three
Maya
T hat’s what, the third or fourth time he’s called me baby doll? Why does it do funny things to me when I should be upset at his audacity? Oh, those idiotic butterflies in my belly. The tingling in my lady bits. It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt anything like this. Even then I don’t remember the effects being as strong.
I don’t have enough energy to fight him on this, and Chinese food sounds really good. “Okay, you win. Happy Family is fine, as long as you get an extra order of crab rangoons.”
His satisfied smirk is almost enough for me to take back my agreement. The opportunity to get to know him better wins. I already like him. His kindness and willingness to help a stranger is a huge checkmark in his favor. The way he looks doesn’t hurt either. I’ve always appreciated a broad chest and muscular arms. Evidenced by his firm muscles when he picked me up and carried me without any difficulty, he works out a lot.
I wonder what he looks like without his shirt. Does he have a six pack? An adonis belt? He’s got a tribal band just above the elbow on one arm. Any more tats? I can go either way with those.
With a wave he turns to exit the apartment. Nice butt, too.
If I was wise, I’d get up, lock the door, and ignore him if he really does return. Instead, I munch on the grapes and sip my water as I relax. Closing my eyes, I tell myself I’ll work on my manuscript once my cold therapy time is up. Instead, I doze off until a knock at the door jerks me awake.
Blinking to clear the sleep from my eyes and focus I call, “It’s open.”
The door opens slowly and a hand holding a large paper bag appears easing around the edge. The savory aroma of ginger, garlic, and soy makes my mouth water. A quick glance at my watch shows I’ve slept for over two hours.
“Is it safe to come in?”
I chuckle at Phil’s question. “Yes, as long as you’re going to share that food. Smells wonderful.”
He enters and sets the bag on the counter then puts a smaller bag into the freezer. “Want me to bring you a plate, or are you up to eating over here?”
Lowering the leg rest, I scoot forward in the chair. “I’ve got to… umm… I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” he says as he turns toward the dish cupboard.
Thankful he doesn’t think he needs to help me to the bathroom, I use the cane for support—which I don’t always do when I’m alone. I’m in the mood for supper, not a lecture. It is easier to get around using the metal stick I’ve named Erika. I shouldn’t be so stubborn.
Wanting to be done with the healing process and therapy while at the same time not following the doctor’s and physical therapists’ advice is a human thing to do, but stupid. I know that. In fact, I’ve been outlining a chapter for my book on balancing life and sports covering just this topic. So why don’t I do what I’m supposed to?
Full plates are waiting on the island when I return and once I’ve settled awkwardly onto the bar height chair, I turn my attention to Phil. His face is calm and exposes none of his thoughts. He lifts a glass of iced tea in salute. “I’m not a fan of hot tea. I hope this is acceptable.”
“It is. I like cold tea better, too.” Clinking the rims of our glasses in salute, we share an interesting, soft stare I don’t really understand. So I pay more attention to my plate. Besides the main dish, there’s fried rice and a thick egg roll. A pile of rangoons fill a plate between us.
He slides a large plastic cup of the red, sticky, American version of sweet and sour sauce next to the plate. “For dipping.”
“Perfect.”
I’ve nearly cleaned my plate and am reaching for another crispy Rangoon before realizing how much I’m eating. Shit, this isn’t my normal having a meal with a guy behavior. What’s he going to think?
As though he’s reading my mind, Phil asks, “How long has it been since you’ve had a real meal?”
Because I’m not really sure what he’s asking, I’m not sure how to answer. Is this a comment on how I’ve been shoveling in the food? Or on how empty the fridge is?
“Maya, you haven’t been eating regularly, have you? Or getting the proper nutrition to help with your recovery. Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”
The sad concern in his expression seems real. I’m usually pretty good at reading expressions so I don’t know why I’m questioning what I see. Why is he concerned anyway? “I’m doing fine. I just haven’t, ah, ordered groceries for a while. I’m not that active, so I don’t need all the energy.”
“You’re talking to a lifelong athlete, Maya. And as a coach I know the signs when another athlete isn’t following program.” He reaches across the island and taps one finger against my forehead. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, baby doll?”
Touch me again, please. I jerk back and nearly overbalance and tip myself off the stool. That would make a great impression. Leaning forward with my elbows on the island I sigh. “Everything and nothing.”
