Page 27 of Check & Chase
“That’s the point,” I mutter, digging through my bag for my treatment plan. “If it’s uncomfortable, you’re less likely to move around unnecessarily, which is exactly what your knee needs right now. Rest.”
“I am resting. Look, I’m horizontal.” He pats the couch beside him. “Want to join me?”
I ignore his question and glance around the living room, suddenly noticing the absence of a certain furry presence. “Where’s Max?”
“Next door at my neighbor’s. He’s watching him for the morning.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I didn’t think you were actually jealous of a cat.”
“I’m not jealous,” he protests, but his cheeks flush slightly.
“Uh huh, sure.” I shake my head, still smiling. “You shipped your cat off because you were threatened that he liked me more.”
“That’s not—he was being disruptive. I thought it would be more professional if he wasn’t underfoot.”
“Right. Very professional.” I’m still grinning, and Chase’s expression grows more defensive.
“I’m not jealous of a cat, Emma.”
“If you say so.”
“Whatever, just come and sit next to me.” He grins. “I promise not to cuddle you… much.”
And there it is—the flirtatious charm Jackson warned me about.
“I’ll stand, thanks. We need to establish some ground rules before we begin your treatment.”
“Ground rules?” His eyebrows rise. “Sounds kinky.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” I straighten to my full height—all five-foot-two of it. “Rule number one: This is a professional relationship. I am your physical therapist, not your friend, not your…” I falter, searching for the right word.
“Hook-up?” he supplies helpfully.
“Exactly. What happened between us last year was a one-time lapse in judgment that will not be repeated or referenced during your treatment.”
Chase studies me, his blue eyes more serious than I’ve seen them. “And if I want to reference it?”
“You don’t get to.” I’m pleased with how firm my voice sounds, even as my heart races. “Rule number two: No flirting, no suggestive comments, no innuendos. They’re unwelcome and inappropriate.”
“That’s a shame. You blush so prettily when I flirt with you.”
I ignore the heat creeping up my neck. “Rule number three: You will follow my treatment plan exactly as prescribed. That means using your crutches, keeping weight off your injured leg, performing the exercises I assign—no more, no less—and being honest about your pain levels.”
Chase sighs dramatically. “Anything else? No smiling? No laughing? No fun of any kind?”
“This isn’t about fun, Chase. It’s about getting your knee functional again so you can return to hockey.”
“Fine.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be the perfect model patient. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you actually a Scout?”
His dimple appears with his grin. “Not even close.”
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward. I quickly suppress it, turning to unpack my supplies.
“So, what tortures have you devised for me today, Ms. Anderson?”
“We’ll start with an assessment of your current pain level and range of motion, then move on to gentle mobility exercises.” I sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. “I’m serious about the crutches, Chase. You need to use them for at least two weeks.”
