Physical Therapy

by Aysel Quinn

  Well, okay. Not stupid.

  “No, actually I hate Proust. Living in the past is boring, and I don’t like being bored.” We smiled at one another, which had become my new hobby. “So if not Proust, then who’s your favorite?”

  “It changes weekly, but probably Hemingway. I know, it’s such a guy choice, but he just told it like it was. Didn’t suffer fools, and I think he captured the idea of courage within and not hiding under anything false. Okay, except for The Old Man and the Sea. That was rubbish. You?”

  Now why didn’t I expect retribution? “Well, this is such a girl choice, but Charlotte Brontë. No good reason except she put in words what women really want.”

  “And what do they want? Poet shirts and really tight pants?”

  “Yes, actually, but that’s not primary. Women want men to be dashing and unattainable until they fall madly, irrationally in love with them, but in a way that’s really painful so they have to decide if giving up their bachelor lifestyle is worth it.”

  “That’s cruel,” he commented as he laughed.

  “Yep.”

  “So what profession do you call your own?”

  “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

  His mouth hung open. “Seriously?”

  “Um, yeah. Why ?”

  His eyes grew wider before he exhaled sharply. “Nothing, sorry. I like to guess what my clients do before they tell me, and I had you pegged as a grad student…or a school teacher.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, when I went to get your file, you were flipping through magazines in the waiting room and you had this look of disgust on your face because there’s nothing out there but junk. Most people settle for an inane rag, but you didn’t. I thought something studious might fit.” He took a deep breath. “And then in here, your laugh is just really joyful. Carefree, like a child would laugh, so I thought you might work near kids. Sorry, that’s really lame.”

  Was he even real? Not likely. I had raised myself up on my elbows, the heat wrap precarious on my back and the gown slipping dangerously low on my chest. I still did not care one bit. “Actually, that’s really sweet.”

  He shuffled his feet. “I guess I’ve become a sort of amateur psychologist to keep myself entertained. Why did you become a teacher?”

  “My mom taught elementary school, so I sort of fell into it by default. I really love it, though. Kids aren’t jaded by the world yet; they keep me honest.” I laughed at my ridiculous self-analysis.

  “I think that’s great, Tasha.”

  Dear Ethan, please stop saying my name or I’ll jump you.

  I leaned forward a little, and the pack slid onto the floor, jarring the sudden stillness.

  “Okay then, we shouldn’t leave the heat on too long anyway.” He began to clean up the items he had used, carefully not looking at me and my abundance of exposed flesh.

  “I’ll just step out for a moment so you can dress.” He turned to leave, still avoiding my gaze.

  I could hear the smile in his voice. I very, very hastily put my clothes back on. When he returned after the socially-acceptable light-knock-yes-come-in exchange, he carried a set of dumbbells. Crap.

  “Now, now, don’t look so disgruntled!” he chided in smirky way. “You know you have to exercise to get better.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Glad you’re so cooperative.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just tell me what to do. I’ll be a good girl, but I won’t like it.”

  I couldn’t read his expression, but he quickly began to explain my new routine. “Just a few gentle stretches to begin with, and then five reps of each exercise. Don’t do more even if you’re feeling good. Many patients get worse because they go overboard.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. There’s zero chance of me exercising more than I actually have to.”

  “Not the active sort, eh?”

  “Physically, no. Mentally…that’s another story.”

  “Well, now, that’s something I can be on board with.” His smile was wide. “But for now, I have to pull the fitness card.”

  He moved to stand behind me and stretched my bad arm, taking a long time so my muscles could acclimate. “Okay, so hold the dumbbell like this, and slowly lower it to your side, then up. That’s one rep.”

  I really hoped I could remember what I was supposed to do, because all I could concentrate on was the feel of his skin as he guided my arm into the right motions. He showed me the other exercises I was supposed to do, and then his skin was gone and I pouted.

  “Does it hurt worse right now?” he asked with what seemed like very genuine concern.

  Shoot. He saw the pout. “Um, no, not really. I’m just not looking forward to figuring this out without guidance.”

  “Oh, you have guidance. We’re in this together, and you can call me here whenever you need to.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Yeah, really. I want you to get better. Can’t have you chasing after those little kids with such a disadvantage!”

  I watched the muscles of his back scrunch under his polo as he led me from the appointment room. “Come on, let’s get your appointments set up.”

  We headed to the front desk where Sabrina was, thankfully, absent. Ethan circled the counter to face me and put together a packet of the exercises he’d shown me.

  “Instructions are on the front, but these are just reminders. I’ll keep updating what you should do at every appointment.” He handed me the dull-looking sheaf with a grin. “Also, your injury is fairly severe and recovery will be slow so you don’t strain your muscles. I think you should come three times a week for a while. I can monitor things better that way, and I’ll check in with the doc to renew your prescription.”

  More therapy? Thank you, God.

  “Sure, yeah, that’s fine.” I stumbled over my words, trying not to sound too eager.

