Feels So Right. Isabel Sharpe
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…?”
“What brought up all this talk about the Culture of Macho and marriage?” He put a long finger to his cheek and tipped his head. “Could it have anything to do with yesterday’s visit by Colin ‘Ironman’ Russo?”
“Of course it does. Well, no, not the marriage part.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “But the guy can barely move. I worked really deeply on him and he does this whole stoic statue thing. It just seems stupid he couldn’t yell, ‘Ow, that effing hurts!’”
Wesley looked at her skeptically. “Would you do that in a professional office?”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “That’s partly my point, too. It’s ridiculous for anyone to hide normal feelings of pain.”
“Your studio would get kind of noisy.”
“At times.” She twisted her mouth, pushing her unused knife back and forth on the tablecloth. “Truth is, I’m not sure what to do about him.”
“Jump him?”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “He’s not only hurting in his body.”
“I’m not surprised.” Wesley drained his beer, his handsome face shadowed. “Tough journey out of that pain.”
“He wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as you were, but like you his athletic career meant everything to him.”
“He just thinks it does.”
“Yes, he just thinks it does. That’s my point. You found coaching. I’m not sure what he’ll do.” She swirled more pasta onto her fork, mouth craving another shot of pain. “I wonder if he should meet you and hear about—”
“Ha!” Wesley was already shaking his head. “Hear about my sad story? So you can say hey, guess what? Instead of being a world champion triathlete, you could be a suburban high-school track coach. He’s not ready for that.”
“He might be.”
Wesley gave her a look.
“At some point he might be,” Demi said.
“Then at some point I’d be happy to.”
“He’ll get there. I just need to make sure I don’t push him too hard.” She laughed. “I mean emotionally. I don’t think I can push him too hard physically. He’d work until both legs dropped off and barely notice.”
“Exercise addicts are like that.”
“Exactly.” Demi stood and carried their plates to her sink, surprised at how rattled she felt by this discussion. “Want some ice cream?”
“Is there any answer possible besides yes?”
“Nope.” She opened the freezer. “Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond?”
Wesley groaned. “Do you know what it’s like having to cut back from a three-thousand-calorie diet?”
“Nope.” She pried the top off the carton. “One scoop or two?”
“Two.” He sighed resignedly and patted his flat stomach. “Already gained ten pounds, what’s a couple more?”
“Yeah, but you were down way low from running, Wesley. You look great.” She tried not to compare his lean, slender frame to the broad torso and hard muscles of her triathlete obsession. She should picture Colin hugely obese.
That didn’t work, either.
“What does this god among men do besides work out?”
Demi served him a glare along with his ice cream and a spoon. “He used to play sax and he made knives from scratch before he became a triathlon junkie. Maybe he can go back to that.”
Wesley’s silence made her look up from scooping her own ice cream. He was staring at her, shaking his head. “Strange.”
“What is?”
“I don’t ever remember you talking about a client so much.”
Blush. Inevitable. Unwelcome. Grrr. “He’s an interesting case.”
“Uh … ruptured disc? Dime a dozen.”
“No, but I mean …” What did she mean? She sat down and lost herself in her first bite of Häagen-Dazs heaven instead of trying to figure it out.
“What else could be unusual?” He pretended to count on his fingers. “Had to give up an athletic career, I think you’ve seen that before. Trouble adjusting to new reality of his body, ditto …”
“Yes. I know, but—”
“Me?” He put his counting fingers away and dived into his dessert again. “I think you’re hot for this guy.”
“No. No way. No. That is ridiculous. Completely—” She broke off, wrinkling her nose. “I’m objecting too much, aren’t I.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Okay, okay.” She licked her spoon and heaped up another bite, making sure it had plenty of chocolate-covered almonds in it. “He’s hot. So what?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Do? I’m going to help his pain, teach him how to manage the injury, try to show him that his life isn’t over and wish him well. What did you think?”
“I don’t know, ask him out?”
“A client? Don’t think so.”
“We went out.”
“You asked me. After we finished working together.”
“Make his treatment short, then ask him out. Or I know.” He brightened. “Send him to a friend. What about whatsername, Julie, who you used to—”
“He came to me, I’m his physical therapist and I will treat him.”
“Ooh.” Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Mighty possessive, aren’t we.”
“Professional. Why are you so anxious to foist me off on this poor man?”
He reached across the table and ruffled her hair, chuckling. “Because I know you well enough to know that the more you like a guy—if the way you acted with me was any indication—the colder and more professional you become. So he probably has no idea that you’re leaving drool spots on his blanket.”
“Am not.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Okay, that one was a mistake.”
Wesley cracked up. “Okay, okay. But I’m right. So think about it.”
“Yes, master.” He was right about the way she acted around guys she was attracted to. In high school, for four long years she’d been passionately in puppy love with Brad Johnston. Time after time she’d been in situations where she could have gotten to know him. School paper. School plays. Social-activity committee meetings. But the more she adored him, the less she spoke to him. So guess what, they never went out. Someday she was going to run across him, grab him and plant on him that kiss she’d fantasized about every night. The guy would have no idea what had happened. He probably didn’t even remember her.
However, in this case, her shyness was a good thing. If Colin caught wind of her attraction he could cause unpleasantness that would damage her professional reputation.
“In any case, I’m mostly interested in helping him.”
“I know. That’s what I love about you.” Wesley let his spoon fall back into his bowl and heaved himself out of the chair, something he couldn’t have done that well even six months earlier. “I should go. This was fabulous, thanks. Need help with the dishes?”
“Nah. They all go in the dishwasher.”
She