Page 29 of Opening Strain

“I don’t know too much about Jenna, other than she has a great reputation for physical therapy around here. She runs two clinics.” Her voice drops. “I understand her boyfriend’s death hit her hard.”

“It did for all of us.” I swallow the last bit of my tea, which has turned bitter.

Angie’s hand goes over her heart. “I’m sorry. For a moment, I forgot he was your bandmate, too. My condolences.” Her left wrist falls to the table, with the name Dante visible along with King and those of their two daughters. Her chest expands on a breath, and she points to the tattoo. “I know what it means to lose someone you love. My first husband, Dante, is always with me. He brought King into my life.”

Her honesty washes over me like one of our encores. “That’s what Luke said about Tris. Darren brought him to the band for a reason.”

Her left hand covers mine. “Believe him.”

Our moment is broken when Michelle walks to our table. “Bennett, I thought that was you! How are you doing?” She leans closer. “How’s the leg?” She flips her long, brown hair, a couple of shades darker than Angie’s. “Hi there, Angie. How’s the real estate business coming along?”

I glance between the two women, one an overeager botoxed puppy while the other has a fake smile plastered across her surgically untouched face. I lean back in my chair and wait for Angie’s reply. “Hi there, Michelle. I didn’t realize you knew my new client, Mr. Hardy.”

I tip the hat sitting on the seat next to me toward her. Client relationship. Nice way to keep it professional, Mrs. Hunte. Michelle, however, doesn’t take up the mantle. “We met a couple of days ago, when he was out to dinner?—”

Not knowing whether King shared our meeting with his wife, I speak over the rather annoying woman. “Yes, Angie. I met Michelle here when I arrived in town.” I focus my gaze on the woman, wearing a pair of very tight jeans. I wonder if she was sewed into them like they did Olivia Newton-John inGrease? “I want to thank you for not spilling the beans of my whereabouts to the media. I’m enjoying my anonymity.”

Michelle reaches out to me, running her fingertips over my forearm. “Of course. How’s rehab going?”

“I’ve only been at it for a day. Too soon to pass judgment.”

Her arms cross her ample chest. “There’s still time to switch physical therapists, you know. I’m sure you’d already be seeing results with someone else.”

“I’m good.” While I want faster results, I’m not going to jeopardize my recovery by pushing too hard like I tried to do yesterday.Jenna knew the probable outcome but still let me try. Lesson learned she has my best interests at heart.

Michelle opens her mouth, but the alert from my cellphone indicates I have fifteen minutes to get to my appointment. I rush a quick good-bye to Michelle, drop a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, and escort Angie to her car—who graciously agrees to drive me to PT.

On our way to the clinic, I text Jenna to let her know my ETA and direct Angie to the back of the building. “What do you know about Michelle?”

From the driver’s seat, she slants a glance toward me. “She’s a bitch.”

Well then. Guess Angie doesn’t mince words. “I can see that.” I chuckle. “She’s banging hot.” Not that I’d tap her even if it wasn’t against doctor’s orders, though. She seems too...high maintenance. With all her negativity toward Jenna, I don’t get the feeling she’s trustworthy.

Angie’s shoulder lifts. “If you like the plastic look, by all means.”

Like all the influencers and models who run in my orbit. “Plastic can be fun.” The last time someonenotof that ilk caught my attention, it was Jenna. Before her, Lissa in high school. Fuck. I glance at the woman behind the steering wheel, who’s nothing if not real. “So long as you don’t need to look under the hood.” When do Ieverdo that?

We arrive at the back of the clinic where Jenna’s standing by the door. I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door while Angie does the same. Because she’s more agile at the moment, Angie beats me to Jenna, arms extended.

“Jenna. So great to see you again.” Angie brings Jenna in for a hug.

“Hi, Angie.” Jenna steps back, a bit awkwardly. “Bennett told me you and King got him his rental.”

Angie nods. “Everything going well for you? I understand you opened a second location.”

Jenna tucks her ever-present clipboard under her arm. “We did, six months ago. Looking for another spot for a third location now.”

“Great. Please reach out if we can be of any help.” Angie passes her a business card. Smart business move.

“Will do.” Angie gives me a hug and hops back into King’s convertible. Not jealous of her mobility. At. All.

Jenna brings me out of my musings. “Are you ready for today?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I open the clinic’s door and indicate she should precede me. Even though I’m injured, I still have some gentlemanly courtesies in me. I try not to concentrate on her ass—off limits—as she leads me toward the elevator. Since the clinic’s situated on the second floor, I’d normally take the stairs. Being injured sucks.

In the back room, we begin my exercises. When Jenna’s adjusting my leg, I remember my shower this morning. How I yelled her name as I came. Since her hands are on me now, I mess up again on purpose. She corrects me once more.

This time, instead of moving my leg as she’s directing, I grab her hand. Her skin’s so soft. I rub my thumb over her palm.

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