Page 16 of Huge Pucking Play

"With you here? Definitely a ten, babe."

"C’mon, Barnesy. What’s the pain level?" I repeat.

He shrugs. "Eh, maybe a six or seven. Nothing I can't play through. I’m not a pussy like some of the other guys on this team."

"That's not advisable. You likely have a grade two tear. You need rest and?—"

"What I need is your number," Barnesy interrupts, winking. "How about dinner tonight? I know a great little Italian place. The chef is a friend, and he loves making food off the menu for me."

I feel a headache forming behind my eyes. "You know I’m not going to give you my number. Now, as I was saying about your recovery plan?—"

"C'mon, one date. I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman."

Somehow, I doubt that. I take a deep breath, searching for patience. "Barnesy, I'm your physical therapist. Dating would be completely inappropriate. Now please, can we focus on your injury?"

He pouts like a child denied candy. "You're breaking my heart, babe."

And you're breaking my last nerve, asshole. But I paste on a fake smile, determined to redirect this disaster of a session. "Let's talk about icing schedules and gentle stretches you can do at home..."

A sharp clack of heels on tile makes me freeze. Marjorie appears in the doorway, her severe bob and blood-red lips set in a frown.

Marjorie is my boss and the head of PT. She rarely works on players these days as her job is mostly administrative, but she stops in occasionally down here to see how everything is going.

I haven’t had many interactions with her since I started working here but the few that have occurred have been unpleasant to say the least. She’s a perpetually unhappy individual, her face often a mask of discontent, and she seems hell-bent on spreading her misery to the rest of us. Her presence feels like a dark cloud hanging over a sunny day, casting its shadow and dampening any glimmer of joy.

I don’t know why they keep her on staff. Apparently, many of the players complained about her and that’s why her job isn’thands-on anymore. I’ve wondered before if she has some dirt on the Blades’ owner or maybe even on Coach Martinez and that’s why she hasn’t been fired.

"Mr. Barnes, you're free to go," Marjorie says crisply. "Ms. Lockhart, a word."

My stomach drops. How dare she tell Barnesy to leave while he’s on my table? I can only imagine what her reaction would be if someone did that to her.

Barnesy smirks, hobbling out with exaggerated difficulty. I turn to face Marjorie, squaring my shoulders.

"Is there a problem?" I ask, keeping my tone as neutral as possible while my blood boils.

Marjorie's beady eyes narrow. "What do you think, Cynthia? What I just witnessed was entirely unprofessional."

Her tone carries the sharp, condescending edge one might use with a misbehaving child. She stands there looking at me, her eyes narrowing into slits of disdain, lips curling into a sneer that seems to drip with contempt.

"I assure you, I was?—"

"Flirting shamelessly with a player," she cuts in. "Do I need to remind you of our fraternization policy?"

My cheeks burn as I attempt to explain. "I wasn't flirting. I was trying to redirect?—"

"Save it," Marjorie snaps. "You're on thin ice, Lockhart. One more slip-up and you're out. Do I make myself clear?"

I clench my fists, biting back a retort. "Crystal."

"Good," she sneers. "Now get back to work. And keep your hands to yourself."

Well, that’s going to be difficult, seeing I’m a physical therapist, for fuck’s sake. Marjorie is beyond nasty and I’m dying to tell her what I think of her but I know how unwise that would be.

She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving me seething. God, I can’t stand her.

Hours later, I slump into the break room, desperate for caffeine. But there’s a handwritten sign on the coffee machine that says ‘out of coffee.’ You’ve got to be kidding me…

Adam's sitting at one of the tables, stirring sugar into his mug.

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