“Got it,” Jonathan’s voice rumbled. It sounded like he was smiling as he said it, but I didn’t want to make eye contact with him.
“Great. You should schedule with the front desk for at least the next six weeks of appointments—that way we have you locked into the schedule.”
“Sorry, but I can only schedule for the next five weeks,” Jonathan said, moving to a standing position. I held his crutches firmly to assist in balancing, but also to watch for any distress after the exam.
“But your orthopedist wrote the order for the standard six weeks with a re-evaluation at that time.” I tried sounding indifferent about it, but it bugged me when patients attempted to dictate their treatment plan.
He nodded while moving the crutches into place. “Yeah, I know. But I head back up to school in five weeks when the next semester starts. I’ll have to continue PT with the trainers up there.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realized you weren’t local. Which school will you be resuming your therapy with? I can make sure they have all the information beforehand,” I said, trying to hide my bit of disappointment. Not like anything could happen between us, but damn, he was pretty to look at.
“Cal State OC. I can get you the info when I come for my next appointment,” he offered.
My pen froze midway through writing, and I looked up. He was a CSOC soccer player named Jonathan, who was status post ACL-repair. My head shook in disbelief as I asked, “Were you injured here at the San Diego State game?”
He huffed, “Yeah. That was the game that took me down.”
“I was at that game.” I whispered in disbelief.
Jonathan smiled big as he leaned forward a little on his crutches, almost hanging on them. He was cute and cocky at the same time when he said, “You saw me play?”
I recalled how much I enjoyed watching him on the field. How he had caught my attention almost immediately. Nodding, I said, “Yeah. You were in defense and not far into the second half you deflected a shot on goal with a header. The other player collided with you just after your foot planted on the ground. When you pivoted to avoid the collision, it was too late. I knew when you went down it had to be an ACL.”
As I rambled off my recollection of the events, his smile grew. It grew until it matched the one I remembered seeing him flash at his family in the stands that night. I couldn’t believe I didn’t realize it was the same guy. I remembered wondering the color of his eyes—staring into them now, I smiled; I had my answer.
“You must have been paying close attention to me to remember all that.” His cockiness reminded me why I avoided guys like him. They were all the same—oversized egos with good looks and athletic ability. They were the kind of guys that scratched an itch for you, but never came home to meet your mom.
In my attempt to deflect his attitude, I nodded, “Well, of course I was paying close attention—that’s where the ball was.” I raised my eyebrows in question, challenging him to say something further. He accepted with a smirk.
“True, but something tells me you were paying closer attention to me than the ball.” He said it with an over-confidence that helped quell any of the effects he’d previously had on my girly parts.
I needed to remain professional, so I just closed his file and said, “It was a great game, even after you left the field and your team finally scored. It was a great goal.”
“So I heard.” His smile faded a little in obvious disappointment. There was silence for a moment before I cleared my throat.
“Make sure you at least schedule for the next five weeks, okay?”
“You got it.”
I nodded, satisfied with his answer. Needing space, I turned to walk away when he added, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Leeann. I look forward to seeing you next time.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find him leaning on his crutches, cocky grin back in place. He knew exactly how much he’d gotten to me over the course of his appointment. Blurting out my knowledge of his injury solidified it for him. I’d admit, this jock and his attitude was a total turn on for a strong-willed chick like myself. And, in most situations, I’d totally be dishing out the charm in return. But I had that stupid rule about dating college athletes, not even when I was in college did I date them.
So at twenty-three, I was smart enough to be wary. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to rub up on all those muscles he was sporting. Jock was just a polite word for cheating, man-whore, and I really didn’t need one of those in my life—no matter how sexy.
Time to shut him down, I thought while giving him my own self-assured grin. My eyes openly traveled the length of his body, all the way down, then back up. Letting him think he was winning me over. Then I said something completely unprofessional, but I couldn’t help myself. “The feeling is mutual, Jonathan.” Pausing for dramatic effect, I added, “Make sure you wear more concealing shorts next time.”
And with a wink, I turned and walked away. A muttered curse was all I heard as the door to the back office closed quietly.
Grabbing my phone, I dialed Mari’s work number and hoped she’d answer quickly. My next patient was due any time now, and I had to tell her what I’d found out. I smiled in anticipation of her response.
“What up, buttercup?” Mari answered, making me shake my head.
“Didn’t I call your work line? Please tell me you knew it was me calling.”
“Of course I did. Hence the reason I called you buttercup. It’s a term of endearment I save for my favorite people.”
“Glad to know I rank in the favorite people category,” I said with a small laugh.
“Top of the list, baby. So, what’s up?”
I smiled again, wanting to tell her who I’d just met. Obviously, I knew I couldn’t discuss a patient with Mari, but there was some stuff I could tell her.
“Hazel,” I stated bluntly. There was silence for a moment before Mari said, “Um, no, my eyes are blue, and yours are brown. This sounds like a stupid game.”
“His eyes, they’re hazel. Oh, and I was right, it was an ACL injury.”
“Wait, are you talking about super-sexy-soccer-man from last month?” she asked, amusement in her voice.
