“You should sit down and drop your head down to your legs.” Neva put her yoga mat down on the bench and went over to him, looking genuinely worried.
I looked at Genny and frowned, heading over to Jude as well. I’d figured his dramatics in the studio had just been that.
Genny reached out and stopped me before I got there. “He’s fine. Just attention seeking.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. He struggled in there, and his flexibility is terrible. Plus he ate a massive bacon roll before he started, so he’s felt sick all the way through. Leave him to Neva.” She pulled on one of the robes I’d left out before the class started. “I heard Nate say he needs his shoulder looked at. You go get yourself sorted and I’ll check that Jude survives.”
“Sure?”
She nodded. “Class was amazing. Go get yourself sorted. I’ll clean up.”
There was never any point arguing with Genny. “Thank you.”
I headed to the door to grab a shower and then pretended that putting my hands on Nate Morris didn’t have any effect on me other than job satisfaction.
Nate was already waiting for me by the time I got to my treatment room, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, and wearing sliders, which only showed off exactly how big his feet were.
Weirdly, I’d noticed his feet a few times, mainly because they were huge. Once, in a bar after a match, Neva, Genny and I had indulged in a not-so-random discussion about them and whether they were proportionate to the size of whatever he had in his shorts. That conversation had moved onto other players’ shoe sizes, of which Genny had a list. The conversation had only died a death when Rowan Reeves and Ryan O’Connell had come over and we’d burst into fits of giggles that terrified the pair of them, or as much as Rowan Reeves could ever be terrified.
“Thanks again.” He rubbed his hand through his still wet hair. “I know I’m taking up your time.”
I shook my head and didn’t say anything because I had no idea what to say. Best to let my hands do the talking.
“Want me to take my top off?”
I felt heat rise from my belly to my neck. I didn’t want to be attracted to him. He was a footballer; he was a widow and a single dad. Three labels I didn’t want my crush to have.
He did without me asking, sitting himself on the treatment table so I could start to examine him.
We went through the same range of movements as yesterday, his shoulder not quite as stiff. He knew the drill, holding his arm at various angles, letting me guide his elbow back and forth, my hands on his skin.
“Okay, I want you to move to the end of the table.” I moved behind him, getting ready to stick my knee into the small of his back and then twist him round, which would click his vertebrae, providing some instant relief.
His head tipped back before I could start, the back of it nudging into my breasts. He wasn’t the first footballer to do this. “Want me to hold my hands behind my back?”
“That’s the one.”
His head went forward again, although I was sure I saw a hint of pink on his cheeks. “This always feels a bit – kinky.”
I laughed, knowing what he meant, and right now, it didn’t feel that innocent. The air was thick, and we were both too quiet. I wrapped my arms through his, moving one knee higher up. “Try to relax and not think about kinky things.”
His laugh held something back.
I moved him round, first twice to the left, and then twice to the right, hearing the click of the vertebrate. He smelled of shower gel and musk, his skin still slightly tacky from the shower. I swallowed; my throat dry. For half a second, I didn’t let go, even though we were both still.
This, I knew, was all in my head. I’d gone too long without seeing someone, too long with just my hand and a good book for company in bed. I didn’t do footballers, and Nate Morris was still mourning his wife.
I moved away from him, getting off the table. “Lay face down, and I’ll massage your back.”
He nodded, turning his head to look at me. “Yoga was good. I forgot how much I enjoy it.”
“It’s what’s kept me sane.” This was true.
“Working with us must drive you mad. I don’t know how I cope with Jude most days, so how you guys manage when you’re not allowed to tell him exactly what you think– ”
He lay down, the muscles of his back relaxing. I moved to the side where his shoulder had been bothering him.
