Page 20 of Love is Fake

“When does pre-season training start?” I ask, focusing on the task at hand.

“It’s already started,” Lennox sighs, looking pained. “We don’t usually do the whole break things. We train year-round.”

“I meant on-ice,” I tell him gently, knowing it’s hard for any athlete who’s been sidelined with an injury, but especially so when that athlete is as dedicated as Lennox is.

“I need to be skating by August.” There’s no question, no hint of doubt that what he wants may not be possible. Not in his mind, at least. After looking at his scans, however, I’m notconvinced Lennox will get back to the level he was playing at before and in two months’ time even less so. But if I know one thing about rehabilitation, it’s that if you don’t believe you can get better, it won’t happen. So I’m not going to be the one to tell him not to get his hopes up.

“And I’ll do everything I can to help you do that,” I promise and let him see my sincerity when he looks into my eyes.

He nods in acknowledgement and it feels as if some of the tension has left the room - like Lennox has allowed himself to trust me, even just a little. Silently, I vow not to prove his faith in me wrong.

“We’re going to be doing a lot of work in the pool,” I tell him. “You have one on site, right?” I look up for him to confirm and he nods.

“Indoor or outdoor?” I ask, making notes as I go.

Lennox shifts slightly on the bed, looking a little pained as if he doesn’t like to talk about the luxury he lives in. It’s endearing, actually; it’s a change from the number of show-offs I usually meet in this job. “Umm, both.”

“How about a tennis court?” I ask, not because it matters for his treatment but because now I am curious.

“Four,” he nods, the word twisting in his mouth like a bad taste. I hide my smile behind my hand at how clearly he wants to get off this topic.

“Cinema room?” I continue.

“Yes,” he sighs before narrowing his eyes at me in suspicion. “Seriously, is this even important?”

“Olympic-sized ice rink?” I ask innocently, ignoring his question. His mouth twitches as he realizes I’m teasing.

He shakes his head, letting me see the smile that’s graced a million magazine covers. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“So no rink at Wayne Manor, huh?” The words are already out of my mouth by the time I‘ve realized I’ve done that thing of speaking out loud without really thinking first.

“Wayne Manor?” Lennox’s expression turns from confusion to amusement at the speed of light as he makes the connection. “Are you calling me Batman?”

I shrug. I’m a nerd, so what? “Well, between the out-of-the-way mansion, the batmobiles in your garage and the whole air of mystery you seem to like to cultivate…you tell me.”

I’m rewarded with a deep rumble of laughter. It’s an addictive sound. A sound, I realize, I wouldn’t mind hearing again. Maybe I wouldn’t even mind if I was the only person to make him laugh like that.

Lennox eyes me curiously. “So you’re a comic book fan?”

“Don’t sound so surprised! I know my Marvel from my DC.” God, could I sound like more of a dork right now?

He frowns as if he can’t get his head around me. “You just…you don’t seem like the type.”

I know I shouldn’t ask him what type I seem like, that if he says something belittling, I’ll be crushed no matter how much I want to pretend his opinion doesn’t matter to me.

It’s just because I’m a people-pleaser, I reason. It’s nothisopinion I care about. I just have this thing about people liking me. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s not something I’ve ever been able to get away from. It’s been that way since I was a kid.

Kiara – ever the psychoanalyst – says it has to do with my absent mom and me thinking if I can make people like me then they won’t leave me. I’m not saying she’s wrong. I’m just saying I prefer to think about my mother as little as possible and I’d prefer to believe any impact she had on my life ended the moment she decided to walk out on her husband and infant baby.

“What kind of ‘type’ is that? Someone who can read?” I challenge him, mostly joking.

Lennox gives me that inscrutable look of his again. “Are you always this feisty with your clients or do I just have a special talent for pissing you off?”

I wince inwardly, hoping like hell I haven’t offended him and reminding myself I’m supposed to be on my best damned behavior, especially after what almost happened outside. The memory of the not-quite-almost kiss has left me feeling frustrated and confused, but now really isn’t the time to analyze those emotions or dig any deeper.

“Sorry, lack of sleep,” I mumble under my breath in a pretty half-hearted apology.

Lennox doesn’t say anything as I keep gently manipulating his leg and knee, making notes as I go over the areas we need to work on together.

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