Page 16 of The Comeback

I brace my hands on my hips. “You’re not just saying that because my dad is one of the coaches, are you?” Shit. Am I flirting with him?

Heat floods my face. Yes, I’m flirting with him. This is so not good.

“Well….” His eyes dance with merriment, and a butterfly flutters in my stomach. We were better off as enemies. I was safer.

I. Can’t. Go. Down. This. Road. Remember? 9 to 5. 9 to 5.

“I must admit, that has a lot to do with it. If your dad wasn’t Coach Tillman, I would’ve shoved your offer in your face and called you a charlatan. Especially after you told me you were using me to feed your betting addiction.”

I laugh at his ribbing. This was the man that fascinated me in his television interviews and why I couldn’t stop watching him play sports since he was drafted. “Let’s chalk it up to a bad first impression. I had you pegged as a superficial diva because of the woman you used to date.”

He arches his eyebrows. “You have a problem with Helena?”

“No.” My heart skips a beat. Are they back together? Shit. I keep opening my mouth and shoving my size seven shoe inside it. “I don’t have a problem with her. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“It’s fine. She’s a bitch. The second I ruptured my Achille’s, she dumped me and started dating one of my teammates. She couldn’t stand the thought of dating a has-been.”

“You aren’t a has-been.” I grab his arm, and his taut muscles flex under my fingertips. What am I doing? Flirting is dangerous enough. Touching is the equivalent of jumping up and down on a land mine. I drop my arm to my side. “We’d better get started.”

I lick my lips and shift into professional teacher mode. If I can handle fifteen three-year-old kiddos in one classroom, I can handle one full-grown adult man. “I watched a lot of your film, before and after your injury. As I said, I think your slowdown has to do with your push-off. We need to do a lot of work with building your ankle strength and improving your overall balance. And then, we work past your fear of reinjuring your Achilles.”

His eyes narrow into little slits as he braces his hands on his hips, and against my will, I laugh at his expression. “Let me modify that. We’ll work past your cautiousness about reinjuring your ankle.”

“That’s better.” He winks, and I forget how to breathe. The man is dangerous.

As I instruct him into different stretching positions, my mind drifts. What is his reason for playing nice? Is it only because of who my dad is? Was he flirting with me when he winked? Or is that something he does out of instinct because he flirts all the time?

Seriously, what’s wrong with me? Why am I worried about why he’s being nice? It doesn’t matter. We’re here to increase his speed, and that’s it. I was able to work with Devin with no problems. Why should this be any different?

Besides, there’s only one explanation for why he’s being nice. It’s because of my father. It’s not like he woke up this morning and decided he wanted to get inside my leggings.

“Place your hands flat on the floor.”

He groans and twists his head to look at me from his upside-down position. “You realize that men and women are built differently, right?”

I bite my bottom lip and raise my eyebrows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t fucking bend like this. My ass is screaming.” He straightens and runs a hand through his hair. “How did Devin do this shit?”

“He didn’t.”

“What?”

“You’re putting more effort into this than he did.”

“Asshole,” he mutters. “When I see him again, I’m going to punch him in the gut.”

“Don’t.” I grab his arm and instantly regret it. Not regret in the traditional sense. But in the, why do I keep touching him, way? A zip of electricity shoots up from my fingertips and makes the hairs on my arms stand. His eyelids lower but not before I see his pupils darken.

“I….” I drop my hand like it’s on fire and step away from him.

Don’t touch. Don’t touch.

He’s like a stove. Surely, if I remember that, I’ll stop touching him. But I’m used to handling people. It’s my job. I put people in the right positions. I help them feel their body movements to repeat the alignment the next time. Except I don’t ever get flashes of desire shooting up my arms and down to my toes while stopping to take the scenic route through my sex with anyone else.

“It’s time to do a pirouette. Stand on the tiptoes of your surgically repaired ankle and bring your opposite leg upward until your toes are pointed at your knee. Before moving to the next step, let’s practice this movement.” I mimic how he should move, and he follows my instructions.

“You should feel a tightening in your calf muscles.”

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