Page 28 of Beautiful Trauma

I nodded and started past him, second-guessing my decision to have a private chat with him in his office.

“Hold up,” Ezra said firmly. “Why are you limping?”

“I’m not limping.” Maybe I was a little. “It’s just a little twinge.”

“It’s a definite limp,” Ezra said, suddenly sounding angry. “Come on.” He headed toward the door, assuming I would obey his command.

“I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with you when you’re growly like that,” I told him.

Ezra halted then turned around to face me. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes shimmered with an expression I knew all too well—arousal. Was that why he was so mad? We’d managed to behave appropriately around one another for the past few weeks after our last meeting in his office. Had I somehow broken our tenuous truce?

Ezra crossed the distance between us with a long, confident stride. “I remember how fond you are of making me growl, so stop wasting our time. My office now.” Ezra pivoted and walked out of the breakroom.

I waited a few minutes to allow both of us time to calm down. His words had triggered a primitive reaction in my body that my mesh gym shorts didn’t disguise very well. Ezra had left his office door slightly open for me, so I pushed it closed behind me once I entered the room.

Ezra’s elbows were on his desk, and his fingers formed a steeple resting against his dimpled chin. It looked like he was praying for something—patience, peace, or that I would disappear and not return. The last thought made my breath hitch in my throat, and I leaned hard against the door.

“Are you okay?” Ezra asked, rising swiftly to his feet.

I held up my hand to prevent him from coming over to me. We both knew what would happen if we were in touching distance of one another. “I’m fine; I promise.”

Ezra sat back down, and I limped over and carefully lowered myself in one of the free chairs in front of his desk. His office was so damn small I might as well have straddled his lap in a broom closet. He opened the pack of mini Oreos and tilted it toward me so I could help myself. Once I took a few, Ezra reached in a pulled out a few cookies for himself. “Why don’t you tell me how you hurt yourself.” He popped the cookies in his mouth.

“It’s from Brad. He’s helping me become more flexible.”

Ezra choked on his cookies for a few seconds then washed them down with a long sip of water. Most guys I knew swigged drinks, but Ezra’s throat moved up and down elegantly, hypnotically. “Brad?” he croaked out.

“My yoga instructor. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“You came to tell me about your yoga instructor?” Ezra asked in disbelief.

“Not Brad and his yoga class specifically, Professor Meyer, but I wanted to thank you for the talk we had two weeks ago. I started exercising, eating better, and meditating as you suggested, and it’s made a big difference in my life. I have more energy and focus now.”

“More energy for Brad?” Ezra asked.

“More energybecauseof Brad,” I corrected. “We aren’t screwing.” I ate the few cookies I took from the bag then reached for a few more.

“I’m not sure Brad is doing his job right,” Ezra said then popped two more cookies in his mouth.

“Because he’s not screwing me?” I asked.

Ezra’s mouth stopped chewing for a second before it resumed. He swallowed hard then took another drink of water. “I would imagine the gym or yoga studio discourages their instructors from fucking their clients. I meant that Brad isn’t doing his job correctly because yoga isn’t supposed to hurt. He shouldn’t push you past your limits, Henry. You’re supposed to start with easy positions and slowly work your way up to the more advanced ones.”

“Know something about yoga too?”

“I do. Pilates also. Stop trying to distract me. I want to know why Brad is pushing you too hard.” Ezra ran a finger over his brow, which meant he was losing his patience.

“He isn’t pushing me; I’m pushing myself. I like learning new positions, and I took things too far during a session at home this morning. My hamstring isn’t happy with me right now.”

Ezra rose from his chair again. “Stand up and let me look at it.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll go to the clinic if ice and ibuprofen don’t help.”

“Henry, stand up.”

“Stand up, bend over, and put my hands on your desk? Is that the position you want me to get in?” I don’t know what made me say it, but I decided to blame the devil. Maybe Ezra was my personal Lucifer; if so, I wanted him to lead me into temptation.

Ezra rounded the desk wearing a stern expression on his face. I stood up to face him. I liked that he wasn’t much taller than me, but Ezra didn’t need a tall stature to dominate a room or a situation. “Actually, yes,” he said silkily. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”