Page 9 of One Pucking Heart

“I’m sorry. Sure, follow me.” I grab my purse and a measly bag of groceries and lock the car. Instructing the deliveryman to wait in the hall, I open my apartment door and take a bouquet, one at a time. “Thank you.”

“Have a great night,” he says before retreating from the building.

I lock the apartment door and set the bouquet on the countertop next to the other. One by one, I remove the paper to reveal the contents. I was correct in assuming they were bouquets but not flowers. One is a decorative display of fruit—a variety of sweet produce is attached to the vase-like base by sticks—melon balls, pineapple, and strawberries cut into flower shapes. It’s colorful, pretty, and looks amazingly delicious.

The other one is also set up to look like a bouquet, but it’s composed entirely of gourmet chocolates of different shapes and sizes. I plop a piece of milk chocolate shaped like a daisy into my mouth. When I bite into it, sweet caramel oozes against my tongue. My eyes roll back, and an audible moan escapes my lips.

I eat three more pieces of chocolate, all different and heavenly, and stare at the edible bouquets. Tears fill my eyes, and my chest aches with gratitude. My sad meals for the next three days just turned extraordinary. Pulling the paper away from the bases, I spot a card I had previously missed.

When I open it, my eyes widen when I see it’s from Beckett.

Elena,

Thank you for taking such great care of me. Though you’ve told me nothing about yourself,

I’m guessing you went straight for the chocolate. Am I right?

Enjoy.

I’m looking forward to working together.

Beckett

“Well, motherfucker,” I say on an exhale.

Placing another piece of chocolate on my tongue, I release a contented sigh. Maybe the man isn’t awful. I needed this more than he’ll ever know. Despite my brain’s protest, the guy scored a few bonus points on my heart. Not that I’ll ever share that with him. I have a feeling if I give Beckett Feldmore an inch, he’ll steal a mile, and I can’t give him the chance.

Stopping mid-bite, I frown, wondering how he got my address. With a shake of my head, I clear the thought and enjoy the candy. That’s a problem for another day.

CHAPTER FIVE

BECKETT

Sweat drips down my face, pooling on the mat below me. The timer hasn’t gone off, so I hold this plank position though my entire body shakes.

After a month of resting, I started physical therapy this week, and Elena’s version is kicking my ass. We haven’t begun any therapy with my knee yet because she says it isn’t quite ready. The focus has been on core and quad work, as strengthening both will allow me to perform at the level I was before even though my MCL will never be the same. The ligament will heal but will always be a little stretched out from the injury.

At this moment, the only thing I hate more than core work is one-legged core work. Motherfucker. My arms tremble, and I grunt, willing myself to hold the pose until the timer finally sounds. Collapsing into a pile of sweat, I sigh with relief.

It’s official, Elena Cortez is the devil’s spawn sent to fuck up my life.

The woman continues to be one of the hottest females I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve supplied the best flirt game I have to offer, and still—she’s completely unaffected. At this point, I get that she’s not into me, but I love a challenge despite knowing it’s one I’ll never win.

Oddly enough, I don’t mind—playing a game in which a victory will never be mine because the game is that much fun. I’m mildly obsessed with my doctor. Flirting with her is the best part of my day. While she’s never expressed as much or given me a real smile, I think she likes it, too. I can’t explain how I believe this to be true. I just know it. No, I’m not some creep bothering a woman when she doesn’t want it. My flirtatious charm is innocent. Dr. Cortez is too strong-willed to admit she likes it.

After the thank-you gift of fruit and chocolates I sent her a month ago, she’s never asked me to stop again. Sure, she ignores my advances but doesn’t vocally protest. We’ve fallen into a comfortable pattern—I make sure she knows she’s a beautiful goddess, and she tortures me almost to death. It’s comforting in its simplicity.

“Didn’t think you would make it through that one.” She clicks the end of her ballpoint pen.

My cheek rests on the sweaty mat, and I peer up at Elena. “There is nothing you can ask of me that I will not do.”

“I highly doubt that.” She scribbles against the paper attached to her clipboard.

“Try me.”

She ignores my challenge. “You’re done for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time. Same place.”

I push off the floor. “I’ll be here, ready and waiting for you.” I supply her with my classic panty-dropping smile, but it’s all for naught because she turns away without so much as a glance in my direction.

---