Page 10 of Breakaway to You

“Oh, you most definitely were,” I disagreed. I lowered my voice to mimic his. “I don’t need to do these exercises. I work out all the time. I am a buff strong man.” He hadn’t actually said the last phrase, but I found myself wanting to tease him anyway.

He continued doing the exercise. “Glad we can both agree that I’m a buff strong man.” He gave me a cheeky grin.

I rolled my eyes at him in return but had to keep reprimanding myself for admiring his forearm and bicep that was on display as he used them to help hold up his body weight. Why were sinewy forearms so enticingly attractive?

Maybe I needed to cut this therapy session short. My brain was going haywire. I needed to go home, get a good night’s rest, and regroup.

Another reason to add to my list of not liking hockey players—they make me lose my sanity and rationale. It wasn’t like me to be acting this way, and I blamed Zeke for my momentarily unstable hormones.

I had him do a few more exercises before calling our session. “That’s enough for tonight. We’ll do more tomorrow after practice.”

He stood up from the table. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Oh, I’m not a doctor,” I corrected.

“You might not have the degree, but as much as it might pain me to say this, you’ve helped me more than any other doctor.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying I know what I’m doing?”

“Yes.” His eyes zeroed in on me, an intensity in them that had my body humming. “You’re very good with your hands.”

My mouth opened in shock at his words, heat creeping up my neck and onto my cheeks. Had he really just said that?

He winked at me again. “Good night, Piper.”

I stood there, still in shock, as he walked out of the room, his low chuckle reaching my ears.

My hands went to my cheeks, feeling the heat there.

I think I liked it better when he was silent and broody.

Chapter5

Piper

Iopened the door to my apartment, the smell of fresh bread filling the air. Quinn must have been making her sourdough bread again.

Her head poked out of the kitchen, her blonde hair piled on top of her head and a swipe of flour on her cheek. “Hey, you’re finally home.”

I let out a tired sigh and dropped my bag on the floor. “I had to stay after the game to do a therapy session.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” She motioned for me to come join her in the kitchen. “I didn’t make dinner, but…” She held both her hands out to the loaf of bread on the counter. “I did make bread.”

“Who needs dinner when you have fresh bread?”

“I know, right?” She smiled brightly. “You get the butter. I’ll get a knife.”

I did as she asked and then sat down on one of the stools at the counter.

She set slices of bread in front of us, sitting down next to me. “I saw that the Wolves lost tonight.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, spreading butter on my slice of bread.

“I also saw that they played against the Blue Jays,” she hedged.

I wasn’t surprised she was bringing it up. I was surprised she waited so long—I’d expected her to grill me as soon as I walked in the door.

“Yep,” I said, then took a big bite of bread.

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