Page 54 of Check & Chase
“Hot, huh?” I grin. “Did you confirm my hotness status?”
“I confirmed nothing,” she counters, but there’s amusement in her eyes. “Unlike your teammates, who’ve been texting me congratulations since dawn.”
“Wait, my teammates have your number?”
“The medical staff shares contact information with all players at the start of the season. For emergencies.”
“And congratulating you on dating me qualifies as an emergency?”
“According to Miller, yes. Apparently, he had twenty dollars riding on when we’d ‘finally hook up.’”
I laugh, delighted. “The guys were betting on us? Before we even started dating?”
“Apparently. Which means we were less subtle than we thought.”
“Or hockey players are bored and will bet on anything,” I counter. “Last season, there was a betting pool on how many times Coach would say ‘shit’ during one practice. Donny won with seventy-three.”
Emma shakes her head, fighting a smile. “Focus, please. Thirty reps, controlled movements.”
The next hour is pure torture. Emma pushes me harder than she has in any previous session, adding new exercises that leave my muscles burning.
“Jesus,” I gasp after a particularly brutal set. “If this is how you treat your boyfriend, I’d hate to see what your enemies get.”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” she reminds me quietly, though her cheeks color slightly. “This is standard protocol for week two of MCL recovery.”
“It feels like punishment.”
“Good. Three more sets and we’re done.”
I groan, but comply. Emma watches critically, occasionally adjusting my position with gentle but firm hands. Each touch sends a current through me that has nothing to do with physical therapy.
“You’re improving,” she admits when we finally finish. “Range of motion is better than I expected.”
“Does that mean I can ditch the crutches soon?”
“Nice try. Another week at least. Possibly two.”
“You’re killing me, Blondie.”
“I’m healing you. There’s a difference.”
As she turns away to record notes, I take the opportunity to study her. Emma in work mode is different from Emma at dinner last night. Herblonde hair is pulled back, her clothing practical and conservative. But occasionally that professionalism slips, revealing flashes of the woman beneath.
“So,” I say as she finishes her notes, “about tonight. What time should I pick you up?”
“Maya’s driving us, remember? I’ll meet you there.”
“Afraid to be alone in a car with me?”
“Afraid you’ll ignore my medical advice and drive yourself despite being on crutches and pain medication.”
Fair point. “Fine. Text me when you arrive and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Deal.” She hesitates. “Tyler will definitely be there. He texted this morning asking if I was coming.”
“And Carina. She’s already accusing me of dating you to make her jealous.”
Emma’s eyes widen slightly. “What did you tell her?”
