But I’m already halfway to second plate. What else am I supposed to do?
I didn’t make it in the game. It was an easy out, and I returned to the dugout chagrined. But my team went on to win, which is all that really matters.
That’s what I want for Orlando. Victory.
A bad scandal could ruin that for him, and I find myself frustrated and stressed when I consider the ramifications we’re both risking. Mel has been handling his file, but this injury has pulled me back into Orlando’s career. It’s time we make official his transition to a junior agent, even if it is a little ahead of Zeke’s schedule.
I put the reporter out of mind and head to Orlando’s place like planned. I’ve had a reason to stop by most days, fitting quick visits with his team in between my other meetings, but he’s the one who requested me today. He’s got a day off from his physical therapist, but still needs someone to spot him for his exercises.
When I get there, Orlando is in his sweats and a t-shirt, and he looks like he just woke up from a nap. I know he’s been going stir-crazy, and he asks about his team every time I see him. But generally, I’m impressed with how he’s handling it all.
He’s determined, and just as importantly, he’s taking the bumps and bruises in stride. He’s nearly in the clear for his concussion, and a fractured clavicle isn’t a major injury, but I’ve seen less serious medical issues cause athletes to fall apart psychologically.
“Holding up?” I ask.
“Good.” He walks over and gets himself a glass of water, moving carefully but easily now that he’s fully adjusted to his sling. My instincts tell me to do it for him, but he gets annoyed when I fuss over him too damn much. Instead, I watch him finesse it all with one hand and restrain myself.
“Really good, in fact,” he says. “I can’t believe how excited I am for light stretching.”
I cock up half a smile, remembering the feeling from my own recovery. “We’ll get you to the doctor’s office tomorrow. Clear you for some treadmill walking.”
“Dare to dream.”
I look around. “You got some yoga mats or something we can use?”
Ten minutes later, I’ve got us set up. I push some of the furniture aside, giving us plenty of clear space around the mats, just in case Orlando gets dizzy. He shifts his weight from side to side slowly, moving his hips as he warms up.
Perfect form. Very nice.
My eyes dance across his body, lingering on the bulge in his sweatpants before I drag them back to attention.
He shouldn’t exert himself for sex right now, and it doesn’t matter how horny I’ve been. I don’t know why I’m even letting myself think about sex right now.
“How’s your clavicle?” I ask him.
Orlando shrugs with his good shoulder. “Not too shabby. Sore, especially if I move that one way.” He looks like he’s about to move his arm that way but stops himself instead. “And no lingering concussion symptoms that I notice.”
I nod, relieved that the scariest is behind us.
Him.
Whatever.
“Come on,” I say, lowering myself to the mat with a grunt. Like always, I have to pivot slowly to work with my knee, but I get down there.
Orlando does the same, easing forward on his good hand. “You must have lost your mind when you had to rest and recover with your knee.”
“What do you mean?”
“You never just chill. You’re always either at the office, here, or rushing off to another meeting.”
“You’re telling me you have time to lie around and eat bonbons?”
Orlando laughs. “What even is a bonbon?”
I frown at him. “I don’t know. It’s like a little cake, probably.”
“Okay. No. I do not sit around and eat little cakes. But since you mention it, sampling baked goods would be a great way to relax, if you wanted to pick up the hobby.”
