Page 16 of Hard Hitter
He’d managed to live alone every year since that first apartment over the garage. And he didn’t invite people into his home. These days he lived in an expensive loft in the same converted warehouse where some of his teammates lived. But he’d bought a one-room condo, because the salesperson had said that the other units were “perfect for entertaining.” He didn’t want to entertain. His place was his sanctuary, and nobody else was allowed inside. Once in a while one of his teammates would say,how come we never watch the game at O’Doul’s?He told them he was a terrible housekeeper and changed the subject.
Ari’s hands moved down, kneading his biceps for a moment. That felt pretty good, too. “When I need a really relaxing thought, I think about the beach.”
“Which beach?” he asked. She moved down to his hip again, which he didn’t like. But maybe if they kept talking he could avoid worrying about his sore spots.
“Any beach.” She smiled. “But, okay, not Coney Island, because it’s crowded. When I was a little girl my grandmother had a place on Fire Island, and I used to stay the whole summer there with her because school was out and Mom was at work. I like the way things sound at the beach. Like they’re farther away. And the surf has a nice even rhythm.”
He closed his eyes and pictured it. “Yeah, I never spent much time on a beach.”
“What do you do during the off season?”
There wasn’t much of it. Six or eight weeks. “Last year I went golfing with Beringer.”
“You like golf?”
“No,” he admitted, and she laughed. “But it was on my bucket list, I guess. To see why all the rich guys liked it.”
“Aren’t you a rich guy?” she teased.
“On paper. But where I grew up, nobody golfed. There was hockey and football. Even baseball was for pussies.” He cleared his throat and realized that Ari’s fingers had worked their way closer to his groin. The woman was smart. She’d distracted him.
“Where’d you grow up? Wait—Minnesota?”
“That’s right. But not the nice part.” Andthatconversation wasn’t going to make him relax. “How about you?”
“Brooklyn. I grew up on Court Street, about two miles away from where I live now. I’m an Italian girl who teaches yoga in Brooklyn. I’ve got all the clichés working together at once.” She patted his hip. “Roll on your side for me. Let’s do this thing. Can you handle it? How’s your pain?”
“I’m looser today than yesterday.” He rolled.
“Maybe that night off wasn’t such a bad plan?”
“What—you sure you don’t want the credit?”
She laughed, adjusting his towel to cover his ass. “I never take credit. My job is to help you get out of your own way and then hog the limelight. Bend your knee. Are you working this muscle today?” She tapped his groin muscle once. “Or am I allowed to do it?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out of a job. Go ahead.” What the hell, right? Yesterday she’d forced him to admit that he didn’t want hands on his injury because it made him feel weak. But how counterproductive was that?
“Put your palm down on the table. I want you as stable as possible. Remember—don’t use your back. We want a gentle extension, so if anything hurts, don’t push it. Ready?” She dug into his hip and his groin with strong hands. “Extend.”
He did. She worked her fingers into his groin muscles,and he breathed through it. This was fine. She had surprisingly strong hands for such a small person. Her grip was confident, as if she were holding him together.
Really, things could be worse.
“Good!” she enthused after their eighth rep. “Let’s leave it there for now. Roll onto your stomach if you wouldn’t mind. I’m going to work on your lower back and ask you a few more questions.”
He rolled, thinking to himself that he kind of liked the idea of her hands on his lower back. The questions were less appealing.
“Your goal is to avoid overcompensating with your back and quads,” she said, kneading the muscle above his ass. “The nerves attached to your hip flexors stretch down your leg and around to your lumbar spine. Here.” She stopped massaging to run two fingertips along his lower back. The light touch made his skin tingle. “So when you skate the warm-up tomorrow...”
“...IfI skate the warm-up tomorrow.”
She patted his back. “Let’s be optimistic, big guy.Whenyou skate the warm-up, I want you to think about keeping the form of your stride all night long. When you’re tired, don’t change your stance to activate your back.”
“I can do that.” He’d been perfecting his stride his whole life. Keeping his form wasn’t the issue. “The fight is the hairy part. But if I can knock that out in the first period, it’s easier to keep things stable for the rest of the game.”
Ari’s strong hands worked his back for a moment in silence. “Can I ask you something? And I don’t mean this to sound judgmental.”
He snorted. “That’s what people say right before they say something judgmental.”
