Page 24

TWENTY-FOUR

LEXI

GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN(DAMENTAL RIGHTS) AND GOOD SEX

Piper

Where did you disappear to the other night, Lex?

Me

When?

Maven

After our game in Miami! You dropped off food for us, then we didn’t see you again.

Me

Oh! I was tired and wanted to head back to my room early.

Piper

Did you take the cute guy you were talking to at the bar with you? ;)

Me

The pilot? He was British and nice, but nope.

Emmy

Don’t ever get involved with a pilot. They’re all slimy.

Madeline

Is this from firsthand experience, Em?

Emmy

I will not confirm or deny my experience with shitty men.

Maven

That’s a yes!

Piper

Are you feeling better now, Lex?

Me

Like a new woman.

Emmy

Amazing what some rest can do.

Me

Rest. Yeah.

* * *

A week later, and I’m still thinking about the filthy things Riley and I did.

I’m thinking about his mouth and his hands, and when I wonder about how many people he must have been with before me if he’s that good at knowing exactly what to do, a flicker of jealousy creeps up my spine.

I’d probably burst into flames if I stepped inside a church, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I’m seeing him for the first time today since he got me off and stole my underwear.

We’ve sent a few text messages back and forth, but it hasn’t been anything substantial. Neither one of us have brought up that night , and something like nerves have been sitting in my stomach since I woke up this morning.

I almost canceled our session, but I don’t want him to think I’m hiding from him.

Or worse.

Developing feelings for him and wanting to do it again.

I snort and toss the towels some of the guys used after an earlier ice bath into the hamper. The door to the training room clicks open behind me, and my heart jumps to my throat. I slow my breathing and turn around with a grin, only to be disappointed when I find Coach in the doorway.

“Oh. Hey,” I say, and the scowl he’s wearing deepens.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Nope. I thought you were someone else.”

“I’m adding you to the list of people disappointed to see me.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about. You’re at the top of the list of my favorites.”

“Sarcasm isn’t a good look on you, Armstrong,” Coach draws out.

“What’s up? You never come in here,” I say.

“Because I hate when people come into my workspace without an invitation. I like to extend that same courtesy to other people when I can.”

“Wow. You’re such a Good Samaritan.”

“Doing my civic duty. Is Mitchell here yet?”

“Nope. Should be any minute.” I grab a spray bottle and wipe down the treatment table Liam was on thirty minutes ago while I tended to his sore ankle. “Why?”

“Just wanted to check in and see how things were going.”

“Stick around. I think you’ll be impressed when you see his progress. I know I’m not an occupational therapist, but I hope I’ve done a good job.”

“She’s done a great job,” Riley says, stepping into the room. “Don’t let her sell herself short.”

“Hi. Hey. What’s up?” I ask.

Our eyes meet, and the air is tense. There’s a pause, a throat clearing, my gaze bouncing to the front of his shorts and knowing what’s hiding underneath. A cocky smirk he tosses my way before he adjusts his glasses and strolls over to the table, and I hope Coach can’t pick up on the awkwardness between us.

“Your gait looks great, Mitchell.” Coach unfolds his arms from across his chest. “And I’m glad to hear Lexi hasn’t had to make any excuses for you lately. Not a single absence listed in her progress reports since October.”

“I’m a good student,” Riley says, and I swear I hear the undertones behind his statement.

“He’s doing well, isn’t he?” I beam and grab a rolled-up towel. “We’re increasing the intensity of the physiotherapy exercises today. Do you want to stick around?”

“No. I don’t want to overstep,” Coach says. “And my daughter has figure skating lessons this afternoon.”

“No hockey for her?” Riley asks, sitting on the edge of the table and swinging his legs to the front. “She could be the next Emmy. I’m sure she has some of your skills in her blood.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried. She wants to wear figure skating dresses, not pads.” He glances at me. “You good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I grab the clipboard I use to track Riley’s progress and sit on a rolling stool. “All is well here.”

He turns his attention to Riley. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Riley smiles and gets to work on his prosthetic. “And thanks for believing in me.”

With a grunt, Coach disappears out the door, and the room gets quiet.

“So,” I say brightly after flipping through my stack of notes. “We’re going to try some new things today.”

“New things? Like what?” Riley asks.

“Bridges and similar things. Your core is getting stronger, and I want to see how you fare with some different movements. My hope is in the new year we’ll start working on the exercises you’re used to doing as a hockey player like single-leg squats and RDLs.”

“Sounds good to me. I was at my prosthetist’s office yesterday. I’ve had some trouble walking the last couple of days, and he had to adjust my socket. It’s nice to have a break from lugging this thing around.”

