Page 13 of Check & Chase
“So, Emma,” I murmur as she prods my knee, “how long have you been a Bears fan?”
She shoots me a warning look. “I’m not. My brother plays for the Wolves.”
That catches me off guard. “The Wolves? Our biggest rivals? And you’re working for us?”
A small, tight smile plays at her lips. “Life is full of surprises, Mr. Mitchell.”
Don’t I know it. Finding Emma again after a year of wondering what happened to her is definitely a surprise. One I intend to make the most of.
“Flex your knee, please,” she instructs, her clinical tone at odds with the slight catch in her breath when her fingers brush against my skin.
I obey, watching her face carefully. “You know, I tried to contact you. After the party.”
Her hands pause momentarily before continuing their assessment. “I’m aware.”
“You blocked my number.”
“This isn’t relevant to your treatment, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Chase,” I correct her. “If we’re going to be spending time together, you might as well use my first name.”
She straightens up. “What happened between us a year ago has no bearing on your treatment.”
“And if I disagree?”
She crosses her arms, fixing me with a stern look that, frankly, I find hot as hell. “Then you’re welcome to request another therapist. Though I should warn you, Peterson mentioned that I’m your last chance before they bench you.”
She’s got me there.
“Touché, Blondie.”
She winces at the nickname. “Don’t call me that here.”
“What should I call you then? Ms. Anderson seems so formal for someone who’s had their tongue in my mouth.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
I grin. “Doing what?”
“Trying to rattle me. It won’t work.”
But it already is. The flush on her cheeks, the tension in her shoulders—she’s not nearly as unaffected as she wants me to believe.
“I’m just reminiscing about old times,” I reply innocently. “Good times, if I recall correctly. Though things did end rather abruptly.”
She turns away, making a show of reviewing her notes. “I need to do some range of motion tests. Please lie back on the table.”
I comply, enjoying the view as she moves around the treatment room gathering supplies.
“So, your brother plays for the Wolves. Anyone I would know?”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Jackson Anderson.”
I nearly choke. “Anderson? Your brother is Jackson Anderson? The captain of the Wolves? The guy who tried to take my head off when we last played them?”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “That’s the one.”
“Christ.” I run a hand through my hair. “Does he know you’re working for the enemy now?”
