“To your new job,” Claire said, holding up a mimosa late Sunday morning, and clinking her glass against Sophia’s.
Sophia laughed. “I’ve already been on the job for a week. How many times are we going to go out to celebrate?” She took a sip of the tart brunch staple, the bubbles tickling her nose. She wasn’t a huge fan of champagne, but add in some OJ and give her a glass. Vitamin C was important.
“This is the You’ve lasted a week, woohoo weekend celebration.”
Sophia opened her mouth, but her roommate kept going.
“We would’ve celebrated with drinks and dancing this weekend, but someone is working at their other job both nights.”
Sophia let out a sigh. “What was I supposed to do? Tell my family I’m done with the restaurant?”
“Yes,” Claire deadpanned. “You have your dream job. Or maybe not your ultimate dream job, but it’s a giant step in that direction. You’re working with the best PT in the city, and your parents should be proud and understand.”
“You’ve met them, right?”
Claire rolled her eyes. She didn’t get it. Claire had parents that didn’t care if Claire wanted to be an actress, a scientist, or an astronaut. They just wanted her to be happy. Not that Sophia’s parents didn’t love her and want her to be happy. They just had their own set of dreams for their kids.
“Eventually, I’ll stop working at Lanzi’s.”
“Are you sure? Sometimes I think you’re going to work both jobs forever.”
Claire’s gaze held a smidge of what Sophia hoped was concern or frustration, and not pity. Hell. She hoped it wasn’t pity. She brushed that aside.
“I’m not going to work both jobs forever. I just need more time to ease them into the thought of me not working with the rest of the family. And why are you complaining? I bring home leftovers every time,” Sophia said, polishing off the rest of her mimosa and diving into the fluffiest pancakes in town. Every Sunday, they went to Madeline’s for brunch. Sophia didn’t know what was in the woman’s pancakes, but she could devour them until her belly ached. And she’d probably go back for more.
“I know, I know. And I mean, don’t get banned from the family, please. I’m not sure what I would do without those stuffed shells.”
Sophia chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Claire’s face. “I don’t know. If I try to quit, they might ban me.”
“Okay. Let’s not be hasty. Maybe try cutting down to three days a week instead of five or six.”
“Nice to see where your priorities lie.”
“You can’t get those shells anywhere else. What do they put in them?”
“Love.” They both said at the same time, and then laughed. Every time Sophia asked about the secret ingredient, her parents and aunts and uncles would all say it was love. It was cheesy as hell, but it was who they were.
“I know that I need to grow a set and tell them I’m leaving, but it’s not easy,” she said. “I’m the oldest in the family. They keep hoping I’ll change my mind and want to stay. I think they keep putting me on the schedule every week in the hopes that one day I’ll forget that I don’t want to work there anymore.” At least her sisters loved working at the restaurant. Caterina would finish college next year and was already a staple in the kitchen. And Elena, her youngest sister, was headed to college in the fall. Elena was a wiz with numbers and wanted to manage the restaurant’s books when their aunt retired.
Not that she wanted to sign her sisters’ lives away to the restaurant, but they wanted it, and once Caterina was out of school and working full-time at Lanzi’s, hopefully the pressure would ease on Sophia. She bit back her snort. Lofty dreams.
“I know it’s not, but you’re going after what you want, and you want to help people heal, not stuff them with carbs, no matter how amazing those carbs might be.” Claire gave her a soft smile and Sophia returned it.
They’d been best friends since Claire had moved in across the street from Sophia when they’d been eight. Maybe not immediately, since Claire had caught the eye of Danny, the boy who Sophia had crushed on since kindergarten. Once they’d realized how gross he was, they’d become fast friends. Boys that picked their noses and flicked it at anyone passing by were not future dream men. Not that she was particularly good at picking out dream men.
“And when you get your doctorate, you definitely won’t have time for the restaurant.”
“Whoa. Getting ahead of yourself there. I’ve been a PTA for less than two years and going for my doctorate would be a massive step. I’d either have to go back to school and start the PT program from scratch or do a bridge program that a couple of schools offer, none of which are in California.”
Not that she hadn’t thought about it—repeatedly, but she’d stuck with the associates program so she could be an assistant for now. Maybe that would be enough, but even she knew that was wrong. She could kick herself for not just going for it from the start, but it always came back to her parents and their expectations of their daughters.
“And of course that wouldn’t be allowed because then you definitely couldn’t work at Lanzi’s,” Claire said.
Sophia glared at her friend. Being a full-time PTA was one thing. She still had time for the restaurant. She could still straddle both lines. Barely. But going for her doctorate? She’d have to go back to finish her bachelor’s degree. That was more schooling. More student loans she had no desire to take out. And breaking it to her family that she was finally leaving the restaurant.
“I don’t have the savings to go back to school anyway.”
“Stop making excuses. You just don’t want to tell your parents.”
