Page 6 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Nope. Not a prank.” That stops him cold.

“What do you mean? You’re a . . .”

“A physical therapist,” I finish for him.

“That’s a good one. Cute. But I call bullshit.”

“Actually, it’s not.” I reach out with one hand, and just as I’m about to touch his shoulder, he yanks it out of my grasp. His hiss from the pain, the kneejerk reaction, is audible. “And you need me.”

His eyes bore into mine—gauging, judging, questioning—before that cocksure grin of his returns. “I’m sure a lot of other guys need you . . . Scout, is it? But I’m not one of them. I don’t need to pay to see some skin.”

“First, you’re not paying me, the club is. And second, I’m fully clothed.”

“Drop the act, sweetheart. The club’s not paying you shit. They’re paying Doc, and right now, he’s somewhere waiting for me, and I need to find him. So, time’s up. It was cute, you had me going for a bit, but it’s time for you to head out.”

I nod in mock resignation as I slowly climb off the table, but my eyes never leave his as I lean down close to his ear. “You get a pass today, just so you can wrap that pretty little head of yours around the fact that I’m your new physical therapist. Be here tomorrow. Same time. Same place. Don’t let my appearance fool you, because I’ll work you out all right, but only so I can get you back on the field.” I step back, take in his wide-eyed expression as it morphs slowly from arrogance to the realization that I just might be telling the truth. I smile. “Oh, and leave your assumptions at home. I may not be Doc, but I sure as hell am a Dalton. It’s been a pleasure.”

And with that, I turn my back and head for the door. My hands are trembling, and my body is riding high on something akin to adrenaline, but I’m satisfied that he’ll take me seriously from here on out.

“Hey, Kitty.”

Despite every urge in my body to keep walking and not acknowledge the stripper alias, my feet stop. And I hate that they do, but at least I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to face him.

“The name’s Scout. And, for the record, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or pissed off that you’d think I’d accept money to dance for you or sleep with you.”

“So, you’d do it for free then?” The chuckle that follows is smooth as silk, full of suggestion, and twists my insides with a potent combination of disgust and lust.

“Not hardly,” I lie.

“Good thing I didn’t take the bait then. I was ready to kiss you senseless just to call your bluff and prove you were a stripper.”

“Good thing I didn’t knee you in the nuts because you had.”

His laugh is warmer this time around. “Lucky for me, I practiced restraint.”

“Remember that term—practice restraint,” I say, feeling like I’ve made some headway. “I won’t be easy on you, you know.”

“I’ll count on it. And Scout? I knew you weren’t a stripper.”

“Way to try and save face, Hot Shot.” Men and their egos. “But if that’s the case, then why’d you let me keep the act going?”

“Only a stupid man would stop a beautiful woman when she’s straddling his thighs.”

“And here I thought you’d redeemed yourself,” I mutter through the smile he can’t see.

“Redemption’s boring. I prefer excitement,” he goads.

“Great.”

“Tomorrow, Scout.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

I walk out of the locker room, the echo of my footsteps down the concrete corridor nowhere as loud as his voice on repeat in my mind. I was ready to kiss you senseless just to call your bluff.

If that would be my punishment for being wrong, why the hell would I want to be right?

“It’s just pain. I’ve played through it before. I can play through it again.”