Free Physical Therapy by Aysel Quinn Page B

don’t know what’s wrong with me right now.”
    Instead of the outrage, distaste, or awkward coughing I expected, he burst out laughing. Not a calm chuckle of amusement, but a rambunctious guffaw that sounded at the same time boyish and enthralled. I let one eye peer between two fingers and raised a brow.
    “I’m sorry, really. It’s just about damn time somebody called her what she is.” He kept chuckling, so I uncovered the rest of my face.
    “Glad to be of service,” I managed.
    “I like you, Ms. DuPont; you’re just a little bit saucy. Sorry if that was inappropriate. It’s just refreshing to work with someone not…” He waved his hand back in forth with indecision as he spoke, a wide smile taking over his face.
    “Ancient or pubescent?”
    “Exactly. Or male. You must have slipped through Sabrina’s clutches.” The smile didn’t wane, and it became infectious.
    I found myself grinning back without effort, all nervousness gone. “What do you mean?”
    “Sabrina is the ginger witch and she sort of…has a thing for me.” He flashed a tight little smile and shuffled his feet as he looked at the floor. “She tends to filter my clients to avoid competition. I mean, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve already made it very plain she disgusts me, but still. She must have been really rude to you.”
    “Yeah, a bit. I guess I must be competition.” Well now, where did that come from?
    “Definitely. You’re definitely competition.” He nodded, and something changed in his gaze even though his smile remained fixed.
    There were a few seconds of silence, and I began to feel the return of the nerves, although not for the expectation of pain.
    He sucked in a breath and shrugged his shoulders as he had before. “Well, I should probably take a look at the injured area to gauge inflammation and assess your range of motion. May I?”
    “Have at it.”
    He approached me then, and I tensed in anticipation of his touch. He raised a hand and used one finger to draw the neckline of the gown down to expose my shoulder. I still had several nasty looking bruises, but I was strangely not embarrassed by my deformity. Probably because I was still on drugs.
    He traced the line of my collarbone around the cuff of my shoulder with two fingers, gently sweeping along my skin. He felt the area for treatment purposes, but my imagination made it seem like a caress. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but it hitched when he circled for the second time.
    “Hurt?”
    “A little,” I breathed, surprised to discover I wasn’t lying. He withdrew his hand then, and my flesh felt cold with the sudden loss of heat from his palm.
    “Sorry about that. There will be some discomfort, but it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll be quick with the measuring.”
    He gently manipulated my arm and rotator cuff as he spoke, and though I gritted my teeth through the pulling and prodding, his soothing voice and faint scent of Old Spice and hand sanitizer sufficiently distracted me from the pain.
    “Well, it’s not so bad really, but it’s going to take work to heal the injury without inflicting further strain. Next time, we’ll use the TENS unit to relax the area.”
    He turned to rummage through several drawers and retrieved a pile of towels and two small bottles before continuing, “We’re going to have to strengthen your core to support your shoulders, but for now let’s get those muscles relaxed. How’s a massage sound?” He winked again, knowing the answer.
    “Anything that doesn’t involve me moving sounds amazing.” I let myself smile at him without holding back, and the bottles slipped through his fingers as he lost his grip.
    Hmm. Nah, he couldn’t possibly be interested in me. He was a Greek god and I was a mere mortal, freakishly pale and awkward as hell. Dumped in favor of a South American model. Still, Greek gods were always after mortal women, weren’t they? True, but only the unspeakably gorgeous Helen types who could do