“That’s the one.”
“Nice. Did you get his number? Wait, he must be a patient; is he yours?”
“No, I didn’t get his number. And yes, he’s one of my patients,” I said, running my fingers across his name on the chart in front of me. Caressing it. Jonathan Baxter. I sighed a little as I remembered his smile when he said my full name.
“Of course you have his number. You have a patient file on him, don’t you?” Mari said it like I was crazy for not realizing I had his info already.
“That’s totally illegal, Mari, and you know it,” I admonished. Though I knew I would be contacting him later that evening to check on him. It was standard procedure for us to call new patients following their first session to check on their pain levels. It would be a totally professional call, and one hundred percent awkward since I mentioned something about his shorts. Couldn’t keep quiet about his damn hard-on, could you?
“That’s just a technicality, Lee. And you know it.”
“Whatever, Mari. I just had to tell you I knew what color his eyes were now,” I admitted.
Mari dropped her voice to a whisper and asked, “Was super-sexy-soccer-man as sexy up close as he was from a distance?”
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before saying, “Oh yeah. Even more so … it’s too bad I have that rule about dating jocks.”
Mari huffed. “Yeah, but some rules are just stupid and were made to be broken, girlfriend.”
Nodding, I considered what it would be like to break that rule … with Jonathan Baxter. I smiled and agreed with my best friend who knew me so well. “This is very true, Mari. Very true.”
Dropping onto the side of my bed with a thud, my bulky knee brace pushed my leg awkwardly out in front of me. A mixture of embarrassment and pride washed over me as I recalled my a
ppointment earlier in the day. Leeann had noticed my body’s primal response to her, and then had a personality feisty enough to point it out to me. Even as I cursed under my breath and hoped nobody else in that therapy room had noticed, I couldn’t help but watch her firm ass encased in those tight spandex pants flex and move hypnotically as she disappeared behind that closed door. She was sexy as hell, adorable, feisty, and sarcastic, and damn did I want her … badly. I couldn’t recall a time when I’d wanted a someone like that.
Sure, I’d lusted after hot chicks before; it wasn’t really difficult finding one to hook-up with. Hell, they practically threw themselves at some of us on the team. I could admit, at the beginning, I’d thought it was fucking awesome. If anyone were to put themselves in my shoes, they’d agree too.
I could literally stand against a wall at a party, just breathing, and the girls would come to me. I knew I was a good-looking guy, but experiencing that took things to a whole new level, and I took advantage of it. Let’s face it, I was an eighteen, nineteen year old boy, and the two things most prevalent on my mind were the female body and getting one against mine.
Well, that and soccer, of course. I wasn’t a complete fool, especially after I showed up late to practice one morning after a hook up the night before. After Coach laid into me and set me straight, I made sure to never let that shit happen again. But even as I made sure to be smart about soccer, and not letting things get in the way of it, I still accepted the open invitations I received from girls around campus.
Some guys thrived on that kind of attention, but once I realized the release it provided me was short-lived, it lost its appeal. Sure, I had taken advantage of their offers, and maybe even my athlete status, but they’d used me, too. It was almost as if the two cancelled each other out, and I shut it down quickly. Those girls, were just that—girls. I wanted maturity to go along with it. Something deeper. I wanted a woman.
A woman who had the balls to point out my unruly dick. Shit! Even thinking about her now got my blood pumping. Shaking my head, I dropped it against my pillow and let out a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Lying in my childhood bed, with a damn hard-on, I was glad I’d closed the door. Reaching down, I shifted myself a little to fight the discomfort as I closed my eyes. Feeling a bit more comfortable, and in control, I grabbed my phone off the night table to see if Robby had any plans for the night.
I was scrolling through my phone when a call came through. It wasn’t a number I recognized, but I answered anyway. “Hello.”
“Hi, is this Jonathan?” A feminine, and very sexy voice drifted through the line. The husky tone heightened my already uncomfortable situation. The sound of it was like a fist had wrapped itself around my dick and squeezed. I wasn’t sure if it was her, but it sure as hell sounded like her.
“Yeah, this is Jonathan,” I said in a voice that was surprisingly hoarse. I swallowed, hoping to change that.
“Hi, it’s Leeann, your physical therapist,” she said almost shyly, like I wouldn’t know who she was. A smile spread across my face at how she’d said her full name.
“Hi there. To what do I owe this honor?”
I heard her huff a laugh; it was that adorable side of her again. “Honor, huh?” She paused before adding, “I was just calling to check on you. To make sure you weren’t too uncomfortable after our session today.”
Uncomfortable? Oh, there was some discomfort all right, but it had nothing to do with my knee. I wondered if the anti-inflammatories would help with my current engorged muscle. But since I knew she wasn’t calling to ask how my dick was, I answered appropriately. “So far, so good. Nothing unusual as far as I can tell.”
Except the lack of blood present in my brain, I thought. I almost laughed at the possibility that maybe my knee wasn’t swollen because the majority of my blood had taken up residence in another appendage.
“Good, I’m glad. No unusual swelling?” she asked.
