Page 8 of Over the Moon (Rosewood River #3)

six

. . .

Eloise

We’ve been at Booze & Brews for the last hour, and I’ve already attempted to line dance a couple of times, though I’ve never had much rhythm. Emilia helped me the best she could, but I bowed out to go get a drink and take a break.

The bar was packed, and it was clearly a local hotspot.

Country music boomed through the speakers, and I made my way to the large wood bar that made a giant square in the center of the space.

My feet crunched against peanut shells as I moved, and I dabbed my fingers along my forehead, as I was sweating from all the energy I’d just exerted on the dance floor.

I met a few of Emilia’s friends, and they were all nice, but I was ready to find a table and people-watch for a while.

I ordered a beer for both me and Emilia.

“Pickleball and line dancing. You’re a woman of many talents,” a familiar voice said, as he moved to stand beside me.

Clark Chadwick .

The smell of whiskey and cedarwood flooded my senses. He stood so close his finger grazed mine on the bartop.

Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was just the man himself.

His scent, his body heat, it did something to me.

Even when we were in the gym, this man had an air about him.

He oozed charm and was too sexy for his own good.

He nudged me with his shoulder, pulling me from my daze as I gaped at him.

I shook it off, chuckling a little, as if I just got lost in thought.

I needed to be a professional.

But being here outside of work, with country music playing and two beers in my system, it was obvious that talking to him was a bad idea.

A terrible idea.

Maybe the worst idea.

I thought the man looked good in his gym clothes and his briefs, but something about the way he looked tonight had my stomach fluttering.

He wore dark jeans and worn-in cowboy boots.

A white tee stretched across his muscled chest, and I licked my lips in response before clearing my throat and forcing myself to pull it together.

“Here you go.” Jazzy, one of the bar owners and a friend of Emilia’s, slid the two beers across to me, and I reached for some cash, but Clark handed her the money before I could get it out of my purse.

“Thank you, but you didn’t need to do that,” I said, as I turned around, my back pressed against the bar.

His eyes scanned me from head to toe, making no effort to hide his perusal. I’ve caught him doing it a few times at the gym in the mirror, but he’d never been this blatant.

Obviously, I wasn’t the only one drinking tonight.

“It’s the least I could do after you stepped up and took my place in pickleball.” He thanked Jazzy when she handed him the glass of straight whiskey. “Don’t judge. I don’t drink during the season, and tomorrow is my one day off a week from training, so I’m indulging a little.”

“I wasn’t judging,” I said, as my heart raced at his nearness.

Why was I nervous?

I worked with him six days a week.

I set my beer down on the bar top. I should stop drinking immediately.

“No? What were you doing then, Weeze?” His voice was smooth as silk, and the corners of his lips turned up.

My God. He was six foot four inches of pure man.

Broad shoulders, muscular arms, chiseled abs.

His light green eyes were flanked by long black lashes that most women would pay big money for.

And I only knew these specifics because I had all his stats as the team PT, not because I was constantly staring at him when he wasn’t looking.

Okay, fine, sometimes I stared.

But his height was public record.

The rest was just—observation.

“Can I grab a water please?” I asked when Jazzy walked over and set another whiskey down for him.

His lips twitched as if he thought my request was humorous.

“I’m all about staying hydrated,” I said, as I reached for the glass of water she set down and took a sip, sucking half of it down.

I needed to flush the alcohol out of my system immediately.

“You never can be too careful,” he chuckled. “I tried to catch you after the pickleball game to thank you, but you ran out of there so quickly I didn’t see you.”

“I had to go get some things done. But thank you, I got your text.” I shrugged.

“You just chose not to respond?” His voice was all tease.

“I was in a hurry and didn’t know you were wanting a response.” My teeth sank into my bottom lip.

I knew he wanted a response. He asked if I had fun. I just didn’t think texting about things outside of work was a good idea.

“You’re a pretty damn good pickleball player. You saved the day. Easton would have lost his shit if you’d sucked.” He tipped his head back with a laugh.

“He’s a little over the top, huh?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I mean, he really thought you should play? It’s freaking pickleball.”