Riley pops off his leg and I take it from him, leaning it against the wall like I always do. We have a routine in here, but that routine hasn’t included wondering if he still has a hickey on his neck from our night together. A quick glance while he scoots back on the table shows the mark below his ear has faded, and I’m a little sad about it.

“Did his adjustments help?”

“Yeah. It’s amazing how things can be out of whack by half a millimeter and throw everything else off.” He fixes his shorts and stretches out his left leg. “I’ve been very good at doing my solo exercises this week. I, uh, wanted to make you proud.”

“Yeah?” I stand and set my clipboard on the stool, moving so I’m next to him. “I’m sure you will.”

“What are we doing first?”

“Bridges. I need you on your back, please.”

“No laughing at me.” Riley maneuvers his body, and I wait patiently until he’s flat on the table with his arms folded behind his head. “God. I can’t believe people sleep like this.”

“Back sleepers have something seriously wrong with them.”

“How do you sleep?”

“On my side. What about you?”

“Side sleepers unite.” He turns his chin so he’s looking my way. There’s something else on the tip of his tongue, but he closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath, bringing his legs together. “What do you want me to do?”

Make me come again.

Put your hand around my throat.

Tell me how good I am.

A million other things that should not still be lingering in my brain.

“With your left foot on the table, you’re going to lift your hips in the air,” I say, worried it sounds too breathy, like his presence is affecting me when it absolutely shouldn’t be. “Then you’ll bring your hips back down, and we’ll repeat.”

“Whenever I think the exercises are going to be easy, they end up kicking my ass.” He grimaces when he moves his body, and his fingers dig into the leather of the table. “How do you come up with these things?”

“I spend a lot of time researching. I study documents from hospitals and outpatient facilities. I consult with people knowledgeable in limb loss. I’m learning a lot, but I’m used to treating hockey injuries. I want to make sure I’m giving you the right exercises to work on the right parts of your body.”

“I’d say it’s working. Moving is easier than it was in September. I hope it’s because I’m actually getting stronger, not the weather getting cooler. November is great, isn’t it?”

“Really great.”

I put my hand on his shoulders to keep his chest from lifting off the table. I can’t believe we’re talking about the weather . It’s like we’re both actively avoiding mentioning the elephant in the room, and I hate it.

I’m never sleeping with someone I work with ever again.

“How was your week?” I find myself asking, desperate to break the silence between us.

It’s not like us, and every second that passes where he doesn’t say anything, I’m transported back to his hotel room and the slick glide of his fingers. The sounds of his heavy breathing and the feel of his hands everywhere on my body.

My poor vibrator has been working overtime, and I only thought about him once when I got off last night.

Okay, twice, but only because I can’t get those words— I know exactly what you need —out of my goddamn head.

Fuck him and his dirty mouth to high heaven.

“Fine.” Riley grunts when I touch his residual limb to test his range of motion. “I FaceTimed my parents so they could see I’m surviving. Went to a therapy appointment. Hung out with Hudson, Madeline, and Lucy at the library.”

“Sounds like a busy week.”

“Yeah. It’s nice to be busy. Better than sitting on my couch and moping. What about you?”

“Nothing special. I started a new book. Taught four Pilates classes. Went on a run down by the Potomac.”

“What book did you start?”

“A romance book.”

“Vague. Which one?”

I forget Riley isn’t going to mock me for my literary choices. He—and the other guys on the team—are enthusiastic supporters of romance novels and the women who read them. I don’t have to brace myself for the teasing “romance books have no substance, so they don’t count as a real book” that normally follows.

God forbid someone likes to pretend they’re in a fictional world where women are treated right and orgasms are plentiful, because no way in hell does that happens in the reality where I’m currently living.

Except for Riley.

“Lex?”

“Hm? Sorry,” I say.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I got distracted there for a minute.”

“I knew it.” Riley sighs and pushes up on his elbows. He positions his legs over the table and stares at me. “You regret last week.”

“ What? No. I don’t. At all.”

“You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings, Lex, and if I’m making you uncomfortable, I can take my rehab back to an outpatient facility so you don’t have to deal with me.”

“Riley.” I step closer to him. “That’s not what’s going on here. I’m… confused how we’re supposed to act around each other because I’ve never seen the person I’ve hooked up with out in the real world after the fact, and I’m going to be seeing a lot of you.”

“You’re the one who said it was only one time.” His smile hitches. He leans back on his palms and watches me. “If I had it my way, we would be going back to your place after this and having round two.”

“That wouldn’t be very friendly of us, would it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never slept with a friend before.”

The offer is tempting, and for half a second, I consider it.

