Page 46 of Body Check

“You’re the one who doesn’t close the blinds,” she says, her eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t⁠—”

“That first night, you knew I was there. Did you know who I was?”

She shakes her head. “I never saw anyone over there. Robby said you just moved in?”

I nod. “The day before.”

She shivers, and I tug her into the circle of my arms, sharing my body heat. I’m on fire, and it’s all because of her.

“Is it really that bad of an idea?” I ask.

“I like my job. I want to keep it.” When I open my mouth, she adds in, “I won’t jeopardize my future for a fling. And that’s all it would be.”

“Why? Is it really that difficult to want to be with me?”

I can’t help the bitterness coloring my tone. Harper thought I was too much of a hassle to deal with. Inconvenient.

But Amelia and I work together. She knows the score. She sees the insanity of my schedule firsthand.

“You just got divorced,” she points out. “You can’t seriously want to start something again.”

Forcing a shrug, I say, “With you, I do.”

Because it may have started out as only physical, but the truth is, I like Amelia. I want to spend time with her, even with our clothes on, have drinks with Andrews and the group, and share brunch with her brothers, and any other cutesy date-night thing couples do.

Was I expecting this to happen? No. The sight of her talking with that douchebag made me see red. It took everything in me not to kick his ass for looking at her like a piece of meat.

Am I ready for something serious? Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t know unless I try.

Even when she’s torturing me in PT, I enjoy my time with her… so much that I haven’t gone into the medical suite without getting hard. I’ve relied on Zac and Graham to work on all my aches and pains. They don’t boil my blood the way she does.

A sleek black car pulls up to the curb. “Jason?” the driver asks.

I nod, reaching for the door.

Amelia’s hand lands on my arm. “Don’t make this weird,” she says quietly.

Searching her eyes, I find my nerves mirrored in them.

“I won’t, if you won’t,” I tell her.

She nods, ducking into the car and scooting to the far side. I slide in beside her, the gap of the empty middle seat a six-inch barrier that feels enormous.

We’re both silent on the ten-minute ride back to our neighborhood. The driver has the local sports radio talk-show on in the background, running commentary on tonight’s basketball game. The team loses more than they win; as a fellow Boston sports player, I understand how hard it is, but as a Boston sports fan, their downward spiral this season is hard to watch.

Before long, the car pulls up to our block, and after I get out, I hold the door open for Amelia.

“Is this where we say goodnight?” I ask. “I’m fine if⁠—”

“Shut up,” she snaps, brushing her hair into a ponytail, which she secures with the scrunchie around her wrist. “Take me upstairs, fuck me stupid, and let’s never talk about it again.”

My mouth snaps shut. “Okay.”

A satisfied smirk settles on her face. I’d like to satisfy her in a thousand other ways.

Tim, the doorman, opens the door as we approach.

“Good evening, Mr. McKittrick,” he says, with a nod. “Miss.”