by A. K. Evans
There was an awkward silence before Nash said, “Okay, so I need to make an appointment to come back on Wednesday then, right?”
“Yes,” I answered quickly as I moved toward the door.
When I opened it, he said, “Thank you for your help, Dr. Banks.”
I pulled my lip in between my teeth and bit down as I gave him a nod. Then I rasped, “You’re welcome, Nash. If you need anything before then, please don’t hesitate to call the office.”
“I will.”
With that, he stepped out of the room and strode down the hall. I wasn’t too proud to admit I watched him as he walked away. The view was extraordinary.
I was in my truck on the way to the doctor. It was Friday, two weeks after I’d injured myself at work, and I was feeling much better.
For the last two weeks, I’d been making consistent visits to see Dr. Banks. My pain had decreased substantially while my mobility improved tremendously. There was no comparison between the way I felt now and how I felt when I was practically carried into her office for the first time by my best friend.
But as wonderful as the physical improvements were, I was still dealing with a bit of a problem. I couldn’t manage to cope with how it felt to be around Dr. Banks.
Dr. Parker Banks.
I knew I was going to be in trouble the very first day I was there. But because I desperately needed the relief I was getting from her treatments, I knew I couldn’t stop going. Even Kieran knew just how crucial she was to my rehabilitation after just one visit.
“Well, it looks like whatever she did helped you considering you were able to walk out to my truck,” he said when we were both back in his truck that day.
“It was her,” I shared.
“I know. I was there when the receptionist told her there was an emergency walk-in,” Kieran remarked.
Shaking my head, I clarified, “No, Kieran. It was her. She was the woman I told you and Ryker about at lunch. She’s the woman from the laundromat.”
“What?” he asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
“Yeah, that was essentially the same reaction I had when she walked into the exam room,” I told him.
“How did that go?” he wondered.
My mind had been so muddled over the fact that she was who she was. I never expected that she would be the person to walk through that door. While I couldn’t deny that I still believed she was just as beautiful as I thought she was the first day I saw her, I couldn’t stop myself from hearing those words she said over and over in my head.
“She apologized to me for how things went down,” I started. “I thanked her for the apology, but I wasn’t going to stick around.”
“And yet you ended up staying back there for quite a long time,” he noted.
“I couldn’t walk out,” I reminded him. “And since you didn’t come back, I had no choice but to let her do her thing.”
There was a moment of silence before he said, “You make it sound like you were forced, like it was a huge hardship for you to be around her.”
I didn’t know what to say. Because the truth was that it had been, and it hadn’t been. That day I kept having to remind myself of the kind of woman she was outside of her profession. There was no way I wanted anything to do with a woman like that. And I would have been lying if I said that I didn’t start to wonder, especially after interacting with her over the last two weeks, if what she had said was true. She’d been having a bad week, and she was genuinely sorry for taking it out on me.
The deep desire I had to believe that was the case was burning a hole in me.
And with each visit I’d had with her, that hole was only growing larger and larger. Dr. Parker Banks was showing me nothing but kindness and compassion. She’s been completely different than she was that night I found a way to open the jammed dryer door for her. For some reason, though, I continued to allow the memory of that night to sit at the forefront of my mind, especially when I saw her benevolence. I think I felt this need to be indifferent toward her for several reasons.
First, just knowing she had it in her to speak to me the way she did that night was off-putting. There was no appreciation for what I’d done and not a modicum of respect.
But the bigger reason I struggled to remain uninterested was that I was precisely the opposite. It was hard. So, so hard.
From the first appointment and the four that followed it, I found it particularly difficult to ignore what it did to me every time she put her hands on me. Just the feel of her hands on me over my shirt was enough to drive me wild. But then she’d go on to make adjustments to my lower back and would have to position her hands on my ass. It took everything in me to relax.
When I thought I had it under control, I’d feel the light brush of her knuckles or fingertips against my bare skin when she would get me set up on the stim machine. Her touch was electric. And it was in those moments that I was grateful I was facedown on the table. The last thing I needed was for her to know how badly she was affecting me.
As I pulled into the lot at her office, I started to wonder how I’d get through today’s appointment because I had a new symptom that I thought could be related to my back injury.
Five minutes after I arrived, I was back in the exam room waiting for her. Punctual as ever, I’d barely had the chance to sit down when Dr. Banks walked in.
“Good morning, Nash,” she greeted me.
I dipped my chin and returned, “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“The back is the best it’s been since the injury,” I started. “As you already know, I did go back to work at the end of the week last week. I took frequent breaks my first day, and the guys helped me out on certain things that I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle right away. But with each day I’m back there, I’ve been doing more and more of my normal tasks.”
“That’s excellent,” she declared. “Remember to keep taking it slow and only do what you know you can handle. As I’ve said before, if you injure your back again so soon after the initial injury, it’s going to be an even longer recovery.”
