Page 12 of Love is Fake (Love is Everything #1)

Chapter

Five

By the time Lennox gets to the gym I’ve had time to find the massage room and get myself set up.

Part of me wonders if he was giving me extra time to get myself together because he noticed what a basket-case I’ve been.

If that’s the case, I don’t know whether to be grateful or even more embarrassed than I already am.

Fake it ‘til you make it , I remind myself.

I’m determined to claw back some level of professionalism even it kills me and the best way to go about that is to pretend like what took place outside never even happened.

Denial and distraction are my two new best friends right now.

“If you want to hop up on the bed, I’d like to do a quick consultation if you don’t mind?” I ask the question in my best ‘this is how it’s going to work’ voice. I’m surprised not to encounter any resistance from Lennox who does exactly as I ask.

He leans back on his elbows, stretching his long legs out in front of him and I definitely only look at the corded muscles of his legs from a purely specialist point of view.

“This is a great set-up.” I gesture around to the fully fitted out-treatment rooms that would put most five-star spas to shame. “Was it like this when you bought the place?”

Smalltalk, I hate it, but it’s a trick of the trade I’ve learned to employ over the years. Especially when either I or the client are nervous.

“No.” Lennox’s monosyllabic response is punctuated by an intake of breath as I touch a sensitive spot around his knee.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Did that hurt?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but from the way his jaw is clenching he’s in a not inconsiderate amount of pain.

“If you’d been using your crutches instead of putting all your weight on your knee this morning, it wouldn’t be as sore as it is now,” I point out, but Lennox just stares daggers at me.

So someone doesn’t like to be told they’re not invincible , I think to myself. Damn alpha male athletes.

“I had some stuff to do,” Lennox shrugs. “The crutches just get in the way. They slow me down.”

“Because they’re supposed to slow you down,” I rebuke gently.

“Your knee has gone through a massive trauma, not just once with your surgery, but again during that last game.” The game I haven’t yet watched.

I’ve been so busy pouring over Lennox’s medical charts I didn’t have time, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You need to give it some time to heal.”

“You can save the lecture, Isabella. I’ve had it already from the damn surgeon,” Lennox grumbles.

“And apparently it didn’t work when he gave it to you, so that’s why I’m reminding you.”

If Lennox wants to turn this into a battle of wills, I’m happy to show him just how stubborn I can be when it comes to my patients.

“There’s a set of crutches over there-” I nod towards the corner of the room. “You’re going to use them for the rest of our little trial period.”

I cross my arms, looking at him expectantly.

Lennox’s expression goes from mulish to amused in a matter of seconds. “I don’t think I heard a question there, Isabella.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head at him. “You didn’t. Out on the ice, you’re the boss. In here,” I make a circle with my index finger including the treatment room and the gym, “in here, I’m the boss.”

Lennox looks a little surprised and rightly so because right now I’m light years away from the timid woman I was outside. But this is different, this here is my world.

The surprise in his eyes gives way to something looking like grudging respect and I tell myself I don’t need his approval.

“I’ll give the crutches a try,” he accepts begrudgingly. “But I’m not makin’ any promises.”

I duck my head to hide my victorious smile, knowing Lennox is the type of person who would renege on his acceptance purely to prove a point.

His Alabama drawl which is normally barely noticeable is coming through strong.

It makes me wonder if it’s because he’s subconsciously picking up my accent or because he’s in pain. Neither of the two options is ideal.

“When does pre-season training start?” I ask, focusing on the task at hand.

“It’s already started,” Lennox sighs, looking pained. “We don’t usually do the whole break things. We train year-round.”

“I meant on-ice,” I tell him gently, knowing it’s hard for any athlete who’s been sidelined with an injury, but especially so when that athlete is as dedicated as Lennox is.

“I need to be skating by August.” There’s no question, no hint of doubt that what he wants may not be possible.

Not in his mind, at least. After looking at his scans, however, I’m not convinced Lennox will get back to the level he was playing at before and in two months’ time even less so.

But if I know one thing about rehabilitation, it’s that if you don’t believe you can get better, it won’t happen.

So I’m not going to be the one to tell him not to get his hopes up.

“And I’ll do everything I can to help you do that,” I promise and let him see my sincerity when he looks into my eyes.

