Page 4 of Off Limits PUCK

“Here goes nothing,” I say as I walk down the hallway. I enter the brightly lit room with its massage tables, stretchy bands, roller balls, and many other tools PTs and masseuses use to stretch us out after games and practices.

Allie is standing beside a massage table, a tablet in her hand. No doubt all of Juan’s notes are pulled up, and she’s seeing his recommendations for my injury. Recommendations that definitely include clearing me to play this season. For whatever reason, I feel defensive already. What if she doesn’t just go with what Juan recommended? What if she makes my life a living hell by making me sit on the bench half the season until all my shoulder pain goes away?

It might never go away. You might never recover—then what? Early retirement.My mind sends forth those fearful thoughtsand a cold anger rushes through me. I need to get ahead of this young and inexperienced PT’s agenda with my own agenda—clear me to play. No exceptions.

Now I just need to figure out the best way to manipulate her without coming onto her. Her blue eyes lift from the tablet to meet mine. I see determination and a degree of openness in their depths. Good. I’ll try to convert her into being determined to see me play again at our season opener game and open to my way of doing things.

I give her a Hollywood smile. Instead of melting her, she bristles. Cute. I saw the look of unbridled desire on her face five minutes ago in the shower. She’s just pretending to be immune to me right now, but I know she’s weak for me. All women are.

“Allison Austin,” I say as politely as I can. I extend a hand, not daring to hug her even though I remember her when she had bangs and braces. Protocol cannot be breached if I am going to use her to clear me to play. This shouldn’t be too hard, right? She’s my sister’s age, so that puts her at around twenty-five. Piece of cake.

She looks at my hand and another flush crosses her cheeks. I bite back a smirk. She’s thinking about where she just saw my hand. I’d bet any amount of money. I drop the hand down to the massage table.

“Kenz didn’t tell me you were applying to work here. My old PT was named Juan. So, you’ll be taking his place.” An idea forms in my mind. “I’m sure he left you all of his notes and stuff in thatfile you’re looking at. You can see that he recommended that I be cleared for full contact playing.” I shrug. “All you need to do is take a quick look here today and confirm that what Juan says goes.” My eyes glint at her and my tone drops. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go up against the word of a twenty-five-year veteran in the industry, right?” I pause. “You’re only twenty or so yourself, if I recall?”

I finish my little speech with another huge smile. I tap the table. “Where do you want me? On the table?”

I wait for her to swoon before me, powerless to argue with my vote of confidence in Juan. Oh boy, was I ever wrong about that!

Chapter three

Allie

“Cut the crap, please,Jake.”

I see right through him. Does this type of manipulation actually work on people who are employed by the Eagles? Did it work on Juan? He’s trying to intimidate me without being too obvious about it, and I will not stand for it. I do not even answer to him—I answer directly to the coach and the team’s owner! Not to mention Jake’s surgeon, who is on standby in case his injury doesn’t heal, and the team’s two doctors.

“If you think you are going to control how our sessions progress, you are wrong,” I say as politely as I can, matching his super smooth tone of confidence that sounded just like a snake-oil salesman.

He blinks at me in surprise. Then he lifts a muscled arm to push blonde hair out of his face, his hazel eyes darkening into a shade of brown. He’s buying time. I almost laugh. He is clearly not used to people—to women—telling him no on anything, is he? I shake my head. And here I have been harboring a crush on the guy for years! I feel dumb now.

Then I blush again, remembering how often I’ve gotten off on thoughts of him doing oh so wicked things to my body.

“Please, go ahead and step on the scale. I need to evaluate your body mass before I begin assessing you.” I gesture to the high end scale that measures so much more than his weight. It gives me a read on his lean muscle and his fat, among other things.

He does as I tell him to do, then I ask him questions I’m sure every doctor and professional have asked him since his injury at the end of the last season. His answers are short, like he’s bored. But so far, I haven’t had to put my hands on him. That part will come later.

“So it looks like your last MRI didn’t show any tissue damage. But you were on very strong nerve pain medications to control spasms. How did you react to those meds?”

The question catches him off guard. “Um, fine, I think. Why are you asking about nerve pain meds?”

Honestly, I’m concerned. Based on what I can see from his scans and tests, he should not have had to take strong pills. Doing so just masks the pain without fixing anything, and I’m seeing infront of me that he was on the meds for a whole month as the last season ended. Why wasn’t he pulled off the ice to heal right away?

“I’m just wondering why they were prescribed to you when you didn’t suffer nerve damage.” I hold up the tablet. “Unless I’m missing something here.”

He laughs, a loud, long, condescending laugh. I want to give him a big “fuck you” and leave. I’m a professional and I’ve been working long enough to know what acceptable behaviors are and are not in a work environment.

“Juan might have tolerated this disrespect,” I say flatly. “But I won’t.”

“You’re just here so you can work with a bunch of big, tall, well-endowed dudes for a good time. You also are lucky to be here—if we hadn’t been desperate to replace Juan right before the new season is starting, do you honestly think you’d have been hired? We were desperate.” He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to cry in a puddle at his feet, telling him I’m sorry for asking a basic question about his medication. Well, he can go to hell. I’m not weak.

“Oh yes, let’s focus on that, shall we?” I say, smooth as butter. I take a step toward him and jab my finger aggressively into his muscled chest. “Why was the team ‘desperate’ big boy? Huh? Why were they scrambling to give you your own PT instead of sharing the other three physical therapists with the team?”

He swats my hand away, but I grab his wrist. Thanks to my self-defense classes, I’m fast. I grip him hard enough that he smirks at me in surprise, looking pleased that I’m not letting him bully me. Guys are weird like that!

“Because of you. Because. Of. You.” I say with emphasis on each word. “So, stop being a princess and get on that damn table so I can get an honest and reliable read on your recovery. Everyone is tired of your lies, hotshot. And so you know, you’re not actually fooling anyone. Why else would they bring in someone with specialized training in ‘old’ injuries?”

He looks completely shocked. And it’s true. I just completed my extra training on recovery of injuries that are not fresh. It’s tough work, bringing health back to body parts that healed incorrectly due to neglect.

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