Page 28 of Warrior's Walk

I regard him with a raised brow. “And you’ve got plenty of time, huh?”

“Loads,” he teases, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I don’t really care if they know I worked on Rhett’s leg, or, according to him, saved his life. As long as nobody, including Rhett, uncovers the feelings he sparked in me that night. The feelings he stokes like hot embers every time we meet. That’s a secret I won’t be spilling—ever.

“Finish your sandwich. I’ve got to hit the gym before my group session starts.”

As soon as I walk into the gym, Rhett is already hard at work with weights strapped to his ankles. He struggles through a set of leg lifts, and when he begins to scissor his legs open and closed, a fine sheen of sweat breaks out across his brow.

His dark hair is longer than when I first met him, and carefully mussed. His dark stubble isn’t too thick to hide his dimples. He looks incredibly young—and delicious—in black nylon shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Even after loafing in the hospital for weeks recuperating, his biceps are defined and thick. I catch a hint of black ink trailing down his arm that disappears inside his shirt.

What I wouldn’t give to peel his shirt off and get a closer look at his sweaty, tatted skin.

Fucking get a grip. Ain’t gonna happen.

When he spots me, his hazel eyes light with interest. “Riggs!” He flags me from across the gym, drawing everyone’s attention, and my body heats with awareness. I don’t mind having all eyes on me when I’m barking orders, but curious eyes? Yeah, no. Not a fan.

I really have no choice but to approach him.

“This gym is sick! It’s nothing like the one at Womack,” he gushes.

“That’s the beauty of private donations,” I tease.

“So,” he asks, looking up at me from under that thick, dark fringe of lashes that caught and held my attention for hours that first night. “Am I finally going to have you to myself?” Like a practiced flirt, he waits for his innuendo to hit its mark before amending, “I mean, as my physical therapist?”

He doesn’t look even remotely bashful about the slip, and I’m convinced it was deliberate.

That would be a terrible idea. Absolutely disastrous. “We’ll see. Right now I’m just on volunteer status, but if I get the position I applied for, it might be a conflict of interest.”

“Why? We’re not sleeping together.” His expression and his eyes say ‘yet,’ but he doesn’t voice it out loud.

He’s right; it’s not a conflict of interest because we’re not sleeping together. Yet or ever. That’s just me pushing him away for my own peace of mind.

No, that’s just you leaving the door open so he can slip into your bed in the future,my mind screams.Fuck you,I tell it. My conscience is a nosy motherfucker.

Boldly, he repositions himself so that when he extends his leg for his next leg lift, his foot rises between my thighs. I catch his foot before it connects with my nuts, wrapping my fingers around his ankle in a vise-like grip, my expression severe.

“You’renot sleeping with anyone because your legs don’t work. And ifIwere sleeping with someone, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Focus on what’s important, soldier. Your recovery, not your sex life.”

Damn, that almost sounded believable. I’m fucking good when I want to be. The disappointment on his face only stings a little.

He bends to remove the weights, but I stop him. “Don’t even try it. You’ve got fifteen more reps to do before you quit.”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ party,” he quips with a huff.

“You can’t spell party without PT.”

Rhett looks up at me like he’s disappointed and shakes his head. “Please tell me you don’t have any more of those saved up somewhere.”

“I’ve got a fuck-ton more,” I say with a deadpan expression. “And when you finish those leg lifts, head over to the mats and do some stretching. Your goal is to get where you can extend your leg completely and touch your toes.”

Rhett frowns. “You’re a fuckin’ sadist. I bet you don’t have a lotta friends.”

This time, my laugh is genuine. “You wouldn’t be the first person to say that, but you’re wrong; people love me. I think it’s my can-do attitude.” Now I’m just fucking with him, and it works because Rhett smiles. I thought he was hot as fuck before, with tears in his eyes or with his face drawn tight with pain, or with his blank, thousand-yard stare. But Rhett smiling? He’s fucking gorgeous.

He finishes his exercises and then heads to the mats to stretch. I cringe, hearing the bones in his leg snap, crackle, and pop like breakfast cereal. He hides his pain well behind a mild grimace, but I know how much the façade costs him. He’s hurting, evident by his sweat and his pale coloring. He’s nearly finished when Mandy strolls in looking for him.

“Yo, Rhett. You ready?”

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