Page 13 of Chasing The Goal
Instead, I got Jaymie Prescott.
He was sprawled out on the mat like someone had peeled him off a couch and deposited him there against hiswill. Hoodie up, hoodstrings loose, earbuds in, and a sour expression that could curdle milk.
I raised a brow. “Rough night, princess?”
Jaymie pulled out one earbud and blinked up at me like I’d just interrupted something sacred. “Didn’t sleep. Hamstring’s a bitch today. Also, pretty sure someone was ballroom dancing directly above my apartment at two a.m.”
I walked past him to set my bag down. “You sure it wasn’t you pacing and muttering about my tragic stretching technique?”
He smirked. “Only in my nightmares.”
I grabbed a resistance band and returned to his side. “Let’s start with the warmup from Wednesday. And this time, actually engage your core instead of pretending to.”
“I did engage it,” he argued, dragging himself upright. “It was just... selective.”
“Selective engagement,” I repeated dryly. “Do you hear yourself?”
Jaymie rolled onto his side and into position, huffing like I was torturing him with medieval methods instead of light band resistance. “You just love bossing me around.”
“I do,” I agreed, crouching to loop the band around his ankle. “It’s a perk.”
His eyes were on me again. I could feel it. That slow, deliberate stare that wasn’t quite inappropriate but wasn’t exactly casual either.
“Prescott,” I warned without looking up, “eyes off the merchandise.”
“I’m just evaluating my surroundings,” he said, straight-faced.
I stood, crossed my arms, and leveled him with a look. “You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
He grinned. “You say that, but you smile every time you insult me.”
“Because it’s the only way I get through your sessions.”
He lifted his leg, groaning as the band pulled. “You wound me.”
“Not yet. That comes next week when we introduce balance drills.”
His head dropped back with a theatrical sigh. “Why are you like this?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said sweetly. “Why areyoulike this? All whiny and dramatic and weirdly obsessed with multitasking charm and resistance bands?”
He flexed against the band again, and I caught the way his arms tensed under the hoodie. “I’m just trying to keep things interesting.”
I rolled my eyes, jotting down his reps on the clipboard. “You’re not a podcast, Jaymie. You don’t need to perform during rehab.”
That clearly hit a mark.
“Do you have anysiblings?”
The question surprised me. I glanced up, his face unreadable.
“Yeah,” I said, adjusting his foot placement. “One sister. Dakota. She’s twenty-three – the smarter, prettier one.”
“Impossible,” he muttered.
I paused. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, face red. “Go on.”
