Page 106 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“Fuck holding back. How can anyone expect you to hold back when you’re with me? I mean, come on. Look at me.” He says it as arrogantly as he does teasingly.

I’m thankful for the levity and the kiss that follows.

“Seriously, babe. This will blow over.”

“I know. The embarrassment is already starting to fade. But now you have to go home with me for the Valentine’s Day Festival to prove I’m not your flavor of the month.”

“Is that your way of asking me to be your Valentine? Because I’m used to a little more romance. Some chocolate-covered strawberries, maybe some flowers.”

God, I love him.

“You should just be honored that I asked. I haven’t had a Valentine since Ravi and I went out.”

“Ah, competition.”

“Hardly,” I say with a laugh.

“We’re going to have such a great time at that festival, when we go next year, you won’t remember any Valentine who came before me.” He leans and kisses me.

“I’m holding you to that.” I take a sip of wine and put the glass back on the deck. “With all the craziness, I forgot to tell you that I think I came up with something that might help you with your throwing.”

He arches a brow. “Great sex helps.”

“Noted, but this might help even more. You know how you said you can feel when you release the ball and it’s a little off?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was thinking. Your injury has been going on for a while, and you’re trying to throw the same way you did for years before the injury. Since the pain is ongoing, your body naturally adjusts to throw differently in order to avoid the pain. That’s why you notice a difference. You might be able to adjust enough now to fool everyone else, but you aren’t fooling yourself. That mental pressure makes it even harder to perform at the level you need to, right?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

“I think the key is working with your injury instead of against it.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Every time you tweak your shoulder and feel pain, it affects the way you throw, and that affects your mental state, which also affects your ability to focus on throwing. If we can find a new release point, or get to the old one from a slightly different angle, as you said, even a fraction of a difference, it might take that pressure off, which could result in better releases, less stress, and the confidence and focus you need to succeed.”

“That would be amazing, but how? Are you talking about therapy?”

“No, but with all the pressure you’re under that could help, too. I did some research and worked on an idea for a sensory glove that could be the answer.” I explain the design and how it would work. “The hope is that we can take the data and your feedback and figure out your new release point. Then we come up with a signal. You mentioned a buzzer, but that might be too much, so a vibration, or something that’ll cue you to release at that point every time you throw. If it works, then it would just be a matter of practicing enough that you can hit it consistently without further injuring your shoulder.”

His brow furrows. “You just came up with this out of the blue?”

“Not out of the blue. You said you were having trouble, and I thought it might help. I’m not even sure whether you’ll need it to go farther down your arm than your wrist. It might just be a positional thing that doesn’t require us to analyze your shoulder and arm positioning. I researched throwing, but that’s the kind of decision I can’t make without your input.”

He studies me with an almost incredulous expression.

“If you aren’t interested, or if you think it won’t work, then I don’t want to waste your time.” He doesn’t say anything for so long, I fear I’ve missed something and the idea is foolish. “Am I way off base?”

“No. You’re brilliant. I’m just blown away that you’d take time away from your busy schedule to think about helping me and come up with something like that so fast.”

“It’s your career, and it’s obviously causing you angst. Of course I’ll help you. Does that mean you think it might work?”

“Not only do I think it might work.” He moves in front of me, guiding my legs around his waist. “But you just did the impossible.”

I put my arms around his neck. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yes, you did. I didn’t think it was possible for you to get any sexier.” He brushes his lips over mine. “But I was wrong.” He nips at my lower lip, sending shivers of heat down my core. “That incredible brain of yours just turned up the heat.”