Page 7 of Lines We Cross
Time had only enhanced the beauty she’d already been turning into as a freshman in high school. She’d starred in my dreams back then. She’d haunt me now.
Her sculpted eyebrow rose. “Max?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them. Nope. She was still there. All five foot eight of her if I had to guess. Light blue polo shirt and black leggings which left nothing to the imagination. No. Wait. Yep, still left quite a bit to my imagination.
I swallowed hard. “Uh, Rae? Is that you?”
She tilted her head slowly like one does with a toddler who doesn’t quite understand you shouldn’t actually eat the glue.
“It’s Skylar and yes, it’s me. You have a ten o’clock appointment. We should get started.”
She spun around and walked further into the clinic. I followed, but only after my eyes took a trip down the full length of her and nearly bugged right out of my head. How was I going to concentrate on physical therapy if she was walking around this place the whole time?
“So, uh, is the PT going to do any actual exercises today or is this more just an evaluation?” I asked her back, hobbling to keep up with her.
She ignored me for a beat, waiting until we’d reached a large square platform, raised to the height of a normal chair. The top had a squishy mat. My mind instantly went in the gutter and I had to forcibly remove it to focus on her answer as she faced me again.
“A full evaluation and then if there’s time left over, we’ll have you start the first set of exercises.”
I rubbed my hands together, ready to get going. My professional life was on the line and now my pride was too. No way was I going to wimp out when Rae was there to witness how weak my leg had gotten since the surgery.
“I’m ready. Where’s the PT?”
She pulled herself up, those shoulders rolling back and a fire lighting in her eyes. In other words, she was stunning.
“She’s right here.”
I froze, replaying what I’d asked. Then it hit me. “Oh.You’rethe therapist?”
She smiled and it reminded me of the purple devil emoji on my phone keypad who smiles evilly. She nodded her head to the platform.
“Have a seat and scoot back so your leg is completely on the table.”
I obeyed, not sure at all how I felt about Rae being my therapist. The team trainer had said this clinic was the best in a fifty-mile radius of Nickel Bay. When I was fully on the table, she climbed up next to me and started ripping the Velcro on the brace.
“You taking it off?” I swiped at a trickle of sweat on my temple.
She merely smirked. “Kind of hard to do an assessment if you’re in the brace.”
This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Physical therapists were supposed to be medical professionals with decades of experience and no personal grudges. I was vulnerable here what with my emotions akilter, down a leg, and generally discombobulated since my injury.
“Aren’t you young to be a PT?”
Her hands froze on my leg, one on my ankle and the other underneath my knee. I hated how much I liked her hands on me.
She turned to look at me and the fire was gone. In its place was ice. The kind that flies through the wintry air and whips you in the face with no mercy.
“Tell me something, Max. Who sent you here to my clinic?”
“Uh…” I had a feeling this wasn’t a rhetorical question. “The team trainer?”
She nodded. “That’s right. The trainer for your entire team of professional athletes sent you here. Maybe you should focus on healing and let the professionals—me in this scenario, in case you were still wondering—do their thing. Sound good?”
Man, they needed to turn the heater down in this place. It was like I was sitting on the surface of the sun, being scorched by that look Rae was giving me. I scratched the side of my head and tried to get back on her good side. Not that I’d ever been on her good side, but there was always a chance, right?
I smiled extra wide, even threw in a wink for good measure—a sure crowd pleaser among the ladies—and resigned to be a model client.
“Got it. You bet. Hit me with your best stuff and I’ll do every exercise.”