I startled when his finger came over my lips. “Careful, Weeze, those are fighting words in the Chadwick family.”

I sucked in a breath, and he pulled his finger from my lips.

“Well, my priority is you.”

“So you do care,” he said, a wicked grin on his face. “I knew it.”

“It’s my job. If you fail, I fail. And I have a lot at stake.”

His gaze softened as if he felt bad for teasing me about it. “We both have a lot at stake.”

“Correct. So how about you don’t take silly risks that could cause us both a lot of grief.”

“Fair enough.” He clinked his whiskey glass against my water glass and tipped his head back. “For the record, I wasn’t going to run on the court. I was going to prove a point to Easton that I couldn’t stand still and win the damn game.”

“But you shouldn’t have even been out there. You might have turned the wrong way. It’s just not a good idea to take risks right now.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re here then, huh?” He leaned close as the music piped through the speakers around us. The edge of his lips grazed the shell of my ear, and I shivered in response.

I guzzled the rest of my water and reached for the two beers. “Yes. I’m glad I’m here. For work. Just work. Love me some work. Yep. I’m a worker. Okay, I need to get this beer to Emilia. Thanks again for the drinks. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

“I’ll see you Monday morning.” He winked.

The man was too smooth for his own damn good.

Too damn smooth.

Alarm bells were going off as I hurried across the bar to where Emilia was sitting, talking to a guy I didn’t recognize.

“Hey,” she said. “I was just going to come look for you.”

“I’m here. Brought you this,” I said, handing her the bottle.

“Thanks. This is Brett. We went to high school together.”

I extended my hand. “Hi. I’m Eloise.”

“Yes, you are,” he said with a flirty smirk. He had blond hair and light blue eyes, and he oozed confidence.

“Oh, boy. Beware. This guy is the biggest flirt around,” Emilia said.

“Hey, don’t be a hater, Em. It’s called being friendly.” He flashed his smile at me, showing off his perfectly white teeth.

“Nice to meet you.”

He raised his beer bottle and clinked it with mine. “It’s definitely nice to meet you.”

I chuckled, and my gaze moved across the bar to find Clark’s eyes on me as he finished his whiskey.

Emilia turned to chat with some friends when they pulled up chairs at our table.

“So, you grew up here?” I asked Brett.

“I did. Left for college and law school and just moved back last year,” he said.

“You missed home, huh?”

“My dad is battling cancer, so I wanted to be here.” His gaze softened, and he looked away briefly, before forcing a smile when he turned back to me.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m guessing you two are close?”

“Yes. We have our moments,” he chuckled. “But he’s a good guy. And my mom isn’t handling it well, so I knew coming home would help.”

“How is he doing now?”

“He’s actually doing a lot better. The chemo seems to be helping. We’re just taking it one day at a time right now.”

I nodded. “That’s great news. I hope he continues to stay on this path to recovery.”

I knew how tough it was to watch a family member suffer. My mom had battled cancer when I was young, and those last few months with her were still etched in my memories.

“Yeah, me too. So, where is home for you?” he asked.

“I currently live in San Francisco. I work for the San Francisco Lions.”

“No shit. I’m guessing you’re here for their star player, Clark Chadwick, huh?” he asked, and I didn’t miss the way his jaw flexed at the mention of Clark.

“Yes. I’m the team physical therapist, but I’m also a certified athletic trainer, so I’m getting him ready for the season.”

“Yeah, he sustained a pretty bad knee injury in that final game, right?”

“Well, for most, it would be brutal, but for Clark, it’s more of a mild inconvenience,” I chuckled.

“Ahhh… I see we’re a big Clark Chadwick fan.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m his physical therapist and a member of the team, so I’m a fan of all of our players.

But from the standpoint of rehabbing an injury, he’s the kind of athlete you want to work with.

He puts in the work and doesn’t complain, which is a rarity most of the time,” I chuckled, trying to make light of it. “I get the feeling you’re not a fan?”

“Let’s just say we have a history, and we don’t speak anymore.”

Interesting.

“It sounds like some small-town drama.” I arched a brow.

“Yeah, you could call it that. But I have a beautiful woman sitting with me tonight, and the last thing I want to do is talk about Clark Chadwick.”