That was the last thing I wanted or needed considering we were in the busiest season at the shop, so I’d been doing everything Dr. Banks recommended and taking on only the tasks I knew that wouldn’t hinder my healing progress. Luckily for me, Logan was understanding, and all the guys chipped in where they could to help me out. I was a bit behind on work, but it wasn’t so much that I wouldn’t be able to rebound quickly once I was closer to feeling one hundred percent.
“I’ve been following doctor’s orders,” I promised. “And on the exercise front, I’ve started working out again this week, but I’m steering clear of lifting heavy weights or doing anything that puts additional stress on my back.”
She smiled at me, and the look on her face was so captivating, I was glad I had been sitting. If not, she would have literally knocked me off my feet.
“I’m so happy to hear that we’re headed in the right direction,” she stated.
“I do have one concern,” I told her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
I hesitated a moment while I considered the best way to share the problem with her. I would have felt like such a fool if I brought this to her attention, and it turned out that it wasn’t anything related to my back injury.
I’m not sure if the worry I had about it was obvious or if I’d just taken too long to say anything, but Dr. Banks interrupted my thoughts and called, “Nash?”
“Yeah?”
“You can trust me,” she insisted softly.
Nodding, I said, “Well, while the pain in my back has been lessening with each day and my mobility is improving, I have had one little issue pop up. It might be completely unrelated, and it probably is, but I thought it might be worth mentioning.”
“Absolutely,” she assured me. “If there is anything new that you feel that wasn’t something you experienced before the injury, then it’s not only p
ossible but totally likely that it’s related.”
“Right. It’s just that… well, the pain isn’t in my back,” I revealed. I let that sink in for a few moments before I continued, “Or, it’s not concentrated there. It’s in my groin.”
“And is the pain concentrated to the groin?” she asked, not missing a beat and not in the least bit put off by what I had just shared.
“Most of it is, but it feels like it radiates under the glute and up into my back,” I explained.
For several long seconds, Dr. Banks looked at me and nodded. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was quietly assessing the situation, digesting the information, and trying to figure out what the problem was.
Then she asked, “Can you stand up and pinpoint the area you’re feeling the pain?”
I did as she requested and hoped with all hope that she’d know what was wrong and would tell me how to fix it. I wasn’t sure if I could handle having her up close and very personal. Of course, I also knew I couldn’t stand this new pain I was experiencing either.
“Okay, so I think your problem might be your psoas,” she said.
Perfect. She knew what was wrong.
“So, how do I fix it?” I asked.
Dr. Banks offered me a sympathetic look before she shared, “I can help alleviate some of the pain you’re feeling, but it’s not pleasant. And correcting the issue might require you to do some work at home, too.”
“Oh, so there’s a back adjustment that needs to be done to fix it?” I questioned her.
She shook her head.
“What is it then?” I wondered.
I watched as her sympathetic look almost changed to pitying. “Lay down on the table on your back,” she instructed.
The room I was in now didn’t have the table that lowered me down or raised me. With much more mobility, I could now get myself up and down on a stationary table.
Once I was on my back, Dr. Banks came over and stood at the side of the table right beside my knee.
“I’m going to do a few quick tests to see if your psoas muscle is firing,” she explained. “If not, I’ll have to turn it back on.”
I remained silent as I wondered where my psoas muscle was and how she would go about turning it on if it was off. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any answers to the question in my mind when I felt her fingers curl around the back of my leg at my calf.
“Okay, keep your leg heavy,” she instructed. “Let me do all the work. All I want you to do is tell me when you start to feel any pain.”
She hadn’t raised my leg very high when I told her she’d gone far enough. It wasn’t that I was feeling more pain in my groin. My problem was that she was close to taking me past the point which my hamstrings would allow. I just wasn’t that flexible.
Taking a few steps up from where she was standing by my knee closer to my hip, she looked down at me. I braced myself because I could tell she had something to say that wasn’t necessarily going to be pleasant.
“I’m going to apologize in advance,” she started. “This is not going to be enjoyable at all while I’m doing it, but it will give you relief.”
I had a high pain tolerance, and I’d made it through the worst of the back injury. Part of me believed she was making this out to be more than it was, so I returned, “No problem. Let’s just do it and get it done.”
Nodding, she ordered, “Make sure you breathe.”
My brows pulled together just as a couple of her fingers on one hand came dangerously close to my cock. I could barely control the overwhelming urge that came over me when she had her hands in the middle of my back. Now her hand was right there.
If I hadn’t been so consumed with not allowing the surface attraction I felt toward her undeniably revealing itself, I might have felt the pain she had been worried about me feeling. How could I feel pain when I was this close to her, smelling her, and experiencing her hands on me like this? I felt the familiar stirring of something in a place that had nothing to do with the pain in my groin.
