That hits me a little wrong. “Isn’t it really child support? To take care of Emma?”
“That’s the way I look at it, but Megan did tell me if I didn’t keep paying, she’d leak things to the press, go on talk shows, sell pictures of Emma to the tabloids…” He trails off. “I can’t have that. Not for my little girl. I just want her to have a normal life. Or at least as normal a life as possible.”
I nod. I understand that. “A lot of men would have walked away.”
“Maybe. It didn’t seem right. Now I have joint custody and a big chunk of my paycheck going to a woman I don’t really know and don’t particularly like.” He sighs.
I turn my head a little to look toward his face. Abruptly, I realize his lips are a breath away from mine. My gaze falls to his mouth, and my own lips part, and he leans in…
Abruptly, I jerk my head back to face forward. I can’t get Emma off my lap gracefully, but I start moving carefully to hand her back to Austin.
“I need to go,” I tell him. My voice is shaky.
“Are you sure?” His face is still very close to mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He takes Emma so carefully she doesn’t even wake up. “Just try not to slam the door, okay?” His tone is quiet. He doesn’t sound angry. I give him one last look; he’s smiling a little.
I leave as quickly as possible, and I’m careful not to slam the door.
On the way home, my brain starts to settle. I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I’m a professional—if I have this kind of reaction to every client, I won’t be a professional for long. Just because there’s a low-level, buzzing attraction doesn’t mean I can lose my shit.
Low-level, my ass.
The pragmatic inner voice that always calls me on my shit is right. What’s going on when I’m in the same room with Austin isn’t a low-level buzz. It’s more like the screaming, frantic hum of a million beehives somebody has just poked with a stick. Adding Emma to the mix…well, that was just playing dirty, not to mention turning the buzz up to eleven. There’s no way to ignore that.
Well, you’re going to pull up your big girl panties and do exactly that.
Stupid voice. If it weren’t from inside my own head, I’d slap it silly.
At home, I fling my bag on the couch. It sucks that I’m going to have to go back to get the mat. That’ll have to wait until I can get myself better under control. Maybe I can sneak in—break in through his window, grab the mat, and run.
Forget that. I’d never get past the main gate.
I’m still on edge, anxiety making everything feel prickly and unmanageable as I try to pace it off. Austin will call Dr. Richards and tell him what happened. Dr. Richards will call me into his office, dress me down, and then take me off Austin’s case. He’ll probably fire me, in fact, for not being able to manage a high-profile client. It’ll take me years to get my reputation back…
Oh my God, stop it, Chloe.
In my head, I’ve fast-forwarded myself all the way to my late thirties so I can see the tragic failure I’ve become. Hell, if I let my imagination run much further, I’ll be in an embarrassed-physical-therapist protection program.
I flop onto the couch. I just need to apologize. But first I need to get myself under control.
Digging my phone out of my bag, I find Austin’s contact information and stare at it for what feels like four hours. Finally I take a deep breath, swallow hard, fix my hair—because you can totally tell over the phone if somebody’s hair isn’t perfect—and touch the screen to dial his number.
“Chloe?” He answers right away, like he’s been waiting for me to call. Somehow that makes me a little less nervous. Maybe he’s worried about me.
“Hi,” I say. My heart starts pounding again, and I wonder how I ever thought I was calm enough to do this. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. There was no excuse for me to run out like that.”
“Are you okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.
“Yes. I just…I don’t know. I kind of lost it. This job is really stressful. My boss is putting a lot of pressure on me to do everything right and be sure you’re ready in time for the championship game and—”
His chuckle cuts me off.
“What? Why are you laughing at me?” I demand.
“I’m not laughing at you.”
“Yes, you are!”
“Well, Doc, you can tell me about the stress and the pressure and job security and your boss being a dick all day, and it’s not going to change the fact that I know exactly what’s going on with you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. I can read you like a book, Doc.”
“You can read?”
There. Be pissed off. Remember he’s an asshole. Remember how much you hate football players.
He just chuckles again. “You want me. You want me so bad it hurts.”
“Bullshit.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.”
“What, you’re a bloodhound now?”
“No, I just know when a woman wants me.”
My teeth are grinding together now. “You just assume every woman wants you, which is not even remotely true.”
“Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I don’t want you.” I say it firmly, and it sounds almost like I believe it.
“Tell me you don’t want to do filthy things with me on my massage table while I rub oil over your arms, your legs, your ti—”
“Stop it, Austin.” Damn it. It’s pathetic how weak I sound. I clear my throat to make my voice stronger. “You’re out of line!”
“You know what you should do? You should just get it out of your system. Fuck me.”
“What—”
“Fuck me oh, once or twice or maybe five times, and then you’ll be able to concentrate. It’ll be better for you, better for me… I’ll get better care because you won’t be thinking about my dick the whole time you’re rubbing me down.”
“That is the worst idea in the history of ideas.”
“I see what you mean.” His tone is thoughtful, which is probably a bad sign. “It might take more than that. I mean, once you get the D from me, you’re going to want it all the time. That could really interfere with my recovery.”
Okay, I’ve had it.
I stand, yelling into the phone now. “You know what’s interfering with your recovery? Your inability to follow directions, and your fucking obnoxious personality. I do not ‘want the D’ from you. Do you really even want to get better?”
“Of course I do.” He sounds a little taken aback, and I get some satisfaction from that.
“Then you get ice on that goddamn leg for twenty minutes at a time every four hours until our next session. And you take your meds and do your goddamn exercises, you understand me?”
“Yes, Doc. I got it.”
“And don’t think you can skimp on any of it, because I’ll be able to tell.”
“Yes, Doc.” Now there’s an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, but I’m so pissed I don’t care.
“Next session, we’re meeting at the practice facility.”
This seems like a fair compromise—they have everything I need to properly treat him, but it’s neutral territory.
“That okay with you?” I make it clear in my tone that it had damn well better be okay with him.
“It’s fine,” he answers.
I could leave it there, but I’m not done. “And for God’s sake, act like a grownup. This is a professional relationship. Get your head out of your dick.” And I stab the phone screen and hang up on him.
That felt good. Maybe I’ve finally figured out how to deal with him.
Then my phone buzzes. I pick it up to see a text message.
Do you really think my dick is so big my head would fit in it?
Oh my God. I delete the message, determined to ignore him. But the phone buzzes again.
You’re really hot when you’re mad.
I roll my eyes, my hand tightening on the phone as I delete this one, too.
You should yell at me more. I think it helps. I feel better already.
I fling the phone onto the couch and stomp into my bedroom.
There’s no way I’m going to survive Austin Sherwood.
6
Austin
I’m about to get myself into a shitload of trouble. But that’s okay, because it’ll be worth it in the end.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Chloe in the last few days, it’s that she’s hella hot when she’s pissed off. Which of course makes me want to piss her off as much as possible.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be recuperating?”
I glance at Orrin, who’s suiting up for practice next to me. It hadn’t occurred to me until late last night that the team was practicing today. It had taken another few seconds to realize I’d been ordered to meet Chloe at the practice facility at the same time team practice was going on. I could have called her and changed the time, but where was the fun in that?
I shrug in response to Orrin’s comment. “Eh, it’s not that bad.”
“You sure? Cause you looked like an elephant stomped on you when they took you off the field. And Coach said you were going to be out for the playoffs.”