Thrown by a Curve (3 page)

She really wished she hadn’t picked up the sexual innuendo in what he said. Which was probably all in her mind and not at all in his words. She wished he was ugly or unpleasant to deal with.

Even when he was whiny and complaining, there was still an underlying charm about him. He might be a pain in some areas of his recovery that made him cranky, but that she could handle. He was also friendly, and oh, dear God, was he gorgeous and sexy, and he had a body she wanted to get her hands on in much more than a therapeutic way.

But this was her golden opportunity, so she was going to have to separate her . . . urges from her job.

“So . . . are we done here?” he asked.

“Nice try. Our time together isn’t up yet.”

“My shoulder feels like a limp noodle.”

“And you’re not the therapist, so suck it up and sit there until I tell you you’re done.”

She walked away to get the stretch bands and the ball, mainly to create distance. The less she chatted with him, the less she’d think about him on a personal level. When she brought him the bands, he gave her a dubious look.

“We should be beyond this.”

“And you like to cut corners. That’s why your therapy isn’t progressing. Let’s do this.”

He blew out a loud, frustrated sigh but did the routine she laid out. She turned some relaxing music on.

“I’d prefer something harder.”

She tried not to wince. For some reason, everything he said conjured up sex in her head. She’d like something harder, too, but it wasn’t music she was thinking about. And she needed to stop acting like a lust-filled teenager for the love of God.

“This is relaxing. I want your muscles liquid, not tensed up.”

“You could always give me a massage after.”

“You want a massage therapist, I’ll bring one in. That’s not what the team is paying me to do.”

“Oh, so you will bring in a masseuse for me?”

She stood beside him, watching and making notes while he pulled at the bands. “If I think one is warranted.”

“Yeah? And how will you know?”

“After I finish you off, I’ll see how your muscles feel.”

“How come you won’t do the massage yourself? My other trainers did.”

“Good for them.”

“But you don’t want to climb on me and massage me. It’s too personal for you.”

Now
that
was innuendo. Plain and clear. She slanted him a glare. “Well, now I know what kind of massages you get.”

“Huh?”

“Climb on?”

He laughed. “Okay, I was exaggerating. But I know you all give massages. Except you, obviously.”

She met his gaze and couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, challenging her, or plain trying to annoy her. She chalked his attitude up to sore muscles and decided to give him a break. “I didn’t say that.”

“I know you all are trained in massage because one of the guys told me.”

“Yes, we are. But that’s not our primary focus as therapists. I tend to frown on doing it because I don’t want my patients to look on me as a glorified masseuse.”

“You mean because you’re a woman.”

“No, because I worked my ass off to become a therapist. And not a massage therapist.”

“Again . . . touchy.”

“I’m not touchy. And you’re finished here. Let’s move on.”

She put him through a routine of circuit training with various upper body machines, with the objective of strengthening his shoulder.

“You gave me heavier weights when we started,” he said as he dragged the pulley forward.

“I know.”

He frowned as she had him do another set with only twenty pounds of weight. When he bent to adjust the pin to a heavier weight, she stopped him.

“These are too light. I’m not getting any benefit.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Last time I looked, you weren’t in charge. Do another set with this weight.”

He gave her a look through his narrowed gaze that led her to believe they were about to argue the point, but then he straightened and did the set.

“Your form is good, so let’s up the weight.”

“Finally.”

She bit back a retort. He was frustrated, and she knew that. She had a plan. She increased the weight in ten-pound increments after each set until she saw him struggle.

Impressive. And encouraging. His shoulder could bear a lot of weight, at least on the pulley.

“Now, let’s pull from the side. This will be harder.”

“I know.”

Once again, she started with lighter weights and gradually increased. He couldn’t handle as much weight, but she monitored him for signs of pain. When she saw the wince, she ended the session and marked it in her notes.

“I could do more. Now that we’re into it, I can see the benefit. It’s not hurting as much, and my shoulder can handle it.”

“That’s enough for our first go-round.”

“I need to push myself,” he said as he followed her to the next circuit. “You said so yourself.”

She turned to face him. “And if you reinjure the shoulder, you’ll be back pulling ten pounds again, and you’ll miss the season. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“All right, then.” She took him through the rest of the circuit, arguing with him the whole way about how much weight he could handle. She remained firm, refusing to allow him to press or lift any more weight than what was in her therapy plan, much to his irritation.

