Page 7 of Take Me Big Boy
“Two. Maybe three at the scar itself.” I miss her touch when she moves to scribble in her notebook, but it’s not gone for long.
She moves methodically—shoulder, deltoid, the crease where the joint meets the chest. She asks about each spot. I answer. She makes notes. Then she picks up the goniometer and walks me through a series of arm-lift tests, measuring the angles, recording the numbers. The motions ache more than I want to admit. I don’t tell her that.
“Your shoulder mobility is more limited than it should be at this stage post-op,” she says, frowning at her numbers. “We can work on that. Can I check the strength now? I’m going to ask you to push against my hand.”
“Sure.”
She positions her palm against my forearm and asks me to resist as she presses. The motion is small. The pain isn’t.
Her hand stays where it is when the test ends. She doesn’t move it for half a second longer than the test requires—long enough for me to notice. Long enough, I think, for her to notice she’s noticed. She lifts her hand away with the careful slowness of someone who realizes she’s been caught doing something she didn’t mean to do.
Her cheeks have gone pink. I file it away.
“What’s your level now?”
I’m hard as a rock, body tensed with need. “How much do you value honesty, Doc?”
“I’m not a doctor—just call me Ashley.” Those pretty green eyes lift to mine. “And honesty is the most important step in getting better.”
I almost smirk at that, but stop myself. “Then I’ll be honest and tell you that whatever reading you get from this side right now isn’t going to be accurate.”
Her pretty brows furrow in confusion. “Uh, why?”
My eyes drop to her hand on my ribs, absently running circles on my skin and fueling the fire she already started. Her eyes follow mine and then drop lower to the bulge pushing against my sweatpants. Her breath hitches, and she pulls her hand away like she’s been burned. Heat floods her cheeks.
Goddamn it. I should have warned her sooner.
“I… you…” Her eyes shoot to mine and back to my erection, then away. She looks out of sorts, clearly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it. “Not exactly the first impression I wanted to make. Well, I guess second.”
She lets out a startled laugh—small, breathless—and the tension cracks just enough to breathe. “Right. Um. That happens sometimes. The body responds. It’s—it’s not unusual.” She’s pink to the tips of her ears, but she squares her shoulders again, reaching for her notebook. “I’ll, um. I have enough for today on the shoulder. Why don’t we start the knee assessment tomorrow, when we both have a fresh start. I’ll write up your initial treatment plan tonight.”
She gathers her things, retrieves her dropped pen from under the couch, and walks out—not running, but with a quickness that tells me she’s still rattled. The greyhound rises in one graceful motion and follows her without being called.
I walk to the window and watch her hurriedly climb into her car and then pull away. My dick is hard, throbbing fiercely, but I pay it no mind as I watch my new physical therapist drive off.
I’m not so sure she’ll be back tomorrow. With a sigh, I back away from the window. Michael asked me to play nice. I’m not sure I managed it, but at least I didn’t run her off.
Not intentionally anyway.
Chapter Three
Ashley
Breathe,Ash. Deep slow breaths.
“I can’t do it,” I cry out dramatically, flinging my arms over the steering wheel and dropping my head over them. How in the sweet loving Christ am I going to be able to walk back into that house, look at the man, and pretend I didn’t see his erection?
I lift my head and peer at the house, questioning the wisdom of coming back here after what happened yesterday. It’s a bad idea, and I contemplate turning this car around and driving till I’m out of state and far, far away from Matt Galloway.
Yet, I don’t.
I saw it. The bulge in his pants. His sharp intake of breath was not in my imagination, but neither was the hardening of my nipples or the delicious heat that settled between my thighs when I first touched the man. I felt the stickiness between my thighs, and I remember the slight shudder of my body from his closeness. And that apology—gruff and a little embarrassed, like the words cost him something to say. That’s the part I keep coming back to. It shouldn’t be the part I find attractive, and yet…
Oh God, this is bad. This is really,reallybad. I know what an erection is supposed to look like—I went through anatomy and physiology like every other PT student. The body reacts as it chooses to when touched, and the mind can always wander; that’s basic anatomy. What I’ve never experienced is feeling attraction to a patient. And now…
A low whimper reminds me that I’m not alone in the car. Slowly, I turn around to find large eyes staring curiously back at me. Penny shifts in the passenger seat, her copper coat catching the morning light, and rests her chin on the center console like she’s been waiting for me to remember her.
