out the world and just concentrating on the muscle beneath my fingers, finding any sort of knot or irregularity. Sometimes it’s the size of a marble, other times a pea or even a needle head.
With Alejo I find a small knot right away.
“Okay,” I tell him.
“The needle is how big?” David asks me.
Seriously? He had to ask that out loud?
“Big enough.”
“How far do you push? Uh, put the needle in?”
“Today, I’ll do an inch.”
“An inch!’ Alejo explains, raising his head.
“I said don’t move,” I threaten him. “Or I’ll make it four inches, which isn’t uncommon. Right into your femur.”
Alejo stills.
I place the rod against the knot, and with a quick tap, in the needle goes.
Alejo doesn’t make a sound but his thigh immediately starts twitching.
This is a good sign.
David looks impressed.
Because Alejo only complained of some stiffness and the trigger points weren’t that acute, it doesn’t take long for me to do the whole area and then we’re done. David goes off to have lunch, so it’s just me and Alejo.
“So, how do you feel?” I ask him as he slowly turns over on the table.
“I don’t feel the stiffness,” he says thoughtfully, sitting up. “Maybe a bit lightheaded.”
“That’s probably from being tense during the treatment and lying down,” I tell him. “But I’ll get you some water.”
I grab a cup and fill it from the cooler, then hand it to him.
Our fingers brush against each other as he takes the cup from me, his gaze locked on mine as he drinks. I’d like to say I felt nothing, that it was like passing a cup to David or anyone else, but that isn’t the case at all.
Even though my hands were all over his thigh, poking needles into him, this one deliberate action of our fingers brushing against each other sent actual sparks down my spine, and it takes everything in me to suppress the shiver.
I look away, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I took it easy on you. I didn’t want to mess things up with tomorrow’s game. When we have more time, I’ll do it deeper.”
Even though I’m looking away, I can feel the air between us thicken, and when I steal a glance at him, the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a sly smile.
“You’ll be okay,” I tell him, then reach out and give him a pat on the shoulder.
Rather awkwardly.
Oh boy. Just walk away.
I turn, and he says, “Are you having lunch now?”
I stop to look at him as he slides off the table. He’s one of the tallest players on the team, standing at 6’1”, and he dwarfs me. I stare up at him as he adjusts his shorts, and please god, don’t tell me he has a hard-on. It happens — a lot — not really the fault of anyone, but I don’t think I could handle it right now.
I keep my eyes locked on his, which is somehow worse. They have a way of looking into me that makes me feel he’d be hard to keep secrets from.
“I am,” I tell him. “As always at this time.”
“No, that’s not quite true,” he says as he smoothly reaches over and rubs his thumb against my shoulder. “Oil on your shirt. That’s going to stain.”
For a moment, the medication ceases to work and it’s like I can’t breathe. For those long seconds where he’s touching me, I’m frozen in place, my pulse hammering away in my throat.
Then he takes his hand away and gives me an easy smile. “You’re always at your office, eating in there. I see you get your food and take off, like you’re a squirrel or some other cute, tiny, mysterious animal.”
I find my voice. “A rodent, you mean.”
“I mean what I said. Come on. Come have lunch with the team. Get to know me. Get to know us.” He brushes past me and heads toward the door, pushing it open and pausing to look at me expectantly.
He’s right. I have been squirreling away in my office. There’s a big dining room upstairs by the buffet table and the kitchen where the team eats every day for lunch, but I guess I feel like I’d be intruding on something private if I sat there with them. I’m just not there yet in terms of being comfortable.
Perhaps it’s time I start getting comfortable.
I square my shoulders and follow Alejo out the door and upstairs to the second level.