He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Impossible,” but I brush the thought off, knowing that can’t be the truth. I try to focus on my job, which usually is an escape for me, but working with Reeve is different. It’s taking all my willpower to focus. I have to will my hands to remain steady so he doesn’t see how much I’m shaking from just our proximity.
“How did this happen during the game again?” I ask, still trying to figure out how he didn’t avoid such an injury like this. It was a rookie mistake. He’s been in the hockey game for a long time, and Reeve Bennett has never been injured. It’s just strange.
“I don’t know. I was distracted by you and lover boy quoting Shakespeare, all that fucking Joanie Loves Chachi, shit.”
I freeze with my hand on his calf. Our gazes lock, and my throat works a thick swallow. “Why were you watching Beau and me, and not focusing on the game?”
If it was possible, his eyes would literally be shooting balls of fire at me right now. “You distracted the whole team, not just me. Don’t let it get to your head,” he all but growls, noticing the look on my face. He always did know me better than I knew myself.
I roll my eyes, deciding to let that one slide. We spend the rest of the session in silence even though I want to say so many things. Everything I know about Reeve’s life now is only because I own a television, and he’s still best friends with my older brother.
“I’ll see you Thursday,” I call out after him as he hobbles on his crutches out of the room.
“No, you won’t,” he grumbles, probably on his way to call the coach and beg for a different therapist.
Too bad, Reeve.
I was in for the long haul, whether he wanted me here or not.
THREE
I HIDE MY smirk when Reeve hobbles into another one of our sessions on Thursday afternoon, just as I knew he would. I guess his call to the head coach didn’t work because I still had a job, and he was still here.
Deciding not to push my luck with him, I follow the same routine as Tuesday and focus on doing my actual job this time. I try to ignore the way my hands vibrate with electricity just at the feel of his skin beneath mine. His legs are muscular, his thighs large and powerful, and Christ, I’m sweating.
“Beau Crosby. You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”
I freeze with my hand mid-thigh. “What?”
“I talked to Crew last night. Found out you were going on a date with him before he leaves for his next game.”
I clear my throat, dodging his eyes. “He was a gentleman if that’s what you’re asking.”
“He is not a gentleman. He’s a pansy motherfucker, and over my dead body will you date him.”
My brows jump into my hairline. “So, you’re forbidding me now? What gives you any right?”
“He’s a professional athlete, Camila. He’s not looking for a relationship. He’s looking for someone to fuck. That just screams heartbreak for a girl like you.”
As calmly as I can, I place my hands, palm down on the table on either side of him. “A girl like me? You don’t even know me anymore, so how could you possibly know what I’m like? And heartbreak isn’t an option. I’ve learned the hard way that not all guys are douchebags like you. There are decent men out there, and it just so happens that Beau is one of them.”
His lips thin, fire brewing in his eyes. “You don’t even know the half of it, Camila,” he grits out.
I scoff, my nostrils flaring as I work to control my temper. “I know enough.”
“This conversation is over, and so is your relationship with Beau.”
“You know what? This session is over. Fix your damn leg on your own, you bastard,” I spew out in anger and whirl on my heels. I hear movement behind me as I stride away, and I gasp when his warm hand locks on my wrist, tugging me back toward the table.
He’s sitting up now, and we’re mere inches apart. The air shifts in the room, and it suddenly feels stifling in here, like breathing is a chore. My chest rises and falls as we stare at each other. Wills battling wills. I forgot how handsome Reeve is when he isn’t talking or