Lady and the Champ(5)

“See you th—”

I hang up before he can finish his sentence.



The team’s practice facility includes several rooms where the PTs can work with the players, as well as workout areas, a track, and everything else a football team needs to stay in shape between games and during the off-season. I expect to find Austin waiting for me in one of the treatment rooms, because that would be the most logical place. So of course he’s not in any of them.

I consider calling him, but that’ll give the bastard an advantage. I’d rather find him and surprise him. So I go looking.

Heading into the locker room, I hear the sounds of someone getting dressed and follow it. Sure enough, there he is, standing in front of a locker. He looks like I caught him halfway through getting dressed. Or—I correct myself as he shucks his shirt over his head—getting undressed.

By all appearances, he hasn’t heard me yet, has no idea I’m in the room. He rolls his T-shirt up into a loose ball and tosses it into the locker, then scrubs a hand through his hair. I watch the muscles in his back flex, go taut, and release as he moves his arms. Hair half-straightened, he rotates his shoulders backward and forward, swinging back and forth a few times at the waist, loosening things up. His gray sweatpants barely cling to the rise of his buttocks, exposing the white elastic band of the briefs he wears under them.

Damn.

My breath catches. I can’t help it. He must have heard my unfortunate little gasp, because he turns around. In the front, the sweats expose the V of his hips and a dark trail of hair running straight down from his navel. I jerk my attention to his face and see the biggest damn shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen.

The sight of him makes the ball of heat in my chest blaze. I put my hands on my hips. “What are you playing at?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be anything good. “Where the hell do you get off on calling my boss?”

He smirks. “I thought we’d make a good team.”

“Cut the shit.”

The locker room echoes with his laughter. “Do you treat all patients like this, or do I get the special treatment?” His eyes wink with mischief as he takes a couple steps forward, invading my space.

My face heats up as he stares at me through his lashes. I open my mouth angrily, but then I think of Dr. Richards and my chest tightens. “Fine. I apologize,” I say through my teeth.

He makes a frustrated sound. “We were having so much fun when you were treating me like a jerk. It’s okay if I get the special treatment—I know I’m special.”

“Is that what the teachers at school told you when they gave you gold stars for attendance?”

Too far.

My skin burns as I watch Austin’s bemused expression. I’ve been dying to have a go at one of them ever since my ex nearly ruined my career. I trusted him and he screwed me. Big time. All I have left is this ball of hatred for anything and anyone that reminds me of him.

Calm the fuck down.

“I’m starting to think you have a thing for me, Doc. What’s with all the personal attacks?”

Calming down is fucking impossible when I can feel the heat of his skin emanating from his body.

“Tell me why you did it, or your personal physical therapist will be one of the creepy men in my office.” Instantly, I think of Roger and the sullen look he gave me.

Austin doesn’t look particularly worried. “That’s an empty threat.”

“Tell me why.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Because I’m a woman?” I fume.

“No, because I’m the Champ, and I get whoever I want as my PT. You’re easy on the eyes. Forgive me if I prefer a chick touching my naked body rather than some dude. What’s the big deal?”

The big deal, you idiot, is that I’m trying to be taken seriously in this industry.

I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Really.”

“Do you have a problem with me?”

“No. You remind me of someone.”

His lips stagger into a smile. “An ex. I remind you of your ex.”

Shut the hell up. “Sherwood.”

“Oh, we’re back to last names again? Okay then. Just admit it, Doc. I remind you of him and it’s making you all hot and bothered.”

“I have a master’s degree,” I say through my teeth. “I’m not a doctor.”

Austin blows past my pathetic attempt to change the subject. “I don’t want to remind you of him,” he says in a gritty voice that I don’t trust at all. “But I won’t deny that seeing you all worked up like this is sexy as fuck.”

When he says the word fuck, I feel a tingle between my legs. He backs away, still wearing a look of extreme smugness.

“You’re being extremely inappropriate.”

“Just like when you slut-shamed me yesterday.”

Oh my God, not this again. “Getting mad at a man for popping a boner in the middle of a therapy session is not slut-shaming.”

He smiles, winking at me. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Doc.”

Sweet Jesus, let me slap him just once. “I’m done talking about this. Let’s go find a place where we’ve got some room. I’m going to need to do some observations.”

He’s got my hackles up already, and I know that’s what he’s after. I keep my growing irritation to myself. He gives me a second to rise to his bait, and when I don’t, he takes a step away from the locker. “Follow me.”

His sweats seem to be clinging to his hipbones by their fingernails as he leads the way down the hallway. I clutch my iPad, forcing myself to concentrate on something other than the movement of his hips and the fact that I can almost but not quite see the flat spot at the base of his spine. I’m still burning with unpleasant memories and his gritty voice, which seems to echo through my body and settle between my legs. He called me sexy as fuck.

The door he opens a few yards down the hallway leads to a big room where there are mats, foam rollers, medicine balls, a weight bench, a rack of hand weights, and several different types and sizes of balance balls. That should just about cover it.

I’m glad to see the equipment, because it gives me things to look at that aren’t Austin’s ass.

I tap my iPad to bring up the information Dr. Richards forwarded to me about Austin’s current areas for improvement. “This says you’ve got some stiffness in your shoulder and maybe a hip issue? Can you describe the hip issue for me?”

I look up at him, meeting his eyes directly. It seems like a good strategy at first until I realize I’m going to have to look at other parts of him to do my job.

“It’s right in the joint.” His hand shifts, and I look down to see him pressing the edge of his hand right into the crease of his groin. “Right in here.” The movement draws the knit of his sweats taut across the bulk of his package.

Well. At least it’s not a boner. Not yet, anyway.

“There are a couple of issues that could lead to pain in that area,” I say calmly. “I’ll have to do some diagnosis before we can figure out which one it is. Let’s start by looking at your gait. Walk away from me, then back.”

He only has to do it once before I realize I can’t see a damn thing about his gait while he’s wearing those baggy sweats. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “You’re going to have to do it without your pants.”

He spins on me, eyebrows rising nearly to his hairline. “What?”

“I can’t see how your weight’s shifting. Your sweats are too baggy. Do you have some shorts or something you can change into?”

“No.” His face is deadpan, as is his tone. Did he know this was going to happen? Did he wear those damn tighty whities on purpose?

“Fine.” It’s not the best situation, but at least he’ll be covered up. “Take the sweats off.”

Grinning, he shrugs and loosens the drawstring on the sweats. They fall almost immediately to his ankles, and he steps out of them.

Well, shit. I knew he was wearing briefs, but actually seeing them is a whole different ball of wax. They’re about a size too small, for one thing, and they hug his ass the way I’d like my hands to. He walks away from me, and then turns around.

They’re a little too small in the front, too. I force myself to watch the way his weight moves from foot to foot instead of noticing how the fly gaps open and I can see dark shadows that are probably part of his dick. My brain starts throwing weird flashbacks at me—the way a man smells if you have your face between his thighs, the texture of his cock when you stroke across it with your tongue.

Oh, God. Stop. Just stop.

“Does it hurt more or less after your workout?”

There you go, Chloe. Focus on the job.

“It depends.” He reaches down and rubs at the joint again, and when he does, the fly of his underwear gaps open even more. “Sometimes less, sometimes more.”

He’s looking right at me, like he’s daring me to say something about his dick. I meet the challenge squarely, not letting my eyes shift from his, even though my heart’s beating triple time and the insides of my thighs are trembling.

“I might need to refer you to one of the team doctors to look into things in more detail. Go ahead and put your sweats back on.”