Page 12 of Mission: Merry Christmas
“Oh. My. Gosh. Seriously?” Her hands settled on her hips. “You’re sitting here in the dark with this view? We’re right on the water? And a pool? Why didn’t you mention that?” She nodded. “Oh yeah, we’re moving this workout outside. Come on. Hop to it.”
He had a feeling his pity party was about to end, and he wasn’t even mad about it. He liked her spunk. She was right. It was a million-dollar view. Literally.
He was so sore from all the shopping he grabbed the crutches lying on the floor next to his chair and stood, steadying himself on them to lessen the pressure.
“You never saw this,” he said to her.
He half-walked—more like a skipping hop—out to the patio. He took in the view as if she might when seeing it for the very first time. It wasn’t a bad place to live. He’d better pull it together if he wanted to be able to afford to continue to do so.
ChapterSeven
Averyhad Drew go over all the exercises he’d been doing on his own.
She shrugged. “Okay, it’s a typical plan for the strain you’ve put on those ligaments, but no wonder you’re not improving. First thing we’ll do before any workout is warm up.” Avery took Drew through the proper lower body stretches and added a few others to warmup his whole body, not just the injured part.
“This is taking longer than the exercises.”
She put gentle pressure on his leg, helping with the stretch. “Do you have anything better to do?”
“No. I guess not.”
He’d muttered the words like a teenager on restriction. “Just trust me,” she said intentionally trying to be more caring about his situation. “Okay?”
He didn’t complain anymore. He kept up with her and gave it one hundred percent. Maybe more, because he appeared to be completely tuckered out by the time they completed the warmup.
“That’s it,” she said.
His body wobbled like a wet noodle. “Thank goodness.”
“Go change into your bathing suit. Now, it’s time to start the real work.” She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she loved the look on his face when he realized they hadn’t even really gotten started.
Wearing her red tankini, she waded in the shallow end until he came outside shirtless. She felt the hitch in her breath at the musculature of his chest and shoulders. He was as tan as a man should be in the summer, in the middle of December. He looked good. Very good, except for that slight limp.
He dove into the deep end and swam over to her. His strokes were long and smooth, gliding through the water with ease. He stood, flipping his head, sending water everywhere as if he were a giant sheepdog on a rainy day.
She had to concentrate on the work, not him, no matter how good he looked. She didn’t date clients, and she never, ever dated athletes. She’d had her one-and-done disaster experience with an athlete, and the rest of the world could ogle his blue eyes and slim hips all they wanted because that man would never settle down. He was married to the game, and she was never going to be anyone’s second love.
An hour of pool work went by quickly. She counted out the exercises, slowing him down and helping him get the proper form. The poor guy was waning, but she had to give it to him for not giving up.
“Okay. Good job.” She climbed out of the water and wrapped a towel around her waist. “You need to go through all of those stretches again tonight before bed. Let’s get you inside and ice the knee. I’ll make dinner.”
“You don’t have to cook for me.” He walked to the side of the pool.
“I know that, but I’ve got to eat, too, and I’m not up for delivery pizza. Which, from the stack of empty boxes that were on your kitchen counter, seems to be all you’ve eaten for the last month.”
“That may be regrettably close to the truth. I did order mushrooms, onions, and peppers on them though.”
“That’s not going to get your vegetables in.”
“You don’t count pepperoni as protein either, do you?”
“No. Here’s the deal.” He stood below her in the shallow end of the pool, and she leveled a stare at him. Suddenly, she felt like the mother of a teenager. “You can eat all the pizza you want…on New Year’s Day. I’ll even place the order myself before I walk out that door.”
“I should order them.” He reached for the railing and climbed out of the pool. “You probably don’t have the experience to order a decent pizza.”
He stood there, dripping wet, tan and well-muscled. She’d seen her share of awesome athletic bodies, but this one struck her. Maybe it was the set of his jaw, or that his body didn’t match the straggly beard or the beer diet. Whatever it was, it left her a little off-balance. She shook off the thought, fighting to recover her strong stance on the subject. “And you, my friend, need decent nutrition if we’re going to make the progress I expect.”
He walked toward her, not bothering to wrap a towel around himself. “Okay, okay. I’m all in.” He crossed the patio. “I never had a trainer cook for me before.”