“We’re done,” she finally said after an hour.

“That’s it?”

“A little while ago you wanted to be done.”

He paused. “Well, that was earlier. I’ve got a second wind, and I can go longer.”

“We’re finished. Now, I’ll stretch you. Go lie down.”

“That’s not enough. We need to do more.”

“It’s enough for now. I’ll give you a good stretch, and you’ll be begging me to leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

“We’ll see.”

Alicia gave him a sly smile.

Garrett dragged his fingers through his hair and laid on his back on the padded table.

Logically, Garrett knew how therapy worked. It was a slow, methodical process, and nothing changed dramatically the first day. But goddamn it, he expected miracles.

He’d need a miracle in order to start pitching again. He was investing a lot in his decision to go with Alicia as his therapist. He hadn’t been blinded by her beauty or great body. He’d depended entirely on gut instinct and the way she’d talked to him.

Now, as she loomed over him, he sucked in a breath and hoped for the best.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She lifted his arm over his head, doing the basic stretches he was used to. Nothing hurt, but it always felt good to get stretched out after a therapy session. He closed his eyes and imagined himself on the mound, throwing a curveball to a batter, followed by the umpire signaling a strike.

Yeah, that’s where he needed to put his focus, and if he had to ride Alicia hard to get her to push him, that’s where he’d—

“Jesus Christ!” His eyes shot open when she bent his arm back, then to the side. Hot, stinging pain made his eyes water. “That fucking hurts.”

“Take deep breaths,” she said, her voice soothing, as she did the same damn thing with his arm.

He wasn’t a wimp, and he had a pretty high pain tolerance, but that shit was painful as hell. “What are you doing?”

“Breaking up scar tissue. Pushing you to your limits. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But I thought—”

“Shhh,” she said, taking his arm back in a pitcher’s rotation position. “Just breathe and try to relax through this.”

“How long are you going to stretch me?”

“About thirty minutes.”

He could be dead in thirty minutes if she kept this up. He gritted his teeth and sucked it up like a man, trying not to moan when she kneeled beside him and, he was certain, pulled his shoulder right out of its socket.

Okay, maybe he exaggerated, but it sure felt like she was twisting his shoulder into unnatural positions. And he didn’t like it.

The room was getting hot, the pain more intense. Having something to bite down on wouldn’t hurt, either, because Alicia was relentless. And she wouldn’t stop. He needed just a one-fucking-minute break, so he could take a goddamn breath, but she went on and on and on until he was panting like he was about to give birth.

“Tell me about the best game you ever pitched,” she asked as she worked on his arm.

Momentarily distracted from the pain, he lifted his gaze to hers. “What?”

“What was your best game?”

He thought about it for a second. “Against Chicago. Tied in the ninth. I had pitched the whole game. Grueling back and forth. Coach wanted to pull me several times, thought I was getting tired, but he relented and let me stay in.” He winced when she drew his arm back for a long stretch.

“Just take deep breaths,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “You’re tied in the ninth. Home game?”

He breathed in and out, and she released the tension on his arm. “Yeah. So I face the first batter, who swung at a curve and hit a grounder to first. Second batter popped up to center. The third one was tougher, throwing off fouls on my fastballs, but I figured I could get him because his timing was off. Either that or he was gonna wallop a big one off me. But I dug in and nailed one right past him. He struck out swinging.”

She stopped and looked down at him. “Hard to have that kind of juice on your ball that late in the game.”

He smiled up at her. “Yeah. Our guys scored a run in the next inning, and we won the game.”

“Good game, then.”

“Yup.”

She held out her hand. “And good session. We’re done here.”

Relieved as hell, he sat up. “Thanks.”

She leaned him against the wall then put an ice pack on his shoulder.

“Ten minutes with the ice pack, then you’re all done.”

She’d distracted him during the toughest part of the stretch by making him talk to her.

He watched her while she typed into her notebook, part of him hating her for the wicked-hard stretch, the other part of him just not able to figure her out yet.

She looked up and met his gaze. “You’re giving me strange looks. Was it too hard for you?”

“It was fine.” His shoulder was still throbbing.

“Your jaw is clenched. You should try to relax.” She took the ice pack away and sat across from him. “It’s only going to get harder from here on out. Think you can handle it?”

