Athletes flirt.
Athletes charm.
Athletes assume every woman within fifty feet is interested.
And that is so not happening.
Not here.
No way.No how.
I step onto the sideline just as the drill ends and the team jogs toward the benches.
Sweat, testosterone, and ego roll toward me like a heat wave.
One of them whistles.Another gives me a grin that probably works on half the women in North Carolina.
“Excuse me, I gotta tell my man something,” Finley says and runs off to talk to one of the huge, scowling athletes.
I nod and I fold my arms, and wait.
Professional.
Composed.
Unimpressed.
Noah Walker stops right in front of me.
Up close, he’s even bigger.Taller by almost a foot, chest still rising from exertion, eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Hi, I’m Noah Walker.So, you here for a tour of the paddock?”he asks, voice rough.
“Chiara Giardino,” I reply and ignore his outstretched hand—no way I’m touching this man.“And that’s a bignoto being a tourist.”
“Yeah, so why you here then, Love?”
“I’m the new physical therapist,” I correct.
He smirks.“Then you’ll be needing a tour sooner than later.”
“No, thanks.I got it.”
A few of his teammates snort.
He studies me like I’m an unexpected puzzle.
“Well, then, Chiara-the-physical-therapist,” he says, clearly with a trace of an accent that might be British.“Welcome to the Rovers.Maybe I can take you out to dinner tonight?Welcome you properly.”
I hold his gaze calmly.
And lay down the rule that’s going to save me a lot of trouble.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I say.“I’m here to keep you healthy.Not entertained.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Meaning?”
