Page 49 of Smitten Pucking Orc

“So, a week.” I stared at the schedule. “That’s a lot of time together.”

She studied me, her expression unreadable. “We need to get started. Lie down on the treatment table.”

“Now?”

“Did you think I planned to spend our morning session yelling at you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. Almost a smile.

I moved to the treatment table, the paper crinkling under me as I lay back.

She pulled on gloves and positioned herself beside the table, her hands settling on my hip.

“This is going to hurt more than before,” she said.

“I figured that.”

Her fingers found the edge of the adductor and pressed down.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“The inflammation is worse,” she said, her hands moving methodically. “The muscle fibers have knotted up trying to protect the injured area. We need to break that up.”

“Great.” I gritted my teeth as she hit a particularly tender spot.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

She ignored it.

It buzzed again.

“You can get that,” I said.

“I’m working.”

“What if it’s important?”

“This is important.”

My ribs felt tight, as if someone had laced them into goalie pads two sizes too small.

Her phone buzzed a third time.

She sighed, stepping back to check it, sending a reply.

“Do you need me to leave?” I asked.

“No. It was from Crim,” she said, her voice without inflection. “He wanted to know if you were being an idiot again.”

I groaned. “What did you tell him?”

“That it’s being handled.”

“Is it?”

She met my eyes. “That depends on you.”