For a split second, he pondered going back to the other trainers. He was used to their brand of therapy. This had been . . . different. It had been hard. But there was something about Alicia that clicked for him. And he’d asked for this, so he was going to take it. “You’re sure this is going to work.”

“Positive.”

“Then I can take whatever you dish out.”

“Good. If you’re sore later, I’ll rub you down.”

Later? He was sore now. “I thought you didn’t give massages.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder as she left the room. “I’ll make an exception for you since you look like you’re about to cry. But I warned you that working with me wasn’t going to be a vacation, didn’t I? I’m not going to go easy on you, Garrett. If you don’t want to work with me, say so now, and we’ll make adjustments.”

She waited, the challenge in her eyes really damn clear. He liked that about her, and no way in hell was he going to cave.

“If you can dish it out, I can take it. Let’s do this.”

FOUR

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK AND A HALF. TEN HORRIBLE DAYS
of therapy that Alicia thought might kill her.

Physically, Garrett was doing all right. He was taking a toll on her emotional state, though, because his constant griping was a pain in her butt.

She either worked him too hard or not hard enough. Nothing she did was right. No wonder the team coddled him. They obviously did whatever he asked to shut him the hell up. He might be pretty on the outside, but she had thoughts of running for the duct tape to slap over his mouth whenever he showed up for therapy.

Even worse, everyone else had left at the beginning of the week for spring training in Florida, which left her alone with Garrett. The first few days she’d had the other therapists to talk to when things had gotten rough. And they’d commiserated, because they’d all worked with him.

Now she was alone, though both Phil and Max had told her she could call them if an emergency came up related to Garrett’s condition or if she had a question. Annamarie, one of the other therapists and a good friend, said to call her if she just needed to vent.

She’d likely have to call Annamarie just to whine at her. Probably every day.

Like today, because Garrett was an hour late. She used the time to update her notes and work on her upcoming treatment plan for him, but when another half hour ticked off, she dialed his cell.

He answered with a sleepy, “Yeah.”

“You were supposed to be here over an hour ago.”

“Who is this?”

Alicia sucked in a hard breath. “Your therapist.”

“Oh.” He paused, and she heard a yawn. “Sorry, Alicia. I must have overslept.”

“No kidding. How about you get your ass in here?”

Another yawn. She tapped her foot.

“How about we just skip today? My arm’s kind of sore anyway.”

“I don’t think so. Grab some coffee and get dressed.”

She could have sworn she heard a snore.

“Garrett. Are you there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’ll be there tomorrow. Promise, k?”

Then she heard a click. “Hello? Garrett? Garrett?”

She stared at her phone.

“That son of a bitch.” He’d hung up on her.

Unbelievable. That play might have worked on someone else, especially when the facility had other injured players to focus on. Did he think she was going to enjoy the day off and go shopping or maybe read a book? Hell no.

He’d asked for her, and like it or not, he was going to get her. She pulled up his address from his file, grabbed her coat and car keys, and stormed out the door.

*   *   *

THERE WAS A RELENTLESS POUNDING IN GARRETT’S
head. He’d had a few beers last night, but he didn’t recall any whiskey or tequila, so he shouldn’t have a hangover.

He pulled the pillow over his head, but then he heard the bell ringing. He searched under the pillow on the other side of the bed and grabbed his phone, cracking his eyelids open to peer at the display.

No, wasn’t the phone.

There was that pounding again.

What. The. Fuck?

It took him a few seconds to figure out it was the door. And the doorbell. Simultaneously. He dropped his head to the pillow again. Whoever it was would go away when he didn’t answer.

Except they didn’t. The banging and ringing continued.

Shit. He rolled out of bed and slid into his sweatpants, went to the door, and peered through the peephole.

“Really?” He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Alicia stood there with a sweet smile on her face.

“Morning, sunshine. Ready for therapy?”

“Uh, no. I
was
sleeping.”

She pushed through the door. “Not anymore. So you might as well get dressed.”

He couldn’t believe she’d come to his house. He wanted to shut the door in her face. But since she was here . . .

“I need coffee.” He walked past her, and since he heard her footsteps behind him as he made his way to the kitchen, he assumed she’d come in.

