Page 77 of Jackson
Jackson wasn’t sure which surprised him more—Sandra’s lecture or her assumption that he might try to ‘Dom’ his way out of hard therapy. He had always prided himself on being able to work hard on whatever needed doing. “Sandra, you’rea professional, and I would never treat you as anything less. Besides, even at the club, you’re not my submissive.”
“Good. That’s what I needed to hear. Let’s get started.”
After the first hour of exercises, he was afraid she might be right. He wished he could find a way to avoid the pain, if not the exercise.
She started him off by rotating his ankle and making sure he didn’t lose the strength in his foot muscles, too.
He was bored out of his mind until she switched gears on him.
The leg lifts to work on strength of his thigh muscles were excruciating. He decided that PT actually stood for physical torture, and Sandra was his personal terrorist.
On the bright side, he was making visible progress. Less than a week had passed since the surgery, and he had already graduated from the walker to crutches.
He’d felt like such an invalid using it. Each day, his leg felt stronger, and he was starting to be able to put real weight on it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to have the crutches for too long.
Maybe next he could have a walking stick like Gandalf.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Paula drew a breath and schooled her features before pushing open the door. Three men trailed her, none of whom she’d invited.
Her mouth pulled into a tight, forced smile. Had they been rude? No, not openly. Just… being men.
She wasn’t sure if their casual, good-old-boy attitude was meant to be friendly or if she was being tolerated in the same way an overbearing sister would be—an annoyance they had to endure because Jackson was involved with her.
It irked her.
It shouldn’t have.
But it did.
She adjusted her posture, straightening her spine. They might not consider her as one of them, but she’d be damned if they treated her like an outsider in Jackson’s space.
She stepped inside, her voice even. “Jackson, you have visitors.”
Jackson looked up from his spot on the couch, his expression shifting into something she couldn’t read. “I do?”
Carl stepped in with his usual self-satisfied grin, hoisting a case of beer like some kind of peace offering. “And we brought gifts.”
Joel chuckled. “And pizza.”
Will was the only one who didn’t look entirely comfortable, but that was his problem, not hers.
Carl dropped the beer onto the coffee table. “We figured we’d keep you company, watch the game. Royals are playing the White Sox—it should be good.”
I’m not staying for this.
She’d spent the past week practically living here, making sure Jackson had everything he needed while he recovered, keeping herself busy so she wouldn’t have to think about how deep she’d fallen for him. The last thing she needed was a locker room atmosphere in the apartment to make her feel even more out of place.
“This is a nice surprise,” Jackson said, but his gaze slid toward her—watching.
Paula crossed her arms, keeping her expression neutral. “Looks like the guys will keep you busy and entertained tonight.”
And I had been looking forward to another pleasant evening with you.
Will adjusted his grip on the stack of boxes, clearly waiting for someone to relieve him of them.
Paula took a step back. “I’m going to head over to my place and get some work done there since you’re in good hands here.”
