Reese

 

That gorgeous bastard.

It was my second day on the job and already Cam had declared residence inside my head. We hadn’t spoken much today at practice—not like yesterday—but he had still managed to make his presence known since I’d stepped foot inside the building. He could have been on the other side of the damn court, and I could still feel his eyes on me.

I was kind of surprised he hadn’t said anything. His eyes said he wanted to. Every time he looked at me, letting his gaze unabashedly rake over my body, it seemed like he had a thousand sexually-laden comments ready to burst free. Yesterday, he hadn’t acted the least bit encumbered. Not when he’d been standing before me naked. Not when he’d been needling me.

So, what made today different? What had changed?

It doesn’t matter.

Right. Because nothing was going to happen between us. No matter how many times I’d seen his dick in my dreams last night. I had to keep telling myself that. I didn’t go for his type. The cocky type who felt they were entitled just because they were good at dribbling a basketball. He seemed to think he was God’s gift to women, and that was one of the most unattractive qualities a man could have, in my opinion.

I’d once been that naïve girl attracted to the big-man-on-campus persona.

And it would never happen again.

Which meant that Cam and I were never going to happen, period.

Like it or not, though, we were about to face each other. I’d met with every other player on the team regarding their physical health except for him.

“You’re up, Donovan,” I yelled from my position at the end of the bench. “You’re the last one.”

His shoulders tensed, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m busy right now. We’ll do it later.”

I bit back my immature retort—something about the world not revolving around his schedule—and took a calming breath. “I’d prefer we do it now.”

My dad caught wind of our conversation, and he gave Cam a sharp look. “Do it now, Donovan, and get it over with.”

I didn’t want my father fighting my battles for me. But in this case, I would accept the help. Mainly because I was sick of Cam’s back and forth bipolar attitude toward me and was determined to end it.

He sighed and reluctantly jogged over to where I sat on the bench. He fell onto the chair next to me, but didn’t turn his body around. Just kept facing forward, his shoulders rigid. On principle, I remained quiet and watched him, waiting for him to speak. It wasn’t until several seconds of tense silence had passed did he finally turn in my direction with an expectant look.

“Well?” he prompted. “You going to start asking me a bunch of questions, or what?”

Now more pissed off than curious, I scowled and grabbed my clipboard with his worksheet. With that curt question, I decided to just get this over with as quickly as possible. I no longer gave a damn about what was going on inside his head.

“Any noticeable aches or pains lately?” I asked, staring down at the words on the form.

He snorted. “You mean other than the one in my ass named Reese? Nope. Can’t say that I have any complaints.”

“Hilarious,” I muttered. “Have you been having any issues with muscle cramping?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crooned sarcastically. “I get plenty of potassium and daily doses of all my vitamins.”

I dropped the clipboard onto my lap and raised my eyes. He was leaning back in his chair, still staring forward, looking for all the world like he didn’t give a shit. That really irked me.

“You know,” I hissed, “it would be nice if you could take this seriously for five minutes, so I could at least do my damn job.”

His eyes darted to me, softening ever so slightly. I glimpsed what could have been regret there, but I ignored it. Whatever.

“My left hamstring’s been tightening up,” he finally admitted. “But it’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

I sensed he was initiating a truce. Or at least a temporary one. I’d go with it, but I couldn’t maintain eye contact. Something was lurking behind those blue irises of his, and it was confusing me even more than yesterday’s Naked Gate had.

I glanced back down at the clipboard. “I see on your chart that you had surgery four years ago to repair a patella tendon rupture.”

He paused. “Yeah.”

“Have you experienced any complications with that?”

Another pause. When I peeked up through my lashes, I saw an odd expression on his face. A contemplative, yet guarded one. Weird. He even stretched his right leg out, as if testing its range of motion, and I frowned.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” I asked, pointing at his knee.

He shrugged and waved his hand. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Sometimes I liked hearing the endearment slip from his lips. Other times, it sounded like he was just saying it to get a rise out of me. Well, I wouldn’t give in.

Slowly, I took hold of his leg and guided it to lay across my lap. He gave an involuntary jolt at my touch, though he tried to hide it by acting like he had an itch on his neck. I felt that zing of electricity, too. The instant our skin made contact, the air around us crackled with energy.

This may have been a bad idea.

Possibly the worst ever.

I should have known better than to touch any part of him. Because from what I had seen so far—and I’d already seen plenty—there wasn’t a single inch of his body that I wouldn’t lick like a Popsicle given the opportunity.

My fingers were light as they grazed over his surgical scar and surrounding tissue. I knew how painful that type of injury could be and I felt for him. It must have sucked. I rubbed over the patella tendon, gently massaging, and noticed when he winced. It was slight, but I’d been watching for it.

“Does that hurt?” I inquired.

He watched the movement of my fingers, his gaze intent. “Not really. But the doctor did say the scar tissue would always be tender.”

That was a yes, then.