I took a sip of my beer. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I want to hear about you. Where you grew up? If you have siblings? How long you’re staying?” He paused, and the corners of his lips turned up. “If you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Like I said, the man oozed confidence.

He seemed nice enough, and he was a friend of Emilia’s, so a little harmless flirting seemed fine.

“Very smooth.”

“I like to think so,” he smirked. “How about you dance with me, and then you can decide.”

“I have two left feet. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough out there tonight,” I said.

“I don’t think that’s the case. I couldn’t take my eyes off you when you were out there.”

“I find that hard to believe, unless you just enjoy watching disasters,” I chuckled, just as a big body moved beside me.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Clark said before turning to glare at Brett. What the hell could have happened that had them so bothered by one another? “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Yes. Of course,” I said, before turning to Brett. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be back.”

I followed Clark as he led me across the bar and outside, and I noticed the way his movements were still slightly stiff, which told me it was either the brace beneath his jeans or that he was still in pain. He turned around to face me.

“Be careful with that guy.”

“Did you seriously call me out here to tell me that?” I asked, hands on my hips. The nerve of this man. Why did everyone feel the need to tell me who to avoid and how to behave? I wasn’t a child.

“No, but it’s worth saying. He’s an asshole.”

“Thanks for the information. He wasn’t quite as unkind about you, but it’s clear you aren’t besties.” I shook my head, making no attempt to hide my irritation. “I’m a big girl, Hotshot. You need not worry.”

He looked away before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fine.”

“Fine. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about? Is your knee bothering you? Are you having issues?”

“No. I’m fine,” he huffed. “I wanted to ask if you thought I could start running soon.”

This is what was so urgent?

Something we’d already discussed numerous times.

“It’s going to be a couple of weeks before you start running again. But swimming is a good alternative, and I’m fine with you doing that as often as you want.”

“I thought you told me not to swim tomorrow,” he said, quirking a brow.

“Well, yeah. You work out hard six days a week. Sunday is a rest day. Your body needs a full day to recover before we move into another challenging week.”

He looked away, and I didn’t miss the disappointment. “All right.”

I chuckled. “Is resting that hard for you?”

“I don’t know. I’m used to moving more. I just feel like I’m not doing enough cardio.”

My chest squeezed at his words because I was a type A overachiever myself, so I understood that feeling all too well. Anytime I wasn’t giving 100 percent, I felt like I was failing.

Clark was an interesting guy. He acted all cool and laid back, but his work ethic could challenge any athlete I’d ever worked with. He pushed himself until I forced him to stop most days.

“Listen, you’re doing a lot right now. Five hours a day between physical therapy, weights and strength training, stretching, swimming, walking and cycling.”

He nodded. “I like to get my heart rate going. Work up a sweat.”

I’ll bet you do, Clark Chadwick.

What. Was. Wrong. With. Me?

I pulled myself together, shaking off thoughts of how Clark might get his heart rate up when he’s not in the gym.

I cleared my throat, scolding myself internally for my thoughts. “I get it. But I promise you, you are doing a lot as far as conditioning. It’s still very early into training. We will slowly bring back cardio after a few weeks. You have to trust me on this.”

“I trust you, Weeze.”

There was something sweet and vulnerable in his words.

“Thank you. I know how much you want to get back to running, so I’ll let you know as soon as I think you’re ready. But when it happens, we are going to start slow.”

“Slow is not really my thing,” he said.

“Then I guess we won’t run for a while longer.”

“Fine. I’ll start slow.” He smiled, his eyes locked with mine with this ridiculously sexy smile on his face.

My mouth went dry. There was just something about this man.

Time to put some space there again.

“Okay, I’m going to go finish my drink and head home.”

“Yeah, I’m heading home, too. Have a good night. Be safe.” He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked.

“For you to get your ass back inside. I’m not leaving you standing out here.”

I tipped my head back in laughter. “Good night, Hotshot.”

“See you Monday, Weeze.” He didn’t move. He actually waited until I pulled the door open and looked over my shoulder.

His eyes were still on me.

And maybe it was the alcohol coursing through my veins.

But I liked it.