I walk into the Crushers rink with my bag slung over my shoulder and my game face on.After spending the last two days convincing myself that I need to get over my...hate for Jay Cross, I'm finally ready to see him.
He's just another patient.Just another thigh.Who cares that his thighs are an anatomical specimen?Not me.
When I push through the locker room doors, it's empty with the noise from the rink filling the room.Good.His teammates are all out there.Fewer people see any of this.
Jay's already sitting on the treatment table in those same obscenely small black shorts when I get to the physio room.Shirtless, he's scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to my entrance.
Whatever.I don't need a fanfare every time I enter a room, and besides, his reaction only emphasizes that everything he said to me three days ago were just words.
I clear my throat as I make my way around the treatment table.He looks up and a wide grin spreads across his face.
“Hart.”He sets his phone aside, giving me his full attention.I might not be looking at him, but I can feel every inch of his glare over my body.“Skirts suit you.”
Don't take the bait.
I grumble in response, setting my tools out like I do with any other client.Tape.Check.Scissors.Check.Gloves...
“Did you wear it for me?”
“I did not—” I stop myself.Don't engage.Don't let him see that he's getting to you.“I'm here to do your tape.That's it.”
“That's it?”He tilts his head, all faux innocence.“No small talk?No 'how was your day, Jay?'No 'did your training go okay the last three days?'“
I turn, putting my gloves on, letting them snap against my skin.Jay jumps.Only a little, but enough to draw the tiniest bit of satisfaction out of me.
Professional.Professional.Professional.
“Let me get one thing straight,” I say, my voice harder than I feel.“This is a professional relationship.You are my patient.I am your athletic therapist.Whatever happened two years ago—whatever youthinkis happening now—doesn't change that.”
“Okay.”
I still, taking him in.“Okay?”
Why does that sound too easy?
“Yeah.Okay.”He shrugs, but that smirk doesn't fade.“Professional.Got it.”
I narrow my eyes.“Why do I feel like you're not taking this seriously?”
“I'm taking it very seriously.”He spreads his thighs slightly, making room for me to work.“Come on, Hart.Tape me up.Professionally.”
Something about the way he says “professionally” makes it sound filthy.I hate that I kind of like it.
Grabbing the tape and adhesive spray, I point at his legs.
“Feet apart.”
He complies, watching me with those ridiculous blue eyes as I position myself between his legs.
His thigh muscles flex as I take him in.This is fine.I've done this dozens of times.The fact that I want to study every flex of his muscles is for research purposes alone.
I spray the adhesive across his thigh, and he inhales sharply at the cold.
“Did you do the stretches I asked you to?”
“Every single one.”He grins wider.“Even got Dash to show me a few moves with the foam roller.I obviously got my own as Dash doesn't share.Thought about you the whole time, though.Some of those moves are downright obscene.”
I narrow my eyes.“That's inappropriate.”