He chuckles, a sound lighter than I expected with his speaking voice. “Well, that explains it.”
“I mean, I don’t know. And I should have a clue. I’m writing a book about balancing sports and life. I’m not sure I know what I’m writing about.” I slap the counter. “No, that’s not right. I know the right things to say. I’m just not living them. I’m out of balance and I’m not sure how to fix myself. And why the hell am I telling you this?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Because I asked. Done?”
I nod, then shake my head and grab one more rangoon. “Now I am.”
With an ease that makes it feel like he’s done this here a million times, he puts the leftovers away, rinses, and adds our plates to the dishwasher. “There’s ice cream for later. Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable and you can keep on telling me things you don’t think I need to know.”
I return to my recliner and he sits on the couch facing me. I’m able to direct the conversation away from me although his half-grin tells me I’m not going to be able to get away with diverting the attention from me for long. Maybe if I give him just a little, he’ll be satisfied.
“Then today my physical therapist suggested I add visits to another gym to my routine. More strength training. Mobility. Which, okay I get that.” My face heats. “I just don’t feel comfortable working out in a public gym. Even when everything worked right, it wasn’t my favorite thing to do. Ellie, my partner, didn’t care. She likes when people recognize her. I’d just as soon remain anonymous. Not draw any attention.”
“Interesting attitude for someone who’s been considered for a national team. That calls for a lot of attention.” He leans forward, genuine concern filling his expression. “How do you handle that?”
“It’s different. Because Ellie drew most of the attention. We shared the weight of expectation, both good and bad. We’ve been friends and teammates long enough she automatically covers for me by keeping the focus more on her.”
“Hmm. I see. Elite athletes are often more image conscious and use that to their advantage.”
“So, you’re saying I’m an oddity?” The statement comes out more accusatory than I meant.
Phil doesn’t bat an eye. “No, just not what people consider the norm. Fans tend to expect their favorite athletes to be larger than life. With loud, ‘look at me’ personalities. There are probably more who are naturally less showy, like you. They either aren’t noticed or fake the overt personality well.”
“You’re very observant.” His intelligence and insight impress me. I think I could talk with this man forever. He certainly isn’t boring.
“I think coaches need to cultivate that ability. We need to know our athletes well enough to determine when there could be issues.” He give me a pointed look then leans back with his hand behind his head. “I may have a solution for you.”
“For which issue?”
“First we’ll tackle your need for additional training and rehab time.” His eyelids drop to half cover his eyes. “Once that’s taken care of…”
He’s promising me something. I don’t have a clue what that might be. Except the way he’s studying me sends goosebumps down my spine. “So?”
“Come work out at my gym.”
I arch my brows. “With the gymnastics kids?”
“No. My facility has expanded to include state of the art weights and therapeutic opportunities. There’s a number of local professional sports teams in the area. In cooperation with them, I’ve created a private area for rehab and specialty training needs. I have a masseuse on staff, however each team provides their own doctors, trainers, and support personnel.”
“I don’t have any of that.” I refuse to allow myself to hope for such an ideal gym. Nor will I take any more funds from Ellie and her new partner to hire my own trainer, even though she and Sean insist I pull a ‘salary’ from the team while recuperating.
Phil leans forward again. “Here’s the deal. Come use my facility. I’ll serve as your trainer. Don’t worry. I know exactly how to rehab a knee like yours. Of course I’ll be in contact with your doctors and current therapist.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“I like to be thorough. Don’t make a decision now. Come visit the gym and see what you think. We can schedule your time when there aren’t others around.”
I can’t—and really don’t want to come up with a reason to say no. “I’ll visit and see.”
“Saturday?” His eager expression makes me smile.
“That’s in two days. So soon?”
“Actually, it would work out great. We’re having a watch party for the college national championships. All the kids, their parents, coaches.”
“Won’t you be busy?” I’d be foolish to hope for time with him when there’s no way it can happen.
“No more than usual. I’ll be able to slip away to take you on a tour. Beryl and Noah are providing a chocolate gymnastic display and I could arrange for you to ride over with them. The day’s competition will be over late in the afternoon, then I’ll be able to bring you home.”
That adorable, irresistible smirk is back. “Besides… there’s chocolate.”