This was going to be mortifying. It was like I was a teenage boy with no self-control. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I’d been battling this feeling for two weeks now.
Against my better judgment and seemingly of their own accord, my eyes drifted to hers. I was surprised to find hers were locked on mine, and something in them said she was dealing with problems of her own.
Of course, I thought I was getting the shorter end of the stick, considering I was the one in the vulnerable position.
“Nash,” she whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“Breathe,” she reminded me with a glint in her eye.
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until she pointed it out. That’s when I started feeling the pain. Who would have thought a woman of her size could inflict so much pain with just a few fingers?
The next thing I knew, she started counting down from ten, and I found myself willing her to count faster. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her that close, but I was slowly losing the battle with myself to remain in control and needed a break.
Luckily, the seconds passed quickly, and she removed her fingers.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Alright, let’s see if we’ve got this working again,” she suggested. Placing one hand under my thigh just above my knee, she lifted my leg and placed her fingers on the psoas muscle again. “Can you press your thigh into my hand?”
I did as she asked.
No sooner had I done that when she bubbled, “We’re back in business. Great job.”
“What?”
“Your muscle is firing again,” she explained. “Now you’ll just need to continue to make sure it works. There are a few things you can do to make that happen. First, if you’ve got a tennis ball or a lacrosse ball, you’ll want to place it between the floor and that spot I was pressing on. Then, roll your body around on it so that the pressure stays concentrated in that area. Do that twice a day. Then, if you’ve got someone at home who can do for you what I just did, that’d really help, too.”
I gave a slight shake of my head before I shared, “I don’t.”
She swallowed hard, and her lips parted. I couldn’t stop my eyes from dropping to them. My gaze lingered there for a few moments before she started speaking again.
“Okay, well, today’s Friday,” she started. “Given the improvements you’ve experienced with your back, I’d like to start titrating your visits down next week. I’m thinking we can start going to Monday and Friday. If that works for you, when you come in on Monday, I can work on the psoas for you again.”
“That will work,” I answered even though I didn’t think it was wise I continued to allow her to do that to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t think what she was doing would alleviate the pain and fix my problem. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I just couldn’t continue to be in these confined spaces with her while her hands were on me, and her scent was filling my nostrils.
Smiling again, she said, “Perfect. Alright, let’s have you flip over to your belly so I can take a look at this back and see how everything is lining up.”
Ignoring how seeing her smile made my stomach clench, I flipped myself over to my stomach and took a deep breath. There was no doubt I would need to institute that technique for the next several minutes while I battled with the feelings that overtook me every time her hands were on me.
Twenty minutes later, I’d gotten adjusted, received stim therapy, scheduled my appointments for the next week, and was on my way to work. I couldn’t remember a time when I felt such relief.
Since I was starting to feel much better, I decided that I should return to normal activities like work, exercise, and entertainment.
Yeah.
After two weeks of being tortured by Dr. Parker Banks, there was no doubt I needed to do something to relieve some of the tension. I just wasn’t sure how I would make that happen, considering the woman was consta
ntly in my thoughts.
“I’ve met someone.”
I stared into my sister’s stunned eyes and waited for her to react.
It was Friday evening, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to be home from work so I could finally catch up with Kaia and get her advice. I desperately needed someone to help me sort out the mess that seemed to have been my life lately. There was nobody else I could trust or depend on to give me that other than my sister.
Of course, even though I knew she’d always be there to see me through whatever I was dealing with at any given time, I also knew she would need time to react to unexpected things.
The seconds had been ticking by, and Kaia still hadn’t responded. I wasn’t surprised that my statement had caught her completely off guard. She was more likely to be the one who would have said something so ridiculous between the two of us.
Not me.
I was the one who tried to be responsible, to remain in control.
Yet, somehow, I felt like I was spiraling. And it had been that way for the last two weeks all because of one man.
Nash Stevens.
The man was plaguing my every thought. It seemed as though at any moment when I wasn’t working, I was thinking about him.
Not once had I ever experienced something like this. It was odd and unnerving in some ways, but I also didn’t necessarily mind thinking about him.
“I’m sorry, did you say you met someone?” Kaia asked.
I nodded.
“When did this happen?” she pressed.
“Two weeks ago. At the laundromat,” I shared.
“Why didn’t you call me that night and tell me? Or, at the very least, the next morning would have sufficed,” she noted.
Shaking my head as I thought back to that night, I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me.
“I kind of blew up on him,” I confessed.
“What?”
A large rush of air left my lungs as I prepared to tell her the whole story. Then I launched in and told Kaia all about what happened with Nash at the laundromat two weeks ago. I explained how I’d been pressed for time and needed to leave to go pick up my car at Larry’s. I filled her in on the jammed dryer door and how Nash had offered to look at it and try to get it open for me while I went to pick up my car. And finally, I shared how I came back to find that he fixed the dryer and how he had removed my clothes and folded them.