“For a best friend, you’re really ruining this celebration, and these pancakes,” she said, jabbing her fork at her nearly empty plate.
“I just don’t want you to settle because you think you’re supposed to.”
“I won’t. I promise. You know my parents drive me crazy. I just need to show everyone how amazing I am at my job and hopefully it’ll be less of a blow when I finally quit the restaurant. I mean, it’s not like all the family members work there. Grant and Lily have their own careers. Of course, they weren’t born with the Lanzi name, so that probably aided their escape,” she muttered, then reached across the table and snagged a piece of Claire’s bacon.
“What the hell,” Claire sputtered, before waving her fork toward the wall of food. “This is a buffet. Don’t steal my bacon.”
“It’s sympathy bacon. You made me feel bad… so this is your payment,” Sophia said between bites, and then grinned.
“You’re ridiculous. Now go get more bacon,” Claire ordered. “And then I want to hear more about this job. You get to work with athletes, right? Had your hands on anyone I know?”
Claire wiggled her eyebrows, and Sophia slipped out of her seat and headed for the buffet line, willing the heat to leave her cheeks. Claire had a thing for athletes, and she knew all about Sophia’s favorite Striker, who Sophia had just happened to have her hands on twice this week. She’d keep her patient list a secret for now. It was easier that way.
And now she was thinking about him again. It’d happened way too often since she’d stepped into the exam room Monday morning. But she couldn’t let him distract her. She had a job to do and she was a professional. She had to prove that to everyone.
Her nerves wreaked havoc in her belly. Her goals were so close she could taste them.
That was a lie. She could only taste bacon right now, and maybe another pancake.
Finn had a few hours to kill before his PT appointment and was tired of staring at the inside of his condo. Bash had still been snoring in his bed when Finn headed up to the gym on the top floor of his condo building. And a good workout, even if he was still taking it easy, would clear out the one too many drinks he’d had last night at Crash and Byrne with the guys. Working out always made him feel better, which was why being sidelined for the last three months was slowly killing him.
He headed to the row of machines set up for circuit training. Blasting through the upper body exercises, he moved on to lower body, avoiding the leg press machine. Even he knew that pushing out weights with his foot wouldn’t do his ankle any favors. He was stubborn, not stupid.
Twenty minutes later, the door swung open, and Colin O’Sullivan, Sully to his teammates, walked in, a towel slung around his neck, his red hair standing up at odd angles.
“Surprised to see you so early in the morning. Looks like your overnight guest had way too much fun with your hair, Sully.” Finn barked out a laugh as Sully glared at him and ran his hand through his nest of hair.
“I didn’t take anyone home with me,” he grumbled.
“Pretty sure you walked out with a stacked brunette.”
“I just made it look that way. For her,” Sully bristled.
Finn shook his head. “Sara? Trying to piss her off isn’t going to get you inside her pants any faster.”
“Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.”
Finn laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s correct.”
Sully continued to glare. “Just leave it. She’s with someone anyway. I don’t think she cares.”
Finn felt bad for the guy. Sara was the head cook at Crash and Byrne and wouldn’t give Sully the time of day. He’d thought something was going on last season, but now she had a boyfriend, and Sully was getting grumpier by the day. He’d end up taking that title from Finn if he wasn’t careful.
Finn climbed on the bike and started to pedal, keeping his back straight to ease some of the pressure off his ankle. He wanted to lean forward to put all his energy into it, but he resisted. He was so tired of resisting. And so tired of his internal pity party. He was starting to annoy himself.
They settled into a silent routine, Finn on the bike, and Sully working out his frustration, and most likely a killer hangover, on the treadmill.
Ah, what he wouldn’t give to be able to run like that. Fuck. He needed help. Finn began to pick up the pace on the bike. His body felt good, and his ankle barely throbbed. Each day was getting better, and he was getting his strength and mobility back.
“Aren’t you supposed to take it easy on that foot? Pretty sure you spent a chunk of time bitching about it last night,” Sully said, and nodded toward Finn.
Apparently his pity party hadn’t been internal last night.
“It’s fine. Feels great,” he said, leaning toward the handlebars, keeping his pace steady.
“You should use the other bike,” Sully said, gesturing to the recumbent bike that sat low to the floor.
“And burn one calorie? Nope. I’m good,” he said, pushing himself harder. And then the throbbing became unbearable, the pain heading up to his knee. He fought back the oh fuck and slowed his pace, but Sully caught his wince as Finn stepped off the bike.
“Ah, man. Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“I’m fine,” he said, refusing to hobble as he made his way to his towel and water sitting on one of the weight benches. It was only a few steps, but his ankle was cursing him. Shit.
“Sure you are. Your PT is going to hand you your ass today,” he said, shaking his head. “Hell, maybe you’ll get the cute one.”
“What?” Finn asked before he could stop himself.
