Page 46 of Cheap Shot
“Do you have any questions?” Michele asks, her head turned down, looking at her tablet.
I have about a million and one questions running through my mind: Has she been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about her? Did she wish she had said yes to our date? Does she want to say fuck it and let me kiss her? But none of them are appropriate when we're alone in the locker room.
“You the one in charge of keeping me off the ice?” I ask dryly.
Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing. “I’m the one in charge of making sure you can stay on the ice. Long-term. Is that going to be a problem?”
Yes. It’s going to be an enormous problem, but again, I don’t say that out loud. As far as Michele is concerned, I’m just another player she has to deal with. A job and a means to an end. What I should do is make things easier on her, but I don’t have time to waste on the slow and steady rehab pace she set in her plan. I need to ensure I make it back on the ice as soon as possible. The only way to do that is to push myself to the limit, but I have a feeling Michele won’t like that very much.
“I don't need my hand held. I know what my body can handle. Just give me some stretches to do so Parker and Coach are happy, and we can be on our way.”
“I could, or you could just let me do my damn job, Cole.”
Fuck.Just hearing her say my name does things to my body that I don’t have time to think about. Being stuck in this room with her for weeks while we follow this long, drawn-out rehab plan is going to be pure torture.
“Yeah, your job,” I snark, hopping off the training table and heading toward the door. “Thanks for the reminder. I’ve come back from worse without anyone’s help before, and I can do it again now.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Michele responds calmly.
Her face is the picture of ease. No sign of distress or annoyance. And it’s pissing me the fuck off. Ever since she walked into the locker room and smiled at me, my mind has been a complete and utter wreck.
“I always have a choice,” I respond through clenched teeth. “I’ve done all of my healing alone since I was a little kid. I know my body and what it’s capable of.”
Michele rolls her eyes, huffing loudly as she places her tablet on the bench in front of her. “Fine. I concede.”
“That was too easy.” I cross my arms and eye her skeptically.
I’ve never had anyone give in to me that quickly. Usually, I need to come up with a long list of multiple reasons they should see it my way. But this time, I didn’t need any of that. Michele saw things my way almost instantly. She has to be up to something.
She giggles, and the sound goes right to my dick. “I agree, you know what your body is capable of better than anyone else. You live in your skin daily.”
“So, that’s it?”
“That’s it.” She holds her hand for a handshake, and I grasp it in mine, the sense of triumph settling over me.
But it was premature. She quickly changes her grip, locking her thumb with mine and wrapping her fingers around the top of my hand, pulling me toward her. A sharp pain shoots through my bicep, and a burning, stabbing pain settles into my shoulder, radiating down the rest of my arm.
Michele smirks up at me, a look of mild satisfaction resting on her face. “You can’t even handle a woman half your size pulling your arm without pain. What makes you think you can take a hit on the ice?”
I pull my hand from hers, the burning sensation definitely something I won’t be able to ignore for too long.
“Want something for that?”
“Nah. I’m good.” I attempt to rotate my shoulder but stop mid-movement. The pain is almost enough to buckle my knees, but I remain upright. The last thing I want to let her know is how much pain I’m in, although a part of me has a feeling she already knows.
“You’re going to be nothing but trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She smiles brightly, holding her hand out toward me. “You can’t rehab like someone’s chasing you on the ice. It’s not a race. It’s not a flex. It’s biology.”
My eyes flick down, noticing the two pills in her hand. I don’t even bother to ask her what they are before swiping them from her and popping them into my mouth, swallowing them down. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything, only shakes her head before striding to the water cooler in the corner.
My eyes remain focused on the sway of her ample hips as she reaches for a cup on the top of the water cooler. “That’s good. Who did you steal that from, or was it in one of your fancy textbooks?”
She shakes her head, bending slightly to fill the cup before striding toward me. “I know a thing or two about stubborn athletes who think having a high pain tolerance is the same as healing.”
“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time around hockey players.” I lift my hand, hesitating for a moment before brushing a few strands of her bangs back into place.
Her breath hitches, her body swaying slightly toward me before she catches herself and takes a step back. I have a feeling my new physio is not as unaffected by me as she was originally letting on. Now, this is something I can work with.
