Page 8 of Ice Cold Hearts

“Whatever it takes to get them to work harder.” Emily shrugs then says, “Last stretch before we move on to the ice and hands-on work. It’s called the cat-cow stretch, and it will do wonders for your lower back.”

I can’t take my eyes off her as she demonstrates the stretch. Fantasies of that position in an entirely different context fill my mind. My hands twitch as I imagine gripping those hips and yanking her against me. Based on the way she’s been flirting with me, I don’t think she’d mind very much if I did.

“Alexei.” Her tone makes it clear this isn’t the first time she’s said my name. “Do you have any questions about the stretch or are you in too much discomfort to attempt this one today?”

“I’m not too sure about that one. Do you think you could show me one more time?” I ask, tracing my eyes down the length of her figure.

“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head. “But maybe some other time if you play your cards right.”

I won’t admit it to her face, but that stretch released a good bit of tension from my lower back.

When I’m finished with the stretch, Emily wipes off the mat and then guides me into one of the private treatment rooms that border the main treatment area.

“Do you have any questions or areas of concern you want to address about your treatment today before I go hands-on with your lower back and end your appointment?” she asks once I’m settled on the table.

“I have to ask, is this a purposeful choice so men don’t hit on you?” I ask, gesturing to her face, “or is this your preferred look? If it’s the latter, please lie to me. If it’s the first one, you’re going to have to try harder because it clearly didn’t discourage me.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice is sharp.

I sit back up on the table. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Emily demands.

I dig in my pocket and pull out my phone. I set up the camera for a selfie and pass it over to her.

Every drop of color drains from her face when she sees herself.

She hands my phone back robotically and buries her head in her hands.

“Audrey,” she groans weakly.

3

EMILY

I’m grateful to have something to do with my hands as I work through the tender areas of Alexei’s muscles. My face stings from having vigorously scrubbed Audrey’s masterpiece off my face. That’s what I’m telling myself, but my heart knows the truth.

I have never felt more ashamed or humiliated in my life. I screamed at someone in the parking lot of my work and that someone turned out to be my patient. He wasn’t just any patient, either. He was the one I’d foolishly pinned all my dreams of professional success and growth on. Did I recover gracefully? Of course not. I practically told him he was a nobody by admitting that not only did I not know who he was right away, but also that I didn’t care about his career. Why hadn’t I just lied and said I was an avid hockey fan who watched every game?

That would have been enough of a disaster, but did I stop there? No. I couldn’t even manage to conduct myself professionally through the appointment. I had been utterly charmed by his looks and sharp wit. Instead of shutting him down regardless of how I felt and being his physical therapist and nothing more, I’d flirted with him. If anyone else had been in the treatment area and seen how I was behaving, I would have gotten a formal writeup at minimum. He’s got to be thinking I’m some sort of vapid bimbo. If he ever comes back here for treatment, it will be a miracle.

When would I learn that athletes spell nothing but trouble for me? Wasn’t the last time enough?

A tear escapes from my eye and drops onto Alexei’s back.

I freeze.

I’m too anxious to even breathe.

“Tell me about her,” Alexei demands.

“Audrey?” I ask, surprised.

“I’m sure you have some stories. She certainly seems like the creative type.”

I’m not sure if the sound that comes out of my mouth is a laugh or a sob, but just thinking of my little girl is enough to ground me. Alexei doesn’t seem like the type to laugh often, but I do get a brief chuckle or two out of him when I tell him about all the creative ways she tries to avoid bedtime. It’s so easy to talk to him that I end up sharing more than I usually do. I tell him about the struggles of single parenthood, how hard it is to balance motherhood and ambition, and my dreams of opening my own practice one day so I can have even more time to spend with Audrey.

“Is her father not in the picture?” Alexei asks.

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