“What about bending it?” I slowly brought his knee up, pulling it closer into his body and watched his face. “How does that feel?”

He didn’t show any reaction this time. “Fine. I mean, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Does jumping bother you?” Damn. I could smell his deodorant. That spicy musk was tantalizing. “Or putting any kind of added pressure on it, like squatting?”

His breathing became labored as I continued slowly bending his knee, then straightening it out. I had to wonder if it was because his knee was actually bothering him, or because of our close proximity. I wasn’t sure which one I preferred it be.

“It gets sore sometimes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replied.

I guided his leg to bend at a different angle, and tested his side-to-side range of motion. “Has it been feeling really stiff after practice?”

He grinned. “If you want to talk about stiff you should feel my—”

“And I’m done,” I said, abruptly dropping his leg in disgust.

He chuckled. “What? I was going to say shoulders. They’re always tense after practice. From shooting, you know. ” Then he winked.

Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant. Smart ass.

I made some notes on his worksheet, forcing my face to remain stoic. I would not smile at his so-called jokes.

“I suggest icing your knee three to four times a week, and wearing a knee brace during practices and games. Really anytime you exercise you should be wearing it.”

He shook his head. “I’m not wearing a brace. It restricts my movements too much. Plus, it’s annoying as hell.”

I rolled my eyes. “The lighter ones don’t get in the way. Or you could wear a sleeve. I’ll go grab a new one from the training room, and you can at least test it out today to see how it feels.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he muttered.

“And before you leave today I’ll give you a list of exercises you can do to help strengthen the joint. I suggest you do them each day you ice your knee.”

“Fine.” He was back to sulking. “Are we done?”

Despite my irritation with him, I couldn’t help but worry about the situation. I wasn’t stupid. It was obvious he was deflecting all questions regarding his knee. It was either because he viewed it as a weakness, and he didn’t like admitting that he had any. Or there was something else going on.

“Are you sure it’s not causing you any problems?” I asked gently. “This type of thing is serious, Cam, and you need to tell me if it is.”

His gaze flew to mine, noticeably heating. Man, that look was intense. He was known for his competitive facial expressions on the court. ESPN had even put him on a list of Best Game Faces, right next to Michael Phelps’s mean mug at the 2016 Olympics.

But this was no game face.

Hell, I couldn’t put a name to what it was. All I knew was that it made my breath lodge in my throat and the muscles in my belly clench.

“I’m one hundred percent healthy, Reese,” he said, his words clipped. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“You’re certainly acting like a baby,” I shot back.

His jaw hardened. “I’m a grown man. And if something is bothering me, I’ll tell someone about it. I don’t need anyone checking up on me.”

Take the high road, I commanded myself.

He wasn’t the first jerkface athlete I’d ever dealt with. And if I continued my career in physical therapy, he wouldn’t be the last. I had to learn how to take a deep breath, suck in my pride, and remain professional.

“Well, I’m always around if that changes.” I stood up and pasted on a polite smile. “I’ll go grab that sleeve for you.”

His face fell, as if disappointed by my response. Then a grin formed. “Try not to drool over another guy’s ass while you’re back there.”

“I did not drool over anything.”

He rose to his feet, immediately engulfing me in his large form. “I recognize a turned on woman when I see one, sweetheart. Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

My pulse kicked up a notch. Not because of sudden arousal like yesterday, but because of the white hot fury shooting through my system. Screw taking the high road. This guy needed to be knocked down a peg or two. There was maintaining professionalism, and then there was just plain standing up for yourself. And protecting your dignity, dammit.

I patted his arm, my voice reeking of condescension. “Well, I recognize a case of Small Dick Syndrome when I see one.” His expression darkened. “I can’t imagine what being short shafted feels like, but try not to overcompensate so much in the future.”

I turned to walk away, but was immediately pulled back. Cam’s hand lightly gripped my arm as he brought our bodies far too close together. He was glaring down at me, though it wasn’t just anger I saw in his eyes. There was unmistakable lust there, too.

“Anytime you want proof of just how wrong you are,” he whispered, “you let me know.”

My upper lip curled. “Don’t hold your breath.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, and I waited with bated breath. He was pissing me off, yet at the same time, I was excited. For some reason, talking to him made my blood run faster, filling me with adrenaline. Sparring with him like this was the most enjoyment I’d had talking to the opposite sex in forever. And we were constantly slinging insults at each other.

There was something wrong with that.

After several seconds of our eyes locked in a silent, heated battle, he suddenly glanced down at our bodies. His eyes widened and he immediately let go of my arm, backing away. His eyes shot around the court, as if checking to make sure no one was watching our exchange, and glared at me one final time.

“Watch yourself, Reese.” Then he stomped off.

What the hell did that mean?

Was that a threat? A warning?

Despite the ominous words, his departure allowed the python around my lungs to loosen its hold. I could breathe again.

If I was going to survive this season, I would really have to get a handle on my attraction to this guy.