you to watch practice today. Maybe you can tell me what we’re doing wrong.”
I watch them go, and once they do, I press my fingers to my lips, feeling like I might just keel over. I’m not sure if it’s my hangover, or the fact that we were almost caught in a compromising (albeit innocent) position.
Or the realization that I can’t be around him anymore without something almost happening.
Shit.
I think it might be that last one.
Chapter 12
Thalia
Hydrotherapy has been an incredibly important (muy importante) part of physical therapy, but it also does wonders for someone like myself, who isn’t under any real duress.
(I’m ignoring the fact that my patient kissed me, and I want to kiss him again, and he happens to be a lot younger than me and it could also get me fired, plus the team is playing poorly, which might get the coach fired, and without him, there is no one to bat for me, so I might get fired anyway.)
The hot and cold plunge pools, the jets, it all helps you destress, keeps your muscles in good working order while taking it easy on your joints.
I have a session with Alejo in ten minutes, a session that I know will probably get me in the water with him to work on his hamstrings, so I decided to put my swimsuit on (a modest black two-piece with a high waist, nothing scandalous) and get in the water before he shows up.
First, the warm pool to do a few short laps.
Then, I go into the cold pool to wake myself up and slap some fucking sense into me.
I’m alone down here. There’s no one in the steam room, no one in the showers or the pools. We’ll be alone, and I almost don’t want to be alone with him because I’m not sure if I can trust myself.
But that’s no excuse to put off a very crucial part of his therapy.
Alejo comes first. Your pathetic urges come second.
Though to be honest, with a man like Alejo, I’m pretty sure he’d make sure I came first.
Just saying.
I shake that nonsense out of my head, reminding myself that it’s not to be taken lightly.
By the time my legs feel like they’re going numb and I’m shivering a little, Alejo strolls into the room wearing his robe.
“You’re in the water,” he points out. “In the cold water, like a crazy person. You know what we call a crazy person in Spanish?”
“El pollo loco?” I say through chattering teeth, trying not to stare at him as he undoes his robe and lets it fall. I don’t care how many times I’ve seen him in his black speedo, the sight of his beautiful, golden body never, ever loses its appeal.
“That’s the crazy chicken,” he says. He purses his lips thoughtfully and then shrugs. “It could work.”
He walks over to the edge of the cold pool. “Want me to get in there with you?”
I shake my head. “No, I was just waking myself up. Get in the other pool. I’ll come join you.”
He gets into the warm pool until the water level is at his shoulders, his eyes on me the entire time. He watches as I get out of the cold pool, and I feel completely awkward and vulnerable and self-conscious being in a bathing suit in front of him for the first time.
I mean, I work out every day. I’m lean. I have muscle. I watch what I eat. I work really hard for the body I have, and I’m proud of it. But when you’re half-naked in front of a much younger man for the first time, a man who is used to girls in their early twenties, well, you become very aware of how you might be perceived. I just have to work it and ignore the fact that not everything is tight anymore. I have cellulite and my boobs aren’t perky. I really don’t think they ever were.
“That is more like it,” he says, something dark coming over his eyes as I walk down the stairs and into the other pool, my body erupting in pins and needles the moment the warm water collides with my ice-cold skin.
“What is?” I ask him, relishing in the warmth as I slowly walk toward him.
“That thing I said the other day. About how things between us aren’t fair. This helps.”
I walk as far as I can without my head going under, and he starts circling me with long, slow strides.
“I don’t follow.”
“Our