Page 41 of Arrogant Puck

I watch her for a beat, then oblige. The mattress dips beneath me. I adjust my shorts while she sets up at my side.

“How’s the pain?” she asks. “One to ten.”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I stretch out, arms behind my head. Her eyes flick there for a second before she starts handing me a band and giving out instructions.

A minute later, she checks her phone.

“You don’t seem like the girlfriend type,” I say, watching her on her phone.

She doesn’t look up. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You’re on work hours.”

She scoffs. “I’m actually not. This is my day off, remember?”

I sit up without a word and walk out. No dramatic exit, just gone.

I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it at the fridge, drinking slow. Let the silence do its job. Let her wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Five minutes pass. Ten.

I lean on the counter.

Fifteen.

Nothing.

I smirk.

Twenty.

Finally—footsteps.

She walks out of the room, bag slung over her shoulder, posture stiff. She’s pissed.

“You left me in there for twenty minutes,” she says tightly.

I shrug, take another sip. “You’re not working, so…”

Her jaw twitches. She stares at me for a long second, not saying a word, just watching. Calculating.

“I’m only here to help you, Slater. To treat you. If you’re not going to take it seriously, this is my last visit.”

I set the glass down and look her over, head to toe. Slowly.

“I bet your boyfriend’s waiting for you.”

I walk past her to get another glass of water.

Her eyes follow me this time. I feel it—her focus dragging down my back, pausing at my waist. Maybe lower.

Something sharp and electric flickers in my chest. A little spark in the dark.

Oh fuck.

Feeling.

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