“Might as well get the boys used to you now. Here he comes. Rhett’s stubborn, but he’s a hell of a hockey player.”
The man who walked into the trainer’s office had already stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. His dark curls were matted to his head with sweat, and he looked annoyed.
“I’m fine, Andy,” he said without preamble. He had a slight twang of a southern accent. “Coach is exaggerating.”
“Tell it to June. She’s the new physical trainer.”
Rhett blinked, eyes flicking back and forth between me and Andy. Then a roguish smile spread across his face, instantly transforming him from annoyed teenager to dashing heartthrob.
“No offense, Andy, but she’s an improvement. I’m Rhett Lawson.”
He extended his hand, but I ignored it. “On the table, please.”
Rhett raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Andy gave me an approving nod, then went into the locker room to chat with the coach.
“Which shoulder is it?” I asked while pulling on a pair of latex gloves. It wasn’t explicitly necessary, but since this was my first day, I wanted to do everything by the book.
“I’m honestly fine,” Rhett said, favoring me with that smile again. Up close, his eyes were the color of sapphires. “Coach always overreacts.”
“Did you hurt it during the fight?” I asked.
Rhett stiffened. “Their defenseman body-checked our left wing. I had to square up.”
“You don’thaveto do anything,” I replied. “Especially if it gets you injured.”
He stared up at me, those blue eyes sparkling. “You don’t know much about hockey, do you?”
“I know that it’s a bad idea to get yourself injured in a preseason scrimmage.”
He reached up to touch the I.D. badge pinned to my shirt, the one I’d been issued by security fifteen minutes ago. “June Wilder. Sounds kind of like Gene Wilder. You know, the movie dude?”
“Nobody has ever told me that,” I said sarcastically. “Take off your shirt.”
“Buy me a drink first, darlin’,” he replied smoothly.
Andy’s words echoed in my mind:don’t let them push you around. They’ll test your limits.
So I stared at Rhett, hoping that I looked calmer than I felt. My heart felt like it was trying to pound its way through my ribcage. I’d never been this close toanyprofessional hockey player before, let alone one who was…
I gave myself a shake. I didn’t need to followthatthought to its inevitable conclusion, not while he was smiling up at me.
The silent stare I gave him worked, because a moment later, he stripped his shirt over his head, revealing an upper body that was absolutelyshreddedwith muscle.
“I’m telling you, I’m fine,” he insisted like a stubborn child. “I think Coach is just trying to set me up with you. Is there a ring on your finger underneath those gloves?”
“Tell you what,” I said, grabbing a binder off the desk. “If you can hold this in your hand and raise your arm up without wincing, I’ll let you go.”
He stared at the binder in my hand, then glanced down at the floor.
“I guess my shoulder is alittlesore,” he said sullenly.
“Which shoulder?”
“Right.”
I took his bicep in one hand—ignoring how hard the muscle was—and raised his arm up to the side. When it was almost parallel to the floor, he grimaced.
“Yeah. Right there.”
