Page 44 of The No Try Zone
“Strictly professional,” I tell him. “Promise. I won’t hurt you.”
“You’re a physical therapist,” he says, his voice raspy. “I’m in pain. Isn’t it your job to hurt me?”
I smirk. “Maybe a little.”
I start by placing my palms on his upper thigh. His muscles are hot, a dead giveaway that they’re working harder than they should be. I press lightly, aiming to get a sense of how much it hurts and what his tolerance threshold is. Experience has taught me that while men are generally much bigger babies than women when it comes to how much pain they can take, rugby players are different animals. The name of the game is how much one person can endure, so many of them have trained themselves to block out the worst of it. In some ways, this makes my job easier. In other ways, it makes it infinitely worse, because they’ll push through an injury that would have leveled a normal person, and in doing so, they make the injury much, much worse.
I watch Colin’s face carefully, monitoring it for any indication that I’ve found the main source of his discomfort. I palpate the area below his hip, slowly making my way to the muscles surrounding the bone, but his expression never changes.
“Either you’re a master of hiding your pain, or I’ve not found it yet,” I murmur, keeping my voice low as I work. “Which is it?”
“Little of both,” he answers, his voice soft but tending toward strained.
I have him turn sideways and work my hands toward his glutes, my focus almost entirely on the fact that he’s injured and not on the fact that I’ve got my hands on his ass.
His veryniceass.
Which is nothing I should be thinking about.
“Fuck,” he grits right as I hit a knot half the size of my fist.
“Found it,” I chuckle, then feel around to get a sense of exactly how bad it is.
“That you did,” he says, exhaling roughly as I guide his leg into a bend with one hand and press into the knot with my other.
“The good news is it’s not your hip,” I assess. “Just one giant knot on your ass.”
“Sure it doesn’t have your name on it?” he asks, a small smile on his face. “Ow,fuck!”
I might have dug my knuckle in a little harder than was necessary. “Hmm?”
He growls an exhale. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
I guide his knee back down. “Turn fully onto your stomach.”
He hesitates.
I grin. “I’m going to use the massage gun to loosen you up, then some localized pressure to release the knot.”
“That’s therapist speak for you’re about to make me hurt.”
I hold the gun up and flip it on, sending the ball into vibration mode. “Maybe.”
Half an hour later, during which Colin has alternated between a meditative state and howling in agony, I decide we’re done for the night.
“Go home and sit on a heating pad,” I instruct him. “We’ll see how it’s improved tomorrow night.”
He sits up, then pushes off the table and stands, looking down at me. “Thank you.”
“Feel better?”
It should be a regular question with a regular answer. But the energy in the room shifts as he nods, his gaze snagging on my lips.
In that moment, I know without question that he wants to kiss me. And for the life of me, I can’t make myself move.
We’re inches apart, breathing in sync. Then his eyes lift to meet mine. “Sam.” His voice is low.
“We shouldn’t.”