“Boosh mentioned the new PT assistant. Heard she’s hot,” Sully said, his pace never slowing on the treadmill.
“I guess. Been too focused on my rehab to notice,” Finn said nonchalantly, before gulping down half his bottle of water.
“Sure, sure,” Sully said, his eyes narrowed, but Finn ignored him. He was thinking about her again. Dammit. She was going to rip him a new one in a few hours. He didn’t want to think about why that didn’t upset him. Hell, he was looking forward to it.
“And now you’re smirking. Want to tell me anything?”
“Nope. I’m heading back. Enjoy your workout,” Finn said, escaping from the room, and from Sully’s chuckle.
Normally he would’ve taken the stairs down to his condo, but his ankle wasn’t in the mood for that so he headed to the elevator, cursing himself the entire way. Why the hell had he pushed himself that hard? But he’d always pushed himself. That’s how he’d gotten to the Strikers. How he continued to do what he loved and getting paid a ridiculous amount for it.
He walked into his condo. Bash greeted him at the door, jumping up to put his paws on Finn’s outstretched arm, and knocking him slightly off balance.
“Okay, buddy. Sit,” Finn said, bracing his other hand on the edge of the door and trying not to put all of his weight on his ankle. Bash sat on his haunches, his tongue lolling out. Finn grabbed a treat from his pocket and tossed it in the air. Bash easily caught it and then followed Finn over to the couch.
“We’re just going to lie here for a little while,” Finn said, stretching out and shoving a pillow under his aching ankle. Bash jumped up, narrowly missing Finn’s lap, before settling down next to Finn, his head propped up on Finn’s thigh.
Finn scratched Bash’s head and sunk into the couch, flipping on SportsCenter. He’d rest for a few minutes, and hope that the swelling and pain would ease before he had to get in the shower. As Bash drifted off to sleep, Finn regretted not grabbing a few pain pills from the kitchen, but Bash looked so comfortable.
“Shit,” he said, bolting upright, his eyes darting to the clock on the TV. He’d slept for an hour, and Bash was currently drooling on Finn’s leg. He had forty-five minutes to shower and get to Dr. Anders’ office. He stretched, rotating his ankle, testing his foot. It still throbbed but the pain had decreased. Maybe he hadn’t done too much damage. Lifting Bash’s head, Finn shifted and braced himself to stand. He winced as he put weight on his injured leg. Okay. Maybe not as diminished as he’d hoped.
He gingerly made his way to the shower, then scarfed down a quick lunch and fed Bash. “Kenny will be here soon, buddy,” Finn said, ruffling the fur between Bash’s ears, before giving him a treat. Finn grasped the crutch, pissed at himself for needing it again because of his own stupidity.
***
He reached the office with five minutes to spare. Luckily there was a parking garage next to the building, so he didn’t have to walk far to get to Dr. Anders’ office. He greeted Susie, Dr. Anders’ receptionist and was ushered back into an exam room within minutes.
“Hi Finn, how’s it feel today?” Dr. Anders asked, gesturing for Finn to get on the table. He set his crutch against the wall and willed his grimace to not be too obvious as he hopped up on the table. So focused on not showing his pain, his hand slipped, and he wobbled to the side, barely catching himself before soft but strong hands gripped him to help. Her scent washed over him. Sophia. He hadn’t noticed her entering the room behind Dr. Anders in his rush to get on the table before the doctor noticed his pain.
A soft floral, mixed with something else. Something sweet. He wanted to inhale her. Shit. He was in trouble, and it had nothing to do with his ankle and everything to do with the side of her breast pressed against his arm, the soft hair of her ponytail brushing his exposed skin. Fuck. He wanted to wrap it around his hand and tug her closer.
He took in a deep breath, pushing his desire away. He hadn’t reacted this strongly to a woman in ages. He needed to get laid. It’d been months. He’d casually dated for years—until his injury. This was just a dry spell he needed to end.
“Finn. Are you okay?” Sophia asked, her voice soft, her breath washing over his throat. Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip, and pull free of hers.
“Yeah. Just slipped,” he said, his voice gruff. Hopefully she’d read his tone as irritation and not the desire to pull her close.
“I noticed that you had your crutch today,” Sophia said, pulling away from him as he finally settled on the table.
Of course she noticed.
“Yes. I thought you refused to ever use it again,” Dr. Anders cut in, a knowing look on her face.
“Yeah, my ankle hurts a little today, so I brought it,” Finn said.
“And what did you do this weekend?” Dr. Anders asked.
“Not much. A few walks. Took my dog to the dog park. Did all the exercises you gave me. Nothing strenuous,” he replied. Hey, he hadn’t lied. His stupidity had happened this morning. Monday wasn’t the weekend.
“And how bad is the pain,” Dr. Anders asked.
“Not too bad. Just thought I’d take it easy.” And then he glanced at Sophia, her eyes narrowed again. He should’ve kept that last remark to himself.