Ivy rubbed her temple and glanced at her friend, who was still standing close by.
Erica’s eyes were wide as she stared straight ahead. “I think you poked the bear, and he’s not happy.”
Ivy turned to look at the ring. Sean stood, feet planted, fists flexing at his sides, nostrils flared. His eyes bore into hers, burning a path to her very soul. Why he appeared angry she couldn’t guess, since less than twenty-four hours ago he’d not so gently refused her offer.
So, she figured he must be annoyed to see her cozy up with Greg in the middle of his gym. Gym flirtation was Sean’s pet peeve, and he always reiterated that a gym was a place to train and sweat, not an opportunity to speed date.
Well, if that was what was bothering him, then he could go sit on his thumb as far as she was concerned, because this was her life, and she was ready to live it.
Ivy narrowed her eyes and gave him a challenging glare of her own. Then she spun on her heel and stalked off to her clinic.
* * *
The rest of the day went by in a blur of clients, writing up charts, and catching up on admin work. Mostly Ivy specialized in sports injuries, rehabbing cases that ranged from sprains to concussions to knee and shoulder damage and beyond. Her clients came from Thompson Kickboxing or from referrals from orthopedic surgeons, family doctors, or trainers at other gyms. Lately, she’d acquired a few new clients from word of mouth, and it pleased her that she was building a reputation in Portland. She’d worked hard to get here. It was satisfying to see it paying off.
By five-thirty she was helping her last client of the day. Chase Richards was an amateur kickboxer with an MCL injury she’d been rehabbing—on the referral of his trainer—for the last few weeks. “Don’t push it, Chase,” she warned as she observed a tremor run down his body as he lowered himself into a one-legged squat on the air cushion she’d asked him to balance on.
“I’m fine,” he replied in a strained voice.
When a sheen of sweat beaded his brow, she wondered if he was downplaying his discomfort. The young, testosterone fueled athletes often put up a tough front, pretending nothing was wrong and overworking themselves, thinking that would get them back into fighting shape faster.
To Ivy it was common sense that pushing too hard, too fast only set you back, but clearly it wasn’t as common as she thought, so she always had to remind them to slow down, breathe deep, and focus on the immediate exercise, not the end goal. The smallest movements often went the longest way in recovery.
Chase did another five one-legged squats before she told him to stop. It might not physically be hurting him so much right now, but she could tell by the way his body was reacting that he was overdoing it, and if he continued, his knee would swell again.
“You’re done for the day.” Then, even though he was almost a foot taller than her, and the same age, she reassuringly patted him on the shoulder like a parent might a child. “You did good. You’ll get there.”
Chase ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his face tight with exertion and irritation. “I need to get there soon. I can’t fall behind on training or I’ll lose my shot at making the championships this year.”
“Look at it this way, Chase. If you push too hard now, then you really will set yourself back and fall behind.”
His narrowed eyes didn’t look so sure.
“Do what I say, when I say, how I say, and you’ll be back in the ring before Christmas. But you need to be honest with me. If it hurts, you have to tell me.”
Getting these big alpha males to admit when it hurt was one of the most challenging parts of her job. Then again, she didn’t admit when it hurt either, so on that level she got it. Showing where it hurt meant showing weakness. And when weakness is exposed, someone could take advantage of it. In the ring and out.
She was listing the daily exercises she wanted Chase to do between now and their next appointment when she heard booming footsteps coming down the hallway from the reception area. She knew who it was even before he tossed open the glass door to her clinic.
Instantly, Sean’s body consumed the space. Chase was six-foot-two and solid muscle, but he appeared stunted next to Sean, especially a pissed Sean. She rarely saw Sean like this. Actually, she couldn’t remember seeing him more than mildly annoyed, but he certainly was now, and somehow it made his muscles bulge even more than they usually did.
Chase looked from Sean to Ivy, back to Sean, then to Ivy again. “Uh, everything okay?”
Bless him, the poor kid had no idea. And only God knew what it must look like to him. But the fact was, a thrill shot through her when Sean appeared in her doorway. A complicated mix between anticipation and relief. If he wanted to have it out, she was ready.
She maternally patted Chase again on the shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sean following the movement with a steely glare.
“Everything is perfect.” She handed the daily-exercise sheet to Chase. “Three times a day, each. Stop if it hurts.” She made direct and focused eye contact with him. “Don’t push it,” she repeated in a firm tone. “Got it?”
Chase grinned, probably amused that such a tiny person was giving him orders, but she fisted her hands on her hips and stared him down until he said, “Got it.”
Then he headed out the door, but not without giving Sean a pretty impressive stare down of his own. Ivy mentally upgraded Chase to her new favorite client.
When they were alone, she turned to Sean and crossed her arms. He watched the young kickboxer strut away from them. Was she mistaken or did she spy some respect in Sean’s expression?
Since she was still hurt and embarrassed by his rejection the day before and confused by his sudden anger with her today, she opted to be blunt and harsh. “What the hell do you want?” Being defensive and as standoffish as possible was one of her ways of dealing with emotions she’d rather avoid.
And apparently, Sean was on the same page.