Well, crap. That was a loaded question. But, since my mother raised me right, and I wanted to impress this woman, answering in a childish way would not be the best course of action.
“No, nothing unusual about my swelling,” I offered. Okay, so maybe that was an equally loaded answer. Oh well, I thought with a smirk. She could take it as she wanted. A stifled chuckle made its way through the line, and I full out grinned at the sound.
“Good to know it’s not unusual,” she said, throwing my innuendo right back at me. This was fun. She was fun.
“Perfectly normal, given the circumstances,” I said. I loved how everything either of us said was a double entendre, yet sounded totally appropriate.
There was a pause before I heard a soft sigh. My groin tightened further at the sound. A moment later, she cleared her throat and said, “Okay, well, that’s all good news. Make sure you keep up the prescribed meds and put an ice pack on your swollen parts … I mean … your knee. Put an ice pack on your knee.”
Her fumble to correct her words made my cheeks hurt from smiling so big; I loved knowing I had an effect on her. ‘Cause Lord knew she had a significant effect on me. Swallowing, loudly, I responded, “You got it, Leeann. I’ll take care of my swollen parts. See you next time.”
“Goodnight, Jonathan,” Leeann said almost breathlessly. She disconnected before I could respond. Pulling the phone from my ear, I looked at my call log and examined the number she’d called from. Curiosity crept in as I wondered if that was her number she was calling me from. It wasn’t similar to the one I had for her work, so it was definitely possible. I had to wonder why she hadn’t blocked it when she called. A voice inside told me it was because she wanted me to have it. Deciding to test this theory, I sent a text message: Thanks for calling to check on me.
After staring at the screen and refreshing it twice to prevent it from turning off, I got a response: I do it for all of my patients, but you’re welcome.
I didn’t want to point out, or ask if she made it a habit to do it from her cell phone, so I simply replied: I’m glad I’m one of your patients. Goodnight Leeann.
Her response was immediate this time. Goodnight Jonathan.
My hand fisted the phone as it dropped to my chest. Staring at the ceiling, I was smiling like a fool at the giddy feeling I had over something so simple as a phone call and a few texts. Taking a deep breath, I willed my body under control. Then immediately went in search of an ice pack for at least one of my swollen body parts.
I was sitting on the couch, staring at my phone with a stupid smile on my face when Mari found me.
“Wow, is that phone serenading you, or are you watching porn? ‘Cause the look on your face is making me a little jealous,” she said, opening the fridge then asking, “What do you want to do about dinner? I feel like pizza.”
Still staring at my phone, I answered, “Sure, pizza sounds good.”
“Cool,” she said as she dropped on the couch next to me. “You almost done staring at your phone so you can use it?” Her voice was full of both humor and curiosity. Shaking myself out of my stupor, I smiled and started searching for the phone number we needed.
“Do we want the usual?” I asked as I dialed.
A nod and one pizza order later, I found myself under the inquisitive eye of Mari.
“What?” I asked, pretending like I had no idea what her stare was for.
“If you weren’t watching porn, which I fully support by the way, why were you staring at your phone like that?”
Why fight it? “I had to call super-sexy-soccer-man to check on him. He figured out it was my cell phone and texted me a goodnight message,” I said with a smile as I looked back at my phone like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Next to me, Mari snorted. “How’s it feel breaking your own rules?”
“I haven’t broken any rules … yet,” I defended. Tacking the yet onto the end probably made it less convincing, but I knew I was only trying to fool myself. I had a feeling I’d be breaking a whole shit load of rules with this guy, and I didn’t
understand why.
“I’m glad you added the yet. Otherwise, you would’ve been breaking one of our rules by lying to me.”
I nodded. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Bet your ass you wouldn’t. Now, show me the texts so I don’t have to snoop when you go to the bathroom or something,” Mari stated proudly. There really was no keeping secrets from her.
When I showed her, she sighed. “Aww, it’s so sweet and simple.”
“I know, right? Why is something so simple making me all girly though?” I asked in hopes of finding an answer other than what I believed.
“Because sweetness and sincerity are sigh worthy, that’s why. Stop questioning shit, and just roll with it. What was the phone call like that had him texting you right after?”
“Full of sexual innuendos and sarcasm.” I laughed, and Mari did, too.
“Well, that sounds right up your alley. When do you see him again?”
“Wednesday, I assume. If they booked him for the standard schedule,” I answered, making a mental note to check that in the morning.
“You know what they say about people who assume …” Mari said jokingly, using my own words on me. She knew how I hated assumptions. There were so many different ones that could be made about me, it drove me crazy. Being adopted, people thought I had a bad childhood. Being athletic translated into confused sexuality. Being confident with my body, and acting like it, people thought I was easy or cheap. Assumptions were some of the biggest insults possible, and they drove me crazy.
A small voice in my head, which sounded strangely similar to Mari’s said, Aren’t you making assumptions about the jock? I cringed a little about that. It was true—I was grouping him into a stereotype I had become familiar with. History was telling me what to expect. I guess I would just have to give it a little time and see if he proved me wrong.
Assumptions Page 4