by Skye Jordan
“You know they’ll take you back in a heartbeat.”
“That’s not the point.” She closed the lid on her tea with a snap and met his dark eyes head-on. “And what the hell was going on with you this morning? Why did you let Guru back Noah into a corner like that?”
“He needed it. Like you said, he’s stubborn and close-minded. I’ve been telling him for months what he needs to do. If he doesn’t feel the heat, he’s not going to change. You haven’t told him who you are, have you?”
“You make it sound like I’m in witness protection or something. I’m not hiding it, I’m just not flaunting it. In this instance, just like in all my work, my past doesn’t matter. All it would do is distract him.”
“It might give you more credibility in his eyes.”
“One more reason not to work with him. My success in physical therapy stands alone. My past as an athlete has nothing to do with it.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She wasn’t going to argue over this stupid point. “You almost lost the deal with Guru. Noah was about to tell them to shove that game up their asses.”
Drake lifted a shoulder. “Noah needed the lesson more than I need the money.”
She set her cup down hard. “You wouldn’t put up with this bullshit from other clients. What’s so different about him?”
Drake narrowed his eyes out the window where sunlight twinkled off the fresh snow like millions of tiny diamonds. “He was one of my very first clients. Found him as a rangy teen, and the instant I saw him on a snowboard, I knew he had the stuff.” He returned his gaze to Julia. “I’ve had some rough years in this business, and there was a time when Noah’s gigs kept me fed. He’s had countless opportunities to go with bigger, flashier agents, but he stuck with me. Now I’m sticking by him.”
“I admire that,” Julia said, fighting to keep her insides from softening. “I really do. And I hope it pays off in the end—for both of you. But you’ve got to find someone who can reach this guy. He can’t rehab on that shitty diet. He can’t rehab without manipulation of the scar tissue he’s built up. And it’s getting worse, not better. Even if he did get to the Games this year, he’s shortening his career by a year every week he goes without professional therapy.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted you. And the fact that he wants you to stay should tell you everything you need to know.”
“No. He wants me to stay to please Epic, but he’s got no intention of working with me.”
“Okay, look. I have a new offer for you.” He turned the cup in his palms. “When you called last night and told me you weren’t staying, I called Epic—”
“Jesus Christ.” She sat back. “Great way to throw me under the bus. Now they’ll never hire me to rehab another one of their athletes.”
“I threw Noah under the bus.” A sly grin turned his mouth. “I explained that Noah’s difficult to work with, spun it to reflect positively on his intensity as an athlete, and they’re willing to double the pay.”
Julia crossed her arms. “Throwing money at this problem is not going to solve anything. He needs his ass kicked to Siberia.”
“You should be able to do that with sixty grand, don’t you think?”
“That’s not double.” She felt annoyingly triumphant pointing out his math manipulation.
“But that’s all yours,” Drake said. “They’re giving you another twenty thousand as an expense account for equipment, supplements, and anything else you might need. And they don’t want anything back, so when you go shopping, think about what you’ll want to take with you into your future.”
She smothered a tingle of excitement. “Doesn’t this guy have to be accountable for anything? If he’s not doling out any cash for this rehab, and he doesn’t want rehab, what’s going to make him stick to it? I can’t wave a magic wand over his foot and heal him.”
“You need to understand Noah’s not himself. He’s in a bad place right now. He’s a high achiever, always pushing himself to the next level. He’s got big-time cabin fever. He’s coming out of his skin with frustration over his ankle. Everyone is on his back about rehab. He misses his freedom, his adrenaline, his work. If anyone understands that kind of frustration, it’s you. Jesus, Julia, you’ve been there, done that, know how it feels. What happened to all that compassion your clients rave about?”
That stung. She might be rough around the edges, but she wasn’t heartless. “It might have gone by the wayside when that compassion didn’t save my job or my reputation. It’s a little difficult to continue doling out good will and encouragement when you’re not getting any back to refill the well. ”
“You and Noah are more alike than you know. The guy’s never had anyone who’s ever really cared about him. Since he was a kid, he’s been a meal ticket for his family the same way you were a showpiece for yours. And no one knows how to pull a hard-ass into line like you. Epic’s backing you with half the money up front. They’ll pay you thirty grand no matter what happens as a show of good faith.”
“You mean a bribe.”
“And the second half will be paid once you’ve finished out the six weeks,” Drake continued, “whether Noah makes it back to the Games or not.”
Six full weeks with a man she couldn’t stop picturing naked? Six full weeks keeping her hands off a man who’d shown her more pleasure in one night than all her other boyfriends combined?
“Does he know about this?” she asked.
“Not the second part. And it would be better if we kept it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want a flicker of that possibility in his mind while he’s rehabbing. And I don’t want him knowing it was ever a flicker in Epic’s mind.”
She heaved a deep sigh of her own. “Look, Drake, I appreciate the offer and the confidence in my work, but—”
“Guess who I ran into yesterday,” he said.
“What?” she asked, confused by the sudden shift in topic. “Who?”