At least she was quiet. While the coffee was brewing, he grabbed two cups, got out the cream and sugar, and turned to face her.

Her gaze drifted down to where his sweats were slung around his hips. He realized then that he was barely dressed, just the sweats that he’d grabbed so he could see who was at the door.

And she had noticed. And he noticed that she was looking.

He cracked a smile at that. Crossed his arms as she made a visual inspection of his abs and chest. When her gaze reached his face, she blushed.

Nice.

But she stayed silent. “Might as well take your coat off.”

“That’s not necessary. I can wait while you get dressed.”

“I need to take a shower.”

He saw her make a quick scan of his exposed skin again. If she didn’t stop that ogling, she was going to give him a hard-on. She looked cute all bundled up in her coat and hat and gloves, her cheeks rosy from blushing.

“Shed the outerwear and have a cup.”

She tugged off her cap and shrugged out of her coat. “Fine.”

He laughed as her hair flew in all directions from static cling, which made her glare at him. “What?”

He walked over to her and smoothed her hair down. “You look like you stuck your finger in a light socket.”

Her eyes widened, and she slapped his hands away, grabbed a ponytail holder from her wrist, and gathered her hair up in it. “And you aren’t making me any happier this morning.”

He walked to the coffeemaker and poured two cups. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to go back to bed. You’re cranky.”

“You’re right. I am cranky because you’re making light of what I consider serious business, which is your recovery and your career.”

“Your cup is on the counter. Cream and sugar are there if you want it.”

He leaned against the counter and took a drink. Then another, waiting for the surge of caffeine to give him the jolt he’d need to deal with Alicia this morning.

Fortunately, she wandered over, picked up the cup, and grabbed some sugar to add to it, then leaned beside him to silently drink.

Silence. He liked that word. He’d gotten through his first cup and was on his second before she spoke again.

“You think this is fun for me?”

He looked down at her, feeling a lot more charitable now that he was fully awake. “Probably not. But you could have just let one day slide.”

She sat her cup on the counter and turned to face him. “One day can make all the difference in your recovery. I’ve studied your chart. It’s not just one day, Garrett. You’ve let a lot of days slide since your injury. And the team let you. That’s not going to happen with me. If I have to camp out on your doorstep and drag your lazy ass out of bed every day, then I will. If I have to move in with you and kick you out of bed to get you to cooperate, then that’s what’s going to happen. But one way or the other, you’re going to get the therapy you need to get your arm in shape come game day.”

Now that he was sufficiently awake, he was geared up for battle. He turned to her. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

“Then stop behaving like a child and act like an adult. One who takes his responsibilities seriously.”

He arched a brow and crossed his arms. “So I sleep in one morning, and I’ve suddenly failed?”

“You cancelled your therapy sessions thirty-four times before I took over.”

He cocked a brow. “You counted?”

“Yes. And while you think missing one session doesn’t make a difference, blowing off thirty-four sessions does. That’s why you’re not improving. That’s why you’re not on the mound throwing pitches yet. Have you even had a ball in your hand since you’ve been injured?”

He changed his mind. He didn’t like Alicia after all, and frankly, he hated her ball-busting attitude.

“Answer me. Have you?”

“No.”

“Then stop blowing me off and start taking this therapy seriously. Maybe then we’ll get somewhere.”

Tired of listening to her, he pushed off the counter. “I’m going to take a shower.”

She trailed after him.

He turned to her in the middle of the hallway. “You going to follow me into the shower?”

That finally got through to her. She stopped. “I’ll wait here.”

He looked her up and down. Just the thought of her stripping down to continue their argument in the shower was enough to make his dick twitch to life. He needed to get away from her before he did something really stupid, like suggest they use their energy on something more productive, like sex.

And then she’d really be pissed off at him.

He pivoted and headed into the bedroom, stripped off his sweats and turned the shower on, blowing out a frustrated breath as he stepped under the steamy water.

He’d always hated being told what to do. Being in this business, it was all about the rules, including where you fit in the rotation.

Hell, at the rate he was going, he’d be lucky to be in the rotation at all. If he didn’t rehab well, he could end up losing his job as a starter, a job he’d worked his ass off to get and to hold on to. Instead, he could wind up as a middle-inning reliever, tossing a few pitches every couple of games when needed. If he pitched at all.

Or he could end up spending this season rehabbing his arm in the minors.