But then I remember there are at least five more months left in the season, and I don’t want to spend them awkwardly dancing around him while our friends watch and wonder why we can’t be in the same room.

It was sex.

Great sex.

That’s it.

And I need to get my head out of my ass and stop thinking about him.

“I’m sorry. I’m being weird. Can we start the day over?” I ask.

“Too late. I’m already sweating my ass off from your training plan. There’s no going back now.” He kicks his left leg out, foot nudging my knee. “Tell me what book you’re reading or I’m going to be pissed.”

I relax, laughing when he blinks at me with big, wide eyes. “There are motorcycles involved.”

“Ethan would be so proud.”

“It’s good. I’ll bring it for you to read when I’m finished.”

“It’s like our own library system.”

“Yeah, and you’re distracting me from getting your exercises done. Get on your stomach, Mitchell. I’m onto your games.”

“Guess I need to find a new distraction tactic.” He lifts his shirt to wipe his forehead then his glasses, and I know he’s testing me. I pointedly stare at the floor. “I’ll figure you out, Armstrong.”

“We’re doing hip extensions next. Same position you would get in for hamstring curls.”

“Love when you’re bossy.” Riley swings his lower half around and lays on his stomach. “What am I doing for this one?”

“You’re going to lift your residual limb off the table.”

“Ah. Okay. How many times?”

“Twelve.”

“Fuck. You’re mean.”

He starts the movement with his right leg. I place both of my hands gently on his lower back, right on the start of his backside, to make sure he’s working the correct muscles.

“Keep your stomach on the table,” I explain, getting a grunt in response. “There you go. That was a great adjustment, Riley. Feel the difference?”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, and his next rep is slower. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

I keep my hands on him, my grip slackening with each rep he completes. I want him to do it on his own, and when he finishes number twelve, he groans.

“That was hard as hell.”

“You did great.” I grab a towel and a water, bringing them over to him while he sits up. “Does anything hurt?”

“There’s some throbbing and tingling on the right side of my body. My leg hurts even though it’s not there. It’s weird. It doesn’t happen all the time. Sometimes it’s like static.”

He runs a hand over his right thigh, thumbs pressing into his muscles. He works lower, massaging his residual limb, and I watch him so I can try to learn what helps.

I read about phantom pain when I started researching limb loss and what happens after an amputation. It’s a physiological experience with a few root causes like nerve damage and central sensitization, and besides medication and some therapies that may or may not be effective, there’s only so much you can do.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.

“Nah. I don’t want to take any pain meds. I started to rely on them too much after my surgery, and I don’t want to go down that road again. I’ve also looked into things like mirror therapy, but I think I need to get a year of healing under my belt before I try anything new.”

“I know I’m not qualified for anything beyond athletic training and some physical therapy, but if there’s something I can do to make the pain less, I’m happy to try.”

“Weirdly enough, these exercises are helping. I’m feeling less of the phantom sensations than I was in September and October.”

“You’re strengthening the muscles and nerves in your right leg. That helps with the pain, according to my research.”

Riley gives me a long look, and I don’t know what he’s trying to convey. His eyebrows are pulled together, but there’s a softness in his gaze. Gratitude, almost, in the tilt of his head and his heavy exhale. “It means so much to me that you’ve spent your free time looking things up on my behalf.”

“I’ve never worked with an amputee before, and I want to make sure we’re doing this right and in a way that could get you back on the ice one day.”

“Do you… still think that’s possible?” Riley asks, and I nod.

“I do. You’re making a lot of improvements, and as we start to shift to the exercises your body remembers from years of playing hockey, we can talk about approaching the ice again.”

He swallows and glances at me. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing, Lex. I wouldn’t be this far along in my recovery if it weren’t for you.”

“Yes, you would.” I hand over his water bottle, and when he takes it from me, his fingers brush against mine. An electric current runs through me with the contact, and I have to control my breathing. “You’d be just fine.”

There’s a pause, but it’s not as awkward as before. Riley sips the water and stares at the wall. I set the towel next to him and sit back on my stool.

“It was good, wasn’t it? Our night together,” he says.

“No.” I can’t help but smile, remembering his words. “It was goddamn incredible.”

“That’s a good answer. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Moment of honesty?”

“Please,” he says.

“I’m glad you did. It was one time. I had a lot of fun. We’ve acknowledged it happened, and now we can go on with our lives.”

“Friends?” Riley holds out his hand, and I wrap my fingers around his.

“Friends,” I repeat. “Now get on your back, Mitchell, so I can torture you some more.”

“There she is.” He laughs, light and loud. “Glad to see you again, Armstrong.”

This friend thing is going to be so goddamn easy.