Free Physical Therapy by Aysel Quinn Page A

the appliances. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’m really nervous right now.”
    How true that was. I finally managed to raise my head enough to see his face. Good thing I could blame nerves, because the brown eyes I peered into were making me shake on the inside. He was so gorgeous, and that was a really weak adjective. He’s my therapist? Gah.
    I wondered a little why he wasn’t speaking yet. Probably because I was a trembling freak who looked like she was about to fall over. He moved a little then, shrugging his shoulders, and took in a breath to say something.
    “No problem. This place isn’t exactly a spa.” He threw a little crooked smile at me, and I felt simultaneously less anxious and more like a moony adolescent. “I’m Ethan Stone, and I’ll be helping you out for the course of your therapy.” He continued before I could even respond. “Looks like you damaged yourself pretty badly. I don’t often see this type of injury in your demographic.”
    He looked like he was chuckling, but I got a little mad at the comparison to an old lady. “I was at the gym.” I made some excuse to sound like I was actually not an awkward weirdo.
    “Hmm. Usually these tears are common in football or tennis players. You know, the really hardcore sports. Were you playing when this happened?”
    I decided to give up. After all, I’d have to get used to this unreal demi-god for the next two months, and he might as well be prepared when I managed to break my leg in the therapy room. I spewed my words like the drunk guy at an office party.
    “Okay, yeah, I’m, well, I’m really klutzy. Like, really, really klutzy. I’ve only been to the gym the one time, because I’m perpetually scared of injury, and this time it was in yoga. My friend dragged me, and it just—it hurt so hellishly much. I don’t know what happened, I was just trying to keep up, and then it felt like someone was shooting a flamethrower at my shoulder.”
    He looked stunned, brows lifting and mouth hanging open, but he quickly recovered and smiled. “Whoa there, not a problem. You don’t have to be embarrassed; lots of people hurt themselves, and at least you’re aware of your…predispositions. Caution is the first step to avoiding further injury.”
    He nodded his head like a lifeguard reciting the rules of the pool. At least I felt more at ease now. He must have noticed, because he relaxed his posture.
    “All right,” he went on, “let’s get down to business. Today, I’m going to assess the extent of your injury, and then we’re going to take it easy with some massage and heat wraps. We’ll save the tough stuff for next time.” He winked at me.
    Winked! All the “we” language was making me feel like I wasn’t alone in this awfulness, a trick I’m sure was practiced and used with all patients, but it still worked.
    He peered straight into my eyes. “This type of injury requires diligence, so do you think you can commit to your recovery entirely?”
    I didn’t need to pause this time. “Definitely. I want this to go away.”
    He smiled again. I was pretty sure my body healed a little every time that happened. Some regions certainly felt better.
    “Good. Apart from the time we spend here, I’m going to send you home with some exercises and a schedule. You’ll need to follow it exactly if you want to heal properly, but we’ll go over that at the end today. Do you have any questions before I take a look?”
    I paused for a moment, attempting to secure an expression of serious contemplation on my face. In reality, I was trying very hard to not question at all. Are your large hands indicative of other largish type things ? was not exactly appropriate. I was going to silently shake my head in the negative, but my brain spit out a random cover up. “What did I do to piss off the ginger witch so much?”
    The heat of an extreme blush immediately burned through my cheeks, and I covered my face with my palms. “Shoot, I’m so sorry! I