Page 33 of Arrogant Puck

“Yeah.”

I keep my face composed. My fingers press gently around the joint, taking in the resistance, the way it wants to guard.

“You’re showing signs of a hip impingement,” I say calmly. “Could be labral irritation. It needs daily work. Consistency. You might recover with time—or you could need surgery. I’m not awalking MRI, so I can’t determine that, but we can lessen the pain as much as possible. Okay?”

He scoffs. “I’m not going to lay limp on some table while you tell me to do clamshells and baby stretches.”

“That’s my professional opinion,” I say. “You can take it or leave it.”

I set his leg down, start gathering my tools. No more time to waste. I need to get the hell out of here.

But when I turn toward the door, I feel his hand close around mine.

Firm. Not hard. But immovable.

My gut clenches.

Shit.

I try to pull free, but he uses that moment to tug—sharp and fast—pulling me between his legs. The bed creaks beneath him.

His gaze pins me. “What’s your problem?”

My heart knocks in my chest at the proximity, but I keep my tone cool.

“My problem is that I had to come here for something that would take five minutes at work. Coming here was a bad idea.”

A flicker crosses his face, too quick to read.

“But you came anyway?” he says. Voice low, cruel.

I snatch my hand back and square my shoulders. “I’m here because Riley was going to come in my place.”

He smirks. “Bullshit.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I seethe.

He leans in with a cocky expression. “Don’t need to.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes. “Then stop acting like you do.”

There’s a beat. His expression shifts, darkens—not with anger, exactly, but something heavier.

I swallow down the adrenaline tightening my throat. The pinch of my nerves. The memory of Tyler and Marcus’s hands on me, making me bite out a reaction. “Let go of whatever the hellyou think this is and let me do my job… Or don’t. I don’t care anymore.”

He doesn’t stop me when I back away this time.

But his stare follows me all the way to the door.

Like he’s already decided that this game is far from over.

Chapter 12

She walks out the front door with that same stiff posture she walked in with—straight-backed, shoulders squared, like she’s forcing herself not to look shaken.

I watch her through the cameras. One hand still on the edge of the bed, the other gripping my phone like I’m not the one slipping.

Her figure shrinks on the screen, her hair catching the porch light just as another figure steps into frame.

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