"Give it a minute," he says, voice calm, smug even.
Before I can protest again, he takes myotherfoot and dunks it in too. "Zach!" I gasp, half laughing, half shrieking. "You are evil."
"Relax, drama queen," he says, "this helps with soreness—reduces inflammation, boosts circulation, all that fun recovery stuff."
I'm about to argue when the cold dulls into a weird, tingly relief. The ache in my feet starts to fade, replaced by this strange lightness. A sigh slips out before I can stop it, my head leaning back.
Zach smirks, his hands moving up to gently massage my calves, thumbs pressing in slow, careful circles. "See? Told you. Doctor Westbrook knows best."
"Oh, shut up," I groan, though it comes out way too blissful to sound convincing.
I open one eye and look at him. "How do you even know all this stuff?"
He shrugs like it's nothing. "This is how hockey players recover too. After every tough game or heavy practice, we do ice baths—basically dunk ourselves in giant tubs of freezing water for fifteen minutes. It helps with soreness and keeps the muscles from stiffening up."
"Really," I blink, half amused, half horrified.
"Yup." His grin grows, that wicked gleam sparking in his eyes. "Want me to help you try it? You've got a bathtub right there... fill it with ice, maybe join in—strictly for scientific accuracy."
"Zach!" I gasp, smacking his arm, my jaw practically dropping.
He just grins wider, clearly enjoying himself. "What? I'm just saying—ice baths are most effective when it'sskin-to-skin exposure. You know, for maximum therapeutic benefits."
My mouth falls open. "You mean—nude plunging?"
He nods solemnly, though his eyes are practically dancing with laughter. "It's a legitimate recovery method, sugar plum. Very...hands-onscience."
I throw a pillow at him. "You're such an idiot."
He catches it, chuckling. "An idiot who's passionate about sports medicine."
"Uh-huh, sure," I mutter, rolling my eyes—though it takes everything in me not to laugh (or imagine it).
Because now my brain, being the absolute traitor it is, won't stop replaying his words.Nude plunging.Seriously?
I can literally feel my soul trying to leave my body. I'm just sitting here when internally I'm one intrusive thought away from yeeting myself out the window.
God, I need to stop thinking about it. Stop. Thinking. About. It.
But then he smiles again—thatsmile—and, yeah, great. Fantastic. I think every neuron in my brain have officially quit their jobs.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Zach shifts slightly, his playful grin softening.
"Caroline..."
"Ye—yeah?" My voice wobbles, and I canfeelthe heat crawling up my neck. Great. Totally the perfect time to look like a human tomato—right after mentally replaying a bathtub scene that shouldneversee the light of day. Seriously, I need to get a grip.
"Remember when I asked you a favor?"
"Favor?" I blink at him, trying to sound normal. "What favor?"
"The one where you agreed to go on a date with me if I earned some of your trust back."
He says it quietly, eyes darting away as he keeps massaging my calves. His shoulders are tense, like evensaying itfeels risky.
"Oh, right," I say softly. "I remember."