“Colt Donovan, the Dallas Cowboys’ star running back. He has a vacation home here—along with two dozen other athletes whose names I could rattle off but won’t. And guess whose physical therapist is pregnant and going on maternity leave in a couple of months?”
Julia blew out a breath.
“Guess who I’ll recommend he use to fill in?” Drake continued. “Guess how many other athletes you’ll be meeting during your time here? And guess how many recommendations you’ll get from me, Noah, and all Noah’s friends.” He paused, letting the insinuations sink in. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”
She planted her elbows on the table and scraped both hands into her hair. “Noah won’t go for it. And I’m not going to sit on my ass in that guesthouse.”
“Then you’ll just have to lay down the law for him, won’t you? He is a captive audience, considering.” Drake put a ten-dollar bill on the table, tucked his wallet away, and stood. “You belong with these athletes the same way I do. The same way Noah does.”
He leaned down and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a hug. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”
Noah stopped pacing the kitchen and stretched one arm overhead, gripping the window casing. He squinted out over the lake in the distance, but today the tranquil sight didn’t settle the nerves buzzing in his belly. He pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen showing no new calls, then checked that the volume was on, and stuffed it away with a frustrated sigh.
Almost two p.m. and no sign of her. No call from Drake. And Noah couldn’t figure out why in the hell this was bothering him so much.
A growl rolled through Noah’s stomach. The thought of food dragged his gaze to his laptop, where he’d been reading a random article about diet and healing. Bored the shit out of him, which was probably related to the struggle of getting through the article more than the content. It was no wonder he never went to college.
His mind drifted to his nieces, Maisy, Stephie, an
d Tabitha. He wanted a different life for them. He wanted them to turn out more like Julia and less like his sister, Becky. Less like him.
His stomach voiced another complaint, and Noah let go of his troubled thoughts, turning toward the fridge.
“She’s not coming back.” He pulled the door open, remembering how easily…eagerly…she’d walked away from him for the third time in twenty-four hours. “Strike three, dumbshit,” he told himself. “You’re out.”
Out of luck. Out of her mind.
But not down and out. Never down and out.
He’d get another top-notch therapist to please Epic. One who wasn’t as bossy and demanding as Julia.
Then he remembered how all her rough edges had softened in the bedroom. So passionate, so giving… The woman had blown him away. He couldn’t remember the last woman who’d made him want more, not the way he wanted more of Julia.
The ache in his gut deepened. And the likelihood of never getting another chance with her left an anxious sensation jumping around in the pit of his stomach.
On a frustrated sigh, he focused on the food in front of him. He pulled a yogurt from the fridge, a spoon from a drawer, and his phone from his pocket as he slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
Still no calls. No texts.
A knock on the front door pulled his gaze up. He set the yogurt aside, pushed his phone into his pocket, and walked to the door. He saw Julia standing on the porch through the glass, and his stomach rose to his chest, fluttering around like a caged bird.
She came back.
He swung the door open. Before she had a chance to say anything, he stepped out, looking behind her for Drake. Seeing the coast was clear, Noah curled an arm around her waist, pulled her up against him, and carried her inside.
“Noah—”
He lowered his head and closed his lips over hers. Instant relief swept through his system, draining tension and loosening muscles. She didn’t kiss him back immediately, trying to pull away. But the sight of her, the fact that she’d returned on her own, made something inside him desperate for more. He slid his hand under her hair and around the back of her neck, parting his lips to taste her, and all her resistance melted. Her body leaned into his, her lips parted, and she sighed as she tasted him back.
Noah groaned with relief and pleasure. He stroke his hands over her fuzzy red sweater, the one that had his mouth watering when she’d walked into the living room earlier. It was feather-soft and clung to her perfect curves. He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, and cupped her breasts, full and firm in his hands.
He broke away for air and kissed his way to her neck, to that spot beneath her jaw that made her a little crazy. “I can’t believe you came back.”
“Noah,” she breathed, fidgeting against the wall. “We need to talk.”
“Later.” He kissed her again, ran his hand over her ass, squeezed, and pulled her hips against his, groaning at the way they fit together, the way his erection pressed into her lower belly. “Much…later…”
With a hand against his chest, she pushed him back, her expression smoldering but serious. “Now, Noah.”
He scanned her eyes, his breathing shallow, his heart kicking hard. “This isn’t good news, is it?”
“Depends on what you want.”
Everything. He just wanted everything. “Having to choose is never good.”
Her sweet lips tipped up in a smile. “You’re just so used to getting it all, huh?”
“Hardly, but I never stop trying.”
“Hold on to that perseverance.” She slipped out from between him and the wall. “You’re going to need it in rehab.”
He pressed his hands to the wall and closed his eyes. Disappointment bottomed out in his gut. The woman he wanted had slipped behind those damn walls again. She’d turned back into the professional hard-ass.
One of the barstools scraped against the tile, and Noah turned to find Julia sitting at the high countertop separating the kitchen and eating area. She pulled a stack of napkins and a pen from her pocket.
