Page 8 of Goalie Secrets
Re-alignment, when done correctly, is what an addict thinks after the first hit:feeling this good can’t possibly last, but I’m riding the high for as long as I can.For a guy like me, living with constant strain and discomfort, being relaxed and aligned is equivalent to a morphine hit.
When she’s done, she finally answers me.
“I’ll forward my notes. There’s no need to put up with me again. Thank you for allowing me to work with you today. I’ll step out so you can get dressed to leave. Or are you using the rehab center?”
“Wait a minute, what are you saying?” I sit up so fast, she raises a brow in concern.
“I’m not sure where I’ve been unclear.” Her concern has morphed into haughtiness. “I appreciate your time with me today. However, there are lots of other patients who won’t put me on a timer in order to prove what I can do.”
Because the universe likes to play tricks on me, that’s the moment the timer pings. It’s the soundtrack of me being a jerk.
“I thought you were part of a joke is all,” I blurt before realizing how little that helps my cause. “I mean, you’re not a joke. I am. Look, I’m sorry. Offending you is the last thing I want to do.”
Her face is so placid, she looks bored. “Let’s just admit it isn’t a good fit, shall we? Have a good day.”
She turns her back to me. I’ll have to say something for her to turn around.Say something, Lopez!
“By the way, that timer was your idea,” I argue petulantly.
That makes her turn around, alright. If her glare is any sign, argumentative was not my best approach. Unfortunately, since I’m committed to making bad decisions today, I double down.
“I’m the client. Don’t I get a say?”
There are fiery coals stoked behind her dark brown eyes.
“Certainly, with your doctor,” she mumbles through gritted teeth. “Take it up with Dr. Lane.”
“Oh, come on! Seriously? Are you still mad because I thought you were a stripper? I apologized for that!”
“A stripper? I…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think there was anything worse than being mistaken for a puck bunny ambushing a hockey player to strip for him, but you’ve proven me wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a stripper.” That’s not the point of the conversation, though it had to be said. “Or a puck bunny.”
“It’s not the profession or the, um,pastimethat I have a problem with.” Her lips twitch slightly when she says pastime and I have to suppress a snort. Unfortunately, our mutual amusement lasts two seconds. Her scowl returns with a vengeance.
“It’s that men like you treat the entire world as if it’s your personal strip club. Please spare me the lecture on adult entertainment. I appreciate porn as much as the next person, though not in my place of work.”
“Yeah? What kind of porn?” I ask, because I’m an idiot, as well as stupidly curious. Images of this voluptuous, sharp-witted doctor getting horny fill my head.
Nope. I’m not going there.
This is an arrangement that I already muddled when I saw how pretty she was. Unlike my father, I’m not some sex-crazed lunatic. I have boundaries. If I want this hot-as-fuck doctor towork on me, my brain needs to put an impenetrable wall around my stray thoughts.
Did I say hot as fuck? I meant whip smart and very skilled with her hands. I glance at those capable fingers and consider what they can do. As if she misread my expression, she crosses her arms over her full chest and tilts one hip. It is the unmistakable stance of annoyance.
“If the last few sentences haven’t proven to you we can’t work together, you haven’t been paying attention. Your neuromuscular system is in expert hands with Dr. Lane. Goodbye, Jeremy.”
She takes a step back and everything shifts to slow motion.
I left my runners beside a chair. In order not to crash into her cart of needling tools, she steps back diagonally, landing a foot on my shoes and wobbling. Her hands flail outward to grab something before her ass crashes to the ground. In a flash, I reach for her elbows and pull her to me.
We collide, her chest pressed against mine and her hair tickling my nose. For a beat, we’re holding each other tightly. My hand flexes around her generous curves. I’m not wearing a top, so I feel our heated bodies meld. Dr. Kapur’s nipples are diamond hard, and the sensation stirs me.
Blood rushes to all the wrong places. Roughly, I move her to the side and away from my body.
“Thank you for keeping me from falling,” she mumbles breathily.
“You’re welcome,” I say past gritted teeth, trying to think of something other than the press of her curves.