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“I should try it sometime.”

“You should.”

She pressed down harder. Not rough, but not gentle either.

I’d bring her something tomorrow. A yogurt, maybe. Or a donut from the bakery down the street.

She finished the session twenty minutes later, stepping back and pulling off her gloves.

“Ice when you leave,” she said. “And do the stretches. All of them.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Brashe. Don’t skip the hip flexor work. It’s the most important one.”

“I won’t.”

She made a note on her tablet, not looking at me. “Four this afternoon?”

“Yes.” I slid off the table, testing my weight. The muscle ached, but it felt better. Looser. “Thanks.”

She nodded, not looking up.

I left before I could say something else I’d regret and walked to the gym, finding it empty.

I went through my warm-up routine, my brain stuck in the treatment room. I couldn’t stop thinking about her hands on my thigh. She’d blushed when I asked about breakfast. Her soft voice.

This was bad.

I was noticing her pen colors. Next I’d be tracking what she ate for lunch and how she tied her shoes. Obsession like this would end with me sitting outside her home like a creep.

But I couldn’t stop.

I loaded weight onto the bar and got into position for squats. The first rep was fine. The second made my hip pull. By the third, I was gritting my teeth.

I racked the bar and sat on the bench, breathing hard.

This wasn’t working.

I couldn’t focus on my workout because all I could think about was her. She’d gone soft when I complimented her, but she’d pulled back as if she’d caught herself doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

I wanted to know what she was thinking. If she thought about me the way I did about her. If she hated me for what I’d said at the picnic.

I checked my phone. Eleven forty-five.

Time for lunch.

The break room smelled like garlic and marinara. The chef had made Italian, and the scent filled the space, making my stomach growl.

I grabbed a plate and loaded it, then sat with Tolrek and Fedor. Tolrek was scrolling through his phone, his face unreadable. Fedor was halfway through his meal, sauce on his chin.

“How’s the hip?” Fedor asked around a mouthful of bread.

“Getting there.”

“Doc’s good, right?”

“She is.”