“If you’re not here for me, what brought you back?” he asked, making his way toward her, wishing he’d hear what he wanted instead of what he needed.
“I did come back for you. Without you, there’s no job.”
Ouch. Not only had she turned back into a hard-ass, he’d turned back into a job.
“Not what I was hoping to hear.” He slid onto the stool and dragged off the yogurt’s foil top, stirring the mixture with a spoon. Stalling. He wasn’t particularly eager to hear what more she had to say.
“Drake made me realize how much help you need, despite the fact that you aren’t willing to accept it. You two have an impressive relationship, and it got me to thinking—about you, about me, about this situation. So I drew up a quasi contract to line out my expectations these next six weeks if I stayed.”
If she stayed.
This was definitely not what he wanted to hear.
He set the yogurt down without eating any and crossed his arms. “On napkins? You created a contract on napkins?”
“Could be on toilet paper and it would still be binding—as long as it has your signature.”
He sputtered a laugh. “We both know that’s bullshit.”
“Look. I need the money and the referrals. You need the help.” She heaved a breath that lifted her shoulders and rocked her perfect C’s. “This is my career, Noah. It’s really important that you’re honest here. Do you get that?”
“I’m offended you have to ask.”
“I’m probably going to offend you several times a day for the next month and a half, if you can’t deal—”
“I can deal.” But this wasn’t how he wanted her back.
“Okay, then.” She slid the stack of napkins toward him. They were white, with sharp black ink writing. “These are rules I need you to abide by to get you back in top condition before the Games.”
Watching her, he put his hand on the napkins and slid them toward him, turned them around to face him, and started reading.
Julia pushed the pen toward his right hand. “You have to sign all of them.”
He cut his gaze to her. “I don’t sign anything unless Drake’s seen it.”
“Sign or I walk. And just so you know, I’m already halfway out the door.”
Part of him screamed, let her go. The other whispered, don’t be a fool.
The first page was a bunch of basic, legal bullshit that took up space but said nothing, naming her as “physical therapist” for the contract. Noah had learned more about contract law from Drake than he would’ve ever learned in college.
He turned the first napkin, but Julia flipped it back to the top of the pile and tapped the bottom corner beside an X. “Sign.”
Noah picked up the pen and scribbled his initials, tearing the napkin. “This is working well.”
“It’s fine. Go on.”
He flipped the napkin and read aloud. “I, Noah Hunt, am committed to maintaining an organic, low-carb, high-protein diet as delineated by my physical therapist.” He scrunched up his face. “Mmm, yum, that sounds appetizing. Do my Pop-Tarts fit into this? ’Cause I can’t sign anything that doesn’t include my Pop-Tarts.”
“Sorry, no Pop-Tarts.”
He dropped the pen on the napkins and sat back. “Deal breaker, right there.”
“Noah, I’m not kidding. Stop wasting our time. I’m happy to take on a different client who really cares about his health. Someone who respects what I have to say.”
“Here we go with the respect thing again. You have issues, you know that?”
“And you don’t?”
He scribbled his signature by the X, took the corner of the napkin, and Frisbeed it toward her.
“Mature,” she said, catching it and turning it over atop the first one.
“I, Noah Hunt,” he read, “am committed to maintaining a rigorous workout schedule as delineated by my physical therapist 2x a day.” He put pen to na
pkin and signed. “Cake.”
On to the next. “I, Noah Hunt, am committed to maintaining a rigorous therapy schedule as delineated by my physical therapist 2x a day.” He looked up and let a hot grin slide across his face. “I get your hands on me twice a day? No-brainer.” And signed. “I, Noah Hunt, am committed to maintaining a regular sleep schedule, obtaining a minimum of eight hours of sleep, seven days a week.”
Noah glanced up. “That will seriously mess up our bedtime routine.”
She just stared at him with that gorgeous, smooth-skinned, cherry-lipped scowl.
“Fine.” He scribbled across the napkin, getting good at producing just the right pressure not to tear it.
“I, Noah Hunt,” he continued with a sigh, “am committed to abstaining from sugar—and all foods that turn to sugar in my body—for the duration of therapy.” He looked at Julia but repeatedly pointed to the napkin with the pen. “This. This right here is some serious anti-Pop-Tart shade I won’t tolerate.”
She tilted her head and pursed her lips with a look of irritation.
Noah signed it, already scheming who he could get to be his short-term Pop-Tart supplier. “I, Noah Hunt,” he read, moving on to the next, “am committed to abstaining from eating out for the duration of therapy.” He dropped the pen against the counter again. “Jesus Christ, girl, I’ll starve. Believe me, other people cooking for me is the only safe alternative.”
She picked up the pen and held it toward him. “I’ll be cooking for you.”
Her smooth, soft voice held a tinge of wicked joy that sent both trepidation and thrill down his spine. “Dubious, at best.”
“Sign.”
He took the pen and signed, then picked up the next. “I, Noah Hunt, am committed to abstaining from alcohol for the duration of therapy.” He let his shoulders sag and rested his forehead against the counter. “You’re going to be the one regretting this.” And he lifted his head to sign.