Page 109 of The Backup Plan

His grin is lazy but dangerous. He lifts his brows. “You started it.”

“I absolutely did not.” I laugh.

“You had your hands on me, Doc.” He lowers his voice. “Can’t blame a man when his mind wanders.”

“You’re impossible,” I mutter.

“And yet, you keep putting me on your table because you just can’t resist me.”

I grab my tablet to give my hands something to do. “Next game’s in five days.” I twist my lips and tap in a few notes. “The drills are no contact the rest of the week, which is helpful.”

“You can’t protect me forever, Doc.”

“I’m well aware,” I mutter. I wish I could. “What feels good to you one day can change in seconds. A wrong hit. A weird torque on a throw. A—”

“Emery,” he says, voice firm. “I know the risks of this job, and yet I still keep playing. If I get hurt, that’s on me and has nothing to do with you or your assessments or clearances.”

“I’m only as good as the information you give me. It’s easy to second-guess myself—”

“You aren’t at the top of your field because you second-guess yourself.” He lifts his eyebrows. “You’re here because of your knowledge and skill.”

I groan. “See? This is why—”

“Things need to be kept where they’re kept. Or kept where they keep. Or whatever in the hell that saying is.” His grin is playful, but his eyes are serious.

That stupid phrase pulls me out of my own head, my own doubt, and refocuses back to him.

“You’re right.” I nod.

“I trust you and your assessments. Now you need to trust me and that I’m being honest with you.” He holds his hand out for me to shake it. “Deal?”

A smile crawls onto my lips. How does he make everything seem so simple? So casual? “Deal,” I say and shake his hand.

But even this connection, as innocent as it is, has my body humming.

The room suddenly feels too quiet. Too exposed. Like everyone has turned and is now watching our interaction when I’m more than certain they aren’t.

I force myself to take a step back, professional walls snapping into place even as my skin buzzes from where we’ve touched. “That’s it for now. I have Buckman coming in”—I look at the clock—“two minutes. We’ll reassess everything before the game on Sunday.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I wipe down the bench and sanitize my goniometer, ready for Buckman, and keep my head down, eyes focused on anything but him.

“Emery?”

I glance over my shoulder at him.

“I look forward to seeing you later,” he says quietly. No teasing. No grin. Just pure honesty. He gives me a smile and then heads out to the locker room.

I don’t even have time to pick up my tablet before Tyler walks up with his ever-efficient self and always squeaky shoes. “Dr. Porter?”

I startle, trying to make sure the guilty look is off my face. “Hi, Tyler. What can I do for you?”

“Grant wants to see you,” referring to the general manager.

My stomach tightens.

“Now? I have Buckman coming in any second.”