He nods in acknowledgement and it feels as if some of the tension has left the room - like Lennox has allowed himself to trust me, even just a little. Silently, I vow not to prove his faith in me wrong.

“We’re going to be doing a lot of work in the pool,” I tell him. “You have one on site, right?” I look up for him to confirm and he nods.

“Indoor or outdoor?” I ask, making notes as I go.

Lennox shifts slightly on the bed, looking a little pained as if he doesn’t like to talk about the luxury he lives in. It’s endearing, actually; it’s a change from the number of show-offs I usually meet in this job. “Umm, both.”

“How about a tennis court?” I ask, not because it matters for his treatment but because now I am curious.

“Four,” he nods, the word twisting in his mouth like a bad taste. I hide my smile behind my hand at how clearly he wants to get off this topic.

“Cinema room?” I continue.

“Yes,” he sighs before narrowing his eyes at me in suspicion. “Seriously, is this even important?”

“Olympic-sized ice rink?” I ask innocently, ignoring his question. His mouth twitches as he realizes I’m teasing.

He shakes his head, letting me see the smile that’s graced a million magazine covers. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“So no rink at Wayne Manor, huh?” The words are already out of my mouth by the time I‘ve realized I’ve done that thing of speaking out loud without really thinking first.

“Wayne Manor?” Lennox’s expression turns from confusion to amusement at the speed of light as he makes the connection. “Are you calling me Batman?”

I shrug. I’m a nerd, so what? “Well, between the out-of-the-way mansion, the batmobiles in your garage and the whole air of mystery you seem to like to cultivate…you tell me.”

I’m rewarded with a deep rumble of laughter. It’s an addictive sound. A sound, I realize, I wouldn’t mind hearing again. Maybe I wouldn’t even mind if I was the only person to make him laugh like that.

Lennox eyes me curiously. “So you’re a comic book fan?”

“Don’t sound so surprised! I know my Marvel from my DC.” God, could I sound like more of a dork right now?

He frowns as if he can’t get his head around me. “You just…you don’t seem like the type.”

I know I shouldn’t ask him what type I seem like, that if he says something belittling, I’ll be crushed no matter how much I want to pretend his opinion doesn’t matter to me.

It’s just because I’m a people-pleaser, I reason. It’s not his opinion I care about. I just have this thing about people liking me. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s not something I’ve ever been able to get away from. It’s been that way since I was a kid.

Kiara – ever the psychoanalyst – says it has to do with my absent mom and me thinking if I can make people like me then they won’t leave me.

I’m not saying she’s wrong. I’m just saying I prefer to think about my mother as little as possible and I’d prefer to believe any impact she had on my life ended the moment she decided to walk out on her husband and infant baby.

“What kind of ‘type’ is that? Someone who can read?” I challenge him, mostly joking.

Lennox gives me that inscrutable look of his again. “Are you always this feisty with your clients or do I just have a special talent for pissing you off?”

I wince inwardly, hoping like hell I haven’t offended him and reminding myself I’m supposed to be on my best damned behavior, especially after what almost happened outside.

The memory of the not-quite-almost kiss has left me feeling frustrated and confused, but now really isn’t the time to analyze those emotions or dig any deeper.

“Sorry, lack of sleep,” I mumble under my breath in a pretty half-hearted apology.

Lennox doesn’t say anything as I keep gently manipulating his leg and knee, making notes as I go over the areas we need to work on together.

“It wasn’t supposed to be an insult. All I meant was that girls with your looks aren’t normally into comics,” Lennox states quietly, making my heart beat faster in my chest.

“Graphic novels,” I correct automatically, earning another twelve nerd points before turning away from Lennox to scribble some nonsensical notes down just so he doesn’t see the flaming tomato my face has become.

Is he making fun of me? I wonder. But there’s no way I’m going to look at him to figure it out – much better to distract both of us from the awkwardness in the room. Or perhaps it’s just me feeling like that? Lennox is so full of confidence I doubt he’d be familiar with any hint of uncertainty.

Change the subject, Iz. Anything that’ll break the silence, which is becoming oppressive.

“So, how come you live all the way out here? I’m guessing most of the other guys on the team live closer to the city.”

I don’t risk looking at him until I feel some of the heat leave my face.