my direction.
“Good day, gorgeous?” he asked Mia.
