Dad chuckles. “Come back and get me when he arrives. Set him up in room five.”
“Got it.”
I walk away and go down the hall to room five, switching on the lights and making sure everything else is set up. I’m not an expert by any means, but one room I know well is this physical therapy room. There are five in this practice, all catering to different things. Room five is simple, just a patient bed, a computer screen that takes up one wall that’s used to show patients scans, X-rays, and even exercises they should work on at home. It’s definitely a state-of-the-art facility that Dad is proud of. I sanitize the patient bed quickly before setting a new strip of paper on it just in case before I hear the buzz of the front door and walk in that direction. I look up at the screen beside the door to see who’s outside and freeze momentarily before unlocking the door.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I pull the door open. “You’re following me here too?”
“Following you?” He huffs out a single laugh. “You think way too highly of yourself if you think you’re worth following.”
“Well, then, what are you doing here?”
“I have an appointment with your dad.”
“You?”
“Yeah.” He looks at me like I’m the one who’s crazy, and now that I’m taking a step back and letting him walk inside, I realize that all of that probably came off as a little crazy. Not that I’ll admit that to him or anyone. I shut the door and lock it behind him before brushing past him and walking in front of him.
“Follow me.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” he asks behind me.
“Working.”
“You have two jobs?”
“I am capable of working two jobs, you know.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. I’m not going to tell him that even though I hate cleaning, this is by far the easiest job since it’s only once a week. Not that it’s a job per se since dad’s not paying me for it. It’s more like a cleaning internship. I laugh at that.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I stop at room five and open the door, waving a hand for him to step inside. “Why are you here anyway?”
“I injured my left shoulder last season.” He says it like the mere words leave a bad taste in his mouth and looks at me like I’m at fault.
“Oh.”
“So, what do I do?” He looks around the room.
“Just wait here. I’ll go get him.” I walk out of the room and jog over to Dad’s office, knocking once before opening the door. “He’s in room five.”
“Perfect.” Dad looks back down at the paper in front of him. “Do me a favor, have him take his shirt off, and power up the computer. I’m going to send you a file that I need opened on the big screen.”
“Okay.” I walk out and jog over to room five, coming to a dead stop when I fully realize what my dad just asked me to do and who I’m supposed to ask to do this. “Um . . . ” I bite my lip.
“What?” Jagger turns to face me.
“I need you to take your shirt off.”
He chuckles. “Okay.”
I give a nod and walk over to the computer, turning it on. I’m trying really hard not to watch Jagger do as instructed, but it’s impossible and not because he’s hot or anything. He seems to be struggling with the task. After a few seconds of hearing him huffing and sighing, I stand up and look at him.
“You can’t take your shirt off?”
“I practiced today,” he says.
“Okay?” I blink.
“My shoulder’s tight.”
“Okay,” I say with a little more confusion.
“I need help, okay?”
“Taking off your shirt?” I squeak.
“Yes.” He glances down at his sneakers. “Look, this is uncomfortable for me too.”
“Having a woman take your shirt off makes you uncomfortable?”
“No.” He glances up quickly, shooting me a dirty look. “Obviously not.”
“Having me do it makes you uncomfortable?” I frown.
“Well, we’re not exactly doing this for recreation, Josephine. This is about my fucked-up shoulder, so yes.” He’s shooting daggers at me.
Rather than saying anything back, I walk over and reach for the hem of his black cotton T-shirt. I start lifting it slowly, my fingers brushing against his warm, tight skin, unable to ignore the defined V or perfect six-pack underneath it as I uncover each inch of skin. I swallow when I reach his chest and pause there since I know this is the part that’s uncomfortable for his shoulder. I meet his gaze and find him staring at me, expression dark and smoldering.
“I’m trying not to hurt you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look away from me as he tucks his healthy arm out of the right sleeve, leaving the shirt bunched up against his neck and his left sleeve still on. I reach up and he ducks slightly to help me pull it over his head, the movement putting me nose to nose with him. My heart is hammering so loudly now I can barely think let alone breathe correctly.