– Whitney
Harlow pants as he finishes his timed run. When I pant, I look like an idiot and sound like a dog. But when Harlow pants, it’s sexy. Just like everything else that Harlow does.
“Good job!” I tell him, stopping the watch and making a note on his log. “You did it with plenty of time to spare. That was two miles in nine minutes, forty- one seconds.”
He trots over to me, with a goofy— yet still sexy, of course— smile on his face. It looks like he’s about to hug me, but he must think better of it at the last second, because he ends up just extending his hand for a high five. I give him one, enthusiastically, and then we kind of shake/hold hands for a few seconds.
It’s awkward, but I don’t care. Harlow has a look in his eyes that says if I weren’t your physical therapy patient and we weren’t outside for everyone to see, we’d be celebrating with a victory fuck instead of a victory handshake.
Or maybe that’s just what I imagine he’s thinking. Or want him to be thinking.
“Hate to crash the victory party,” I hear Lance’s familiar voice say, and I quickly drop Harlow’s hand. “But I just came to check in on our hero’s progress.”
His tone is light but the usual wink isn’t in his eyes. I have a feeling he’s not happy with the level of chumminess between Harlow and me. I do my best to sound professional.
“Oh yes, of course,” I say.
I could kick myself for inviting Lance to observe this session, and then forgetting that I’d done that.
“Harlow continues to be passing all of his assessments with flying colors,” I continue. “His walking and running times are particularly good. That’s why we were just… uh… high- fiving each other.”
Thank goodness he didn’t go for the hug!
I hand my clipboard to Lance so that he can see the times I’ve noted.
“Really?” says Lance, looking at the latest time. “I would love to see that.”
“Sure,” says Harlow, and starts jogging back to the starting line on the track.
“Harlow, you don’t have to do it again…” I start to protest, but he waves me off as if it’s no big deal.
“Take it easy, you’re still recovering,” I say under my breath, since it’s no use to try to tell him.
He probably wants to do it again. He likes showing off. And yet, I’m afraid he won’t be able to repeat the performance and Lance will think I’m fudging the numbers in his favor. He clearly thinks we have some kind of romance going on.
I wish.
Harlow re-runs the two miles he’d just done, and this time he comes in even faster. I’m exhilarated for him all over again, but we don’t dare repeat our high-five-slash-handshake.
“Wow, that really is something,” Lance says, visibly impressed.
He shakes his head.
“I know, right? Dr. Davis is going to be so happy to hear how his star patient has turned out. Should I change the time to this lower number?” I ask.
“We’ll just keep it how you have it,” Lance says, “Since that was the official one.”
“Okay.” I shrug, and then begin taking Harlow through the remainder of the assessments.
He has to walk and then jog around the track while kicking up his knees. And then while kicking his feet up behind him, to where they touch his lovely ass.
He does everything perfectly, and midway through Harlow’s exercises, while he’s still out on the track, Lance says, “Well, good to see everything’s checking out well.”
“I told you he’s just fine,” I tell him. “Isn’t it strange?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what to make of it.”
Lance pauses for a second and then resumes.
“I have a patient myself now that I have to go see, but good job with Harlow. Just make sure…”
“I know. No fraternizing with the patients.”
I’m embarrassed, but I want to make it clear that I get it.
“I don’t even care about that,” says Lance. “Normally. I mean, yeah, you could lose your internship and that would suck. But I trust you know how to conduct a proper secret affair should you ever need to pull one off.”
We both laugh, although the words “could lose your internship” ring a little too loudly in my head still.
“It’s just… he’s obviously a player and I know you’re on the rebound,” Lance continues. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Awww. Isn’t that sweet.”
I smile at him.
“I know you’re a big girl and you can take care of yourself,” Lance says. “There’s just something about this guy that doesn’t quite add up.”
“I kind of understand what you mean,” I tell him, making sure that Harlow— who is on the other side of the track and deep into his leg kicks— is well out of earshot.
“You know better than anyone that I was initially very dubious about Harlow,” I confide. “But after spending time with him and seeing how he acts, I really think he’s genuine. I mean, you saw him when he was talking to that patient I was working with in the physical therapy session room when we first met him. He was so nice, and helpful, and not even boastful like Dr. Davis comes across.”
Lance just says, “Hrmph,” but he nods as if maybe I have a point.
“I don’t know,” I tell Lance. “Maybe I was being too harsh on Dr. Davis, too, because I really thought something was up with him. I even thought they could be in on some kind of a… con… or something.”
I squint at Harlow and give him an enthusiastic wave, before I continue. Once he waves back, assuring me that he’s not listening in like I’m pretty sure he had done when I was talking to Tony, I continue.
“Like maybe they were pretending that Harlow was further advanced physically and mentally than he really is, or maybe it was all completely fake. But clearly the medical records show that this horrific thing happened, and it would be awfully hard for Harlow to pull off a sham about how far he’s come, on us. Maybe that’s why the military doubted Dr. Davis’ treatment, and want an independent professional to back him up?”
“Maybe,” says Lance.
He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Well, gotta go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He heads back to the office just as Harlow’s rounding the bend, finishing his exercise in good time. I try to remain in good spirits, since, aside from Lance’s visit and strange comments, everything has been going so well so far. But I have a feeling that things are about to get very interesting, to say the least.