Page 8 of Cheap Shot
We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, her cheeks turning a delicious shade of pink before she looks away.
“But your name is Michele. With one L.” I wink before holding out my hands for the newest piece of torture.
“At least we know you can read,” she snarks back before placing the stick in my hands. “Now, let’s get started. I need you to bend your elbows slightly for this exercise.”
Michele places both her hands gently on my shoulders as she continues speaking, but I stop listening. The only thing I can focus on is the way her hand feels as it runs along my arm, checking to ensure I’m doing the exercise correctly. Fuck. This woman is only touching my arm. I can’t imagine what would happen if she were touching me somewhere a little more intimate.
“Are you sure you couldn’t think of something better for the two of us to do instead of some more boring exercises?”
Okay, that wasn’t my best pickup line, but it’s what I could come up with. I am working at a much different advantage than usual. Between the new medications the doctor gave me to deal with the pain and being in the last place I want to be right now, I’m operating under a bit of a handicap.
“Is that the best you can come up with?” The corner of her mouth quirks up into a small smile as she runs her hand down her long ponytail, throwing it back over her shoulder. “Your left arm is going to help your right arm do this workout. I want you to lift the stick enough so you feel a stretch and then hold it for ten seconds.”
I push my arm back, feeling the stretch almost immediately, a slight tugging sensation in my shoulder that isn’t too bad but doesn’t tickle either. “I could’ve come up with something better, but I didn’t want to waste the opportunity.”
What the hell are you doing, Hendrix? You can walk out of here and get any girl you want.But that’s the problem. I don't want just any girl. I want Michele.
“I don’t date patients.”
“But I’m not your patient. I’m Stacey’s, unless there is a change to the therapy schedule I wasn’t aware of. I may have to speak to your manager.”
Michele's eyes widen in surprise as she snorts loudly, bringing attention to the two of us.
“This is definitely a first for me.” I drop the stick from my right hand and bring my hand toward her face. Crooking my index finger and running it down the bridge of her nose. “I’ve never made someone snort when asking them on a date.”
“I guess there is a first time for everything.” Michele ducks her head slightly, breaking eye contact and busying herself with something under the table. “Ready for the next exercise?”
I should let this go, give her a minute to regain her composure, but I don’t. “Don’t you want me to do a few sets of this one?”
“Are you always this much of an annoying asshole?”
“Yes, but I’ve been told it was part of my charm.” I smile brightly at her before starting a second set. The familiar burn in my muscles returns as I count off my reps softly.
“Whoever told you that was lying.” Michele taps me softly on the left arm and adjusts my hands slightly on the bar. “You should focus on these exercises, not your next date.”
“I can’t seem to focus on anything else. Just agree to go out with me and put us both out of our misery.”
It’s rare that I have to work this hard for anything. I can’t seem to go anywhere without someone noticing me, especially around here, but I’m enjoying this. It’s hard to know if someone is interested in you because of who you are as a person or because of what you can do for them. It’s only a matter of time before someone tells her that Cole Hendrix is flirting with her, desperately trying to get her to go on a date with him, but she is worth the embarrassment.
Michele turns away from me, giving me her back as I wait for her to respond. I continue with my reps, pausing for ten seconds to rest before starting again. “I’ll think about it if you can get through the rest of the session with no more interruptions or giving me any more lip.”
My attitude has also been a little more surly than usual because I still haven’t heard anything about my status on the Wolverines. Remy promised he was taking care of everything, but I’ve been out of the hospital for almost eight weeks now. They should’ve decided one way or the other by now. Needless to say, I’ve been in an even shittier mood than usual for many reasons, but right now, it’s these goddamn exercises.
Another snarky comment is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. “I can try, but I make no promises.”
“Why does this not surprise me?” She brushes her bangs from her face before instructing me to turn around. “Push both your hands to the center of the bar so they are touching. If you can’t get your hands together without pain, that’s okay. You can separate them slightly to a point where you have only minor discomfort.”
Minor discomfort?Does Michele not know that these exercises by themselves are fine, but after doing them for almost an hour with only a few moments of rest between each exercise, it’s equivalent to torture. I want to tell her to fuck all the way off and refuse to do anymore of these exercises, but I don’t. I need to do whatever they ask so I can get the all clear to get back on the ice. The surgeon already told me that recovery time is usually a year before patients recover their full range of motion, but I don’t have that kind of time. I need to prove my worth on the ice, whether it be for the Wolverines or another team, or I can kiss my dreams of winning the Stanley Cup goodbye.
“With your hands in a comfortable position, I want you to slide your hands up your back to where you feel an increased stretch.” Michele places her hand on my elbow, tapping it once to tell me to stop. “Now hold for ten seconds and then release. Good job, Cole. Now, again.”
The pain in my shoulder becomes increasingly more uncomfortable, but I continue. My mind is focused on getting through these exercises and spending more time with Michele. Not the best motivator for someone who’s supposed to be focusing on their hockey career, but right now, I don’t give a fuck about anything else.
“Don’t forget to take a break between each set, Hot Shot.” Michele tsks as I bring my arms down and immediately move to start the process again. “You need to rest for a count of three between each rep.”
I reluctantly follow her instructions as I bring my arms down and wait for a count of three before starting the process over again until I’ve done ten reps.
“Hot Shot, huh?”
