Page 57 of Hard Hitter
She felt her face pinking up. “If he doesn’t mind.”
“His idea,” Hugh said. “He lives so close to your house. But it’s totally up to you.”
Ari took a deep breath. “Can I speak frankly, sir? If you would rather I didn’t continue with Mr. O’Doul as my client,I would understand completely.” This was a speech she’d never wanted to give. By admitting her complication with a player, she’d just made herself a less valuable employee.
But he looked thoughtful, not angry. “Ari, give me a second while I figure out how to put this in a way that won’t have the entire HR department on my ass.” The manager crossed his beefy arms in front of his chest. “Okay, it’s like this. Everyone raves about your work. They even show up for frickingyogawithout complaint. I’m happy. The owner is happy. I don’t need to change a thing. But if you notify me at any point that you’re not comfortable treating a player on my team, other arrangements will be made. No questions asked.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish to request a transfer of any player to another therapist?”
“Um, it’s not necessary to make any changes on my account, sir.”
He heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Because Henry has been trying to get O’Doul to accept treatment for that hip forweeks. I need that player healthy and in fighting form. Whatever you can do to keep him showing up for therapy, I’m on board...” His eyes narrowed suddenly, and he tipped his face upward, toward the ceiling tiles. “You know, that didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
She hopped out of her chair. “I knew what you meant, sir.”
“Fuck.” He shook his big head. “HR hates me already. I just meant that using your professional skill, you’d...”
“I get it,” she said a little too brightly. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have a whole list of players to keep in fighting form.”
He gave her a salute. “Go forth and conquer muscle soreness.”
When Ari slipped back into her assigned treatment room, she was startled to find Patrick stretched out on the table, hands behind his head, looking as relaxed as anyone ever had on her table. “Hi!” he called out as she entered.
“Hi,” she breathed. Just the sight of his broad shouldersgave her an inappropriate shimmy through all the, er, lower chakras. It was only hours ago when he’d loomed above her as they...
Yikes.Focus, Ari. “You feeling okay this morning?” she asked. “How’s your pain?” A flush touched her neck now. In her own questions she heard an echo of Patrick’s faux massage therapist queries last night.
“I feel like a million bucks, honestly. Skated well this morning. Had a good breakfast. No complaints.” She braced herself for a joke or an innuendo referencing the other reasons he might be feeling good, but none came. “Go ahead—do your worst,” he said instead. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” she choked out, rolling up her sleeves.
“Oh—don’t forget the music,” he said. “Got any Clapton?”
“Sure.” She was flustered now, and for absolutely no reason. Patrick was behaving like a perfect gentleman. She grabbed her battered iPod and scrolled to a Clapton playlist another player had sent her last year. “Wonderful Tonight” came on. Getting down to business, she rolled back Patrick’s towel a few crucial inches and found bare skin. She oiled up her hands and put them to his thigh. “We only have thirty minutes,” she said. They’d given her a bunch of short sessions this afternoon. “So I have to get right to the trouble spots.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and happy. As she worked, he let out a sigh. Her hands traveled over his tensor fascia muscle and down his lower quads. She knew this body so well now. Not just its form—she was well acquainted with the muscles and tendons of much of the team—but its responses. She felt an unexpected tenderness when he took another deep breath and then relaxed.
It was totally normal to feel all gooey inside when one of your clients was feeling better, right?
“Let’s have you on your side,” she said eventually. “Let’s work that hip.”
He rolled for her. She worked his adductors without a flinch from him. Although he seemed to be... counting something to himself?
“Does that hurt?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Just distracting myself with some hockey stats.”
“Why? Because of pain?”
He chuckled. “My body has other reactions to your hands besides pain, sweetheart. Just trying to keep things professional.”
“Ah. Roll onto your stomach for me.” When he was face down, she made sure his backside and legs were covered, and she went to work on his lower back. “Remember when I gave you that speech about how everyone has different reactions to massage? Some people fall asleep, some people cry...”
He spoke into the circular face cradle. “Uh huh.”
“There’s probably a dent in my table from all the boners.”
