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I should have known he was a physical therapist. I’m more than embarrassed to say that I didn’t, but how was I supposed to know anything when every time I saw the man, he acted like I didn’t exist?

It’s not like I talk to Austen a lot, and when I do, the topic isn’t what his hot friend that I’ve slept with is up to.

But of course, because the universe loves to fuck me like the little slut I am, I wind up in Jordan’s office—of all the therapists in fucking Virginia.

“So you’re a therapist. Nice,” I bite.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Alex,” he says as he shuts the door.

The lock clicks and my brain immediately flashes back to another time. Another locked door. My cock twitches, and I absentmindedly adjust myself before he can see what I’m doing.

I don’t need that right now. This situation is bad enough, I don’t need sexual harassment added to the list. Not that I think Mack would say anything, but I don’t want to fuck around and find out.

I’m not here to get laid; I’m here to recover.

This isn’t about us, it’s about me getting better.

So I find the nearest chair and collapse in it.

“What?” I snap as I run my hand over my face .

I prop my leg out, a deep, pained sigh escaping me.

It feels so good to sit down. He stands there, spine straight.

The light makes his dark hair—which is swept back rather smoothly—shine, and even with his blue polo and khakis, I can still see the definition of his broad shoulders.

My gaze travels over his forearms, noting the muscle there, and though I know I should stop undressing him with my eyes, I can’t help it because all I can wonder is if his body still looks good naked.

I bet it does—it looks damn good in clothes.

I bet with all those muscles, he’s heavy as a fucking brick and could choke the life out of me.

My cock jumps again, and I shift in my seat as his gaze holds me.

“If you want to get back to hockey, you need to listen to what I tell you, or you’re going to fuck it up.”

I roll my eyes. “Duh. That’s why I’m here, ain’t it?”

He takes a step closer as I loosen my stance in my chair. My posture’s shit, but it feels good to relieve some tension off my leg and hip.

“No, I don’t think you get it.”

I look up at him and the memories cycle through. Feverish kisses. His strangled, ecstasy-ridden commands.

On your fucking knees for me.

I couldn’t get on my knees if I tried. I might get down there okay, but getting up would be another story. Though, for Jordan, maybe not getting up wouldn’t be so bad…

“No, I get it, Mackenzie. You’ve got a job to do, right?” I bite out. “Well, so do I.”

I’m aware how bitter and angry I sound, but I can’t help it. Jordan Mackenzie makes me feel things I don’t like to feel. He cuts through the bullshit like no one else.

As I sit here in his office, feeling the disdain rippling off him, I know that ship has sailed.

If I ever thought Mack and I could turn a new leaf, move past what happened and be friends again, I was sorely mistaken. The venom in his voice, the anger in his glare…

It’s clear he hates me and because I’m a fucked up asshole with no other options, I’m going to deal with it. I’m going to take every piece of his anger, his bitterness, and I’m going to use it to my advantage.

“Good,” he grunts. “As long as you remember that and do as I tell you, we’ll both get what we want.”

My gaze falls to his mouth, remembering just how brutal his lips can be. Also how soft they can be.

My phone rings. “Daddy Issues.”

I let it ring.

“You need to get that before we start?” he asks with a raised brow.

I shake my head, silencing the phone. “Nope.”

“Alright then. Stand up. ”

“Can’t we do chair exercises or something?” I grumble. “That’s what the last guy had me do.”

Jordan smirks and the sight makes me feel strangely warm.

“No.” His voice is commanding. It messes with my brain.

“Fine.” I stand, trying my hardest to keep a straight face, but I fail.

Miserably. “Fuck!” I cry out as my knee buckles like a busted can of crescent rolls.

I grab the arm of the chair as I suck in a breath to keep myself from completely falling.

Within seconds, I feel his hands on my hips. Steadying me.

“Don’t put pressure on it,” he says firmly. “Shift your weight.”

“I know how to fucking stand up,” I bite out through the pain.

“Then stand up,” Mack says, his stern tone scratching the right parts of my brain. I feel the heat from his palms against me, burning through my T-shirt.

“Just breathe,” he says softer.

I’m acutely aware of how close he is. My gaze flashes to those pillowy lips. The way they part so slightly. I look up at his amber eyes, his alpine and vetiver scent hitting me like a brick.

He still smells exactly the same. He’s still so fucking hot, too. Hotter, actually. More of a man.

But I don’t have time to stare in awe because the pain is too much. I push myself up, but it’s no use. I hear a crack and then I fall back into the chair and curse.

“Fucking hell,” I complain.

Mack looks at me with judgment, and I hate it. I cover my face with my hands, growling in frustration.

“Alright. Chair exercises it is,” he says, blowing out a sharp breath. “You can start with heel slides. Four reps each heel. You know what those are, right?”

“Fucking obviously,” I growl, trying to work through the pain.

He holds his hands up and steps back.

My fingers curl around the edge of the seat as I try to breathe through the pain. It takes everything I have to push my heel out and slowly push it back. But I do it. It hurts like a bitch and I have every desire to challenge his authority and say those two words I long to say.

Make me.

My phone rings again. “Daddy Issues.”

Mack watches me intently. I shut the phone off and push my heel out. He says nothing as I continue my reps, taking deep breaths between each movement.

“Good job, Alex,” he praises. “Now do it again.”