He shoved his face under the spray and thought about what that might be like.

The one thing he knew about the majors was that once you went backward, you very rarely got a shot at coming back up.

He pulled his head away from the water and scrubbed his hand over his face, turned off the shower, and grabbed a towel. After the steam cleared in the bathroom, he took a look in the mirror.

Maybe Alicia was right. God, he hated to admit that, but maybe it was time to take this therapy thing more seriously.

Or at least think about taking it more seriously. He still wasn’t convinced any of this was doing any good. But maybe he should give it more time—give her more time—to make it all work.

He threw on clean clothes, combed his hair, and came out of his room. Alicia was staring out the back door into his backyard.

She turned when she heard him come out.

“Okay, let’s get this therapy thing going.”

She walked over to grab her coat. “About damn time.”

He smiled as he pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. Yeah, he still liked her sass.

He followed her to the treatment facility and got out of his car.

“Wait,” she said as he headed to the door.

“What?”

“You didn’t eat.”

“No. Didn’t have time.”

“You need to fuel up first.”

He leaned against his car. “What? And ruin your carefully crafted time line?”

“Funny. Come on.”

They walked across the street to Denny’s. Alicia ordered a cup of coffee and some juice while Garrett ordered the full breakfast.

“Nothing to eat for you?” he asked.

“I already ate breakfast. I was on time and waiting for you at the facility two hours ago.”

“Okay, I get it. I was an asshole,” he said as he downed a glass of juice.

She didn’t answer, so obviously, she agreed with him. Then she went quiet. She’d brought her notebook, so he contented himself with playing a game on his phone.

“You get that this is all for your benefit, right?”

He waited to answer her while the waitress delivered his food. “Part of me does. The other part of me just wanted to sleep in this morning.”

“That other part of you needed a wake-up call.”

He dug into his eggs. “Yeah, well, that part of me doesn’t like you very much.” He swallowed. “Sorry.”

“I don’t need you to like me, Garrett. I just need you to follow the plan.”

“And just what is the plan for today? More of the same?”

She smiled. “No. I have something fun in mind for today’s therapy.”

Fun, huh? Nothing about therapy was fun.

After he finished eating, they headed back to the facility. Alicia stopped at her car. “Get in.”

“We’re not going to train in there?”

“Not today.”

He climbed into her car and put on his seat belt. “So, where are we going?”

She pulled out of the parking lot, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “Not far.”

He had a chance to watch her as she drove. Carefully. With both hands on the wheel, and never once taking her attention off the road.

He also noticed she didn’t have her uniform on today, something he hadn’t paid much attention to when she’d shown up at his house.

“No team uniform today?”

“Nope.” She pulled off the highway and pulled into what at first looked like a gym.

Then he realized it wasn’t a gym at all.

“Seriously?” he asked as she parked. “A rock climbing facility?”

She finally turned to him. “It’ll be great therapy. Plus, tons of fun.”

Nothing that had “therapy” in it was ever fun. But he got out and slid into step next to her.

“Ever rock climbed before?” she asked as they headed inside.

He didn’t know what he expected, but tons of walls with different-sized colorful rocks wasn’t it. “Uh, no. You?”

She grabbed a clipboard from the front desk. “As a matter of fact, I have. It’s a tremendous form of exercise for your entire body, especially for your shoulders.”

“Hey, Alicia.”

Garrett looked over as a muscular guy came to the desk. Alicia smiled at him.

“Hi, Dave.”

“I have everything set up for you and Garrett. Hi, I’m Dave.”

“Nice to meet you, Dave.” Garrett shook his hand.

“I’m a big fan of the Rivers. I understand you’re doing some shoulder therapy. I hope it gets you back on the mound soon.”

“Me, too.”

He was handed a clipboard and a form that basically said if he fell to his death, it wasn’t their fault, along with some other information about safety. He filled it out and signed it.

“Right this way,” Dave said.

Garrett walked behind as Alicia and Dave stayed close together talking. Or rather—Dave talked. Alicia tilted her head back and laughed. And Garrett felt like a third wheel, though he had no idea why. It wasn’t like Dave and Alicia were on some kind of date.

As far as he knew, anyway. He didn’t know anything about her personal life. Dave could be her boyfriend, and he was helping her with Garrett’s therapy.