  “What time is best for you?”

  “Probably Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays. Don’t you have a schedule though?”

  “Nothing problematic,” he assured, leaning over to the lady at the desk. “Flora, put me down for Ms. Dupont…”

  “I heard.” She winked at him. “You have Mr. Newtown on Wednesdays, though.”

  “I’ll just get Casey to cover for me then. Newt’s almost done.”

  I could feel myself blanching. I didn’t want anyone else touching me!

  He looked up quickly and fixed his gaze on my pallor.

  “For Newt, not you,” he whispered, leaning across the counter. “Sorry, but you’re mine now.”

  He unleashed that crooked, sexy grin, which I felt myself matching. Flora handed him the file for his next appointment, but he seemed reluctant to leave. At least, I let myself see it that way.

  “Bye, Tasha. See you on Wednesday.” The grin lingered as he finally sauntered away. Therapy was suddenly something to look forward to and definitely an occasion that called for fancy underwear.

  ****

  “Hell!” I screamed. “Hell, hell, hell, hell, hell.”

  I was doing Pilates, on a Saturday a few weeks later. According to Ethan’s instructions, I needed to start doing gentle exercises to build up my strength so I would supposedly not be as injury-prone in the future. I used that as an excuse when Nell asked me what I was doing, suddenly reversing my own personality and working out every day that week. So what if I’d been determined to lead a life of laziness and sedentary flap-expectation? I would never have a Brazilian boom-boom.

  But I had to admit that my contentment with being toneless had vanished when I set eyes on Ethan. I didn’t want him to think me flabby, or that I didn’t take care of myself. Of course, I’d never paid particular attention to exercise since I was naturally unflabby, but the little things bothered me now that Ethan’s hands freely roamed my flesh three times a week. A lot more than when Sean had criticized me at the beach or when he flaunted Miss Brazilia at the wedding of a mutual friend.

  Damn, Pilates was painful! This ended, now
. I resolved that I would become toned out of my mind so I would never have to subject myself to these beginning stages again.

  On Wednesday, Ethan had hardly spoken to me. He stuck to small talk and maintained a stiff posture. It made me a little sad, but on Friday he was back to Monday-Ethan, laughing and talking with me. I think he even flirted. Maybe.

  And now I had to wait two more days before I saw him again. I couldn’t sit still that long.

  “Nell!” I shouted.

  Light but manic steps, so familiar to me, carried Nell into the living room where I was folded into a weird flappy position that hurt my boobs.

  “I’ll be ready as soon as I dry my hair,” she declared.

  “Huh?”

  “You want to go shopping right? You can’t work out in that stuff.”

  Of course Nell knew what I needed. She always did.

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s not so easy in sweats,” I shrugged.

  “Sure. You can’t fool me; I know it’s that therapist you have a thing for.” She crossed her arms and waited for me to spill.

  I didn’t attempt a denial, resigned to interrogation. “How did you know?”

  “You weren’t crotchety after Monday’s appointment, you spent three hours getting ready on Wednesday, you blushed like a virgin all day yesterday, and your meds destroy your filter so you’ve talked about him all week without knowing it.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No biggie,” she shrugged. “I Googled him. He’s gorg!”

  “Okay, seriously, how did you know his name? You’re so bizarre.”

  “It’s on the paperwork that you never read.” She looked appropriately smug.

  I humphed.

  The quick jaunt to the outlet mall I had originally envisioned turned into a two-day spree of store hopping. I hated every moment, but at least it passed the time.

  On Monday, I sat in my “usual” chair in the waiting room, thumbing through another ancient and idiotic magazine. It was ten minutes past my appointment time, but Ethan hadn’t come to get me yet. I was growing very impatient.

  As I scanned my surroundings for the umpteenth time, I heard voices from the back. Some sort of altercation was occurring, and one of the voices was clearly Ethan’s. I would recognize it anywhere.

  The swing-door that separated the clinic’s areas flew open violently, and Ethan practically dashed out. A greasy-looking old guy with a waxed moustache was hot on his heels, one hand extended in the direction of Ethan’s posterior. Seriously.

  “The appointment is over, Mr. Paloma, please,” Ethan said as he ducked behind a row of chairs.

  “Don’t give me no lip, sonny boy. I caught you staring! You want a sugar daddy?”

  The look on Ethan’s face was priceless, eyes bugged out and lips pressed together like they were trying to keep poison out. Once the shock passed, he tried a different approach. “Paloma, look, I’m straight as a ruler. I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on that... generous offer.”

  I snorted, and I think he heard me because his shoulders shrugged in their now-familiar way.

  “Ain’t no straight boy pretty as you, sonny.”

  Well now, I objected to that. My gaydar was infallible, and Ethan didn’t give off a flicker. Although he was very, very pretty. I couldn’t blame the old lech for his mistake.

  Paloma made a grab for Ethan again, who suddenly turned around and headed straight for me. He looked panicked. I laughed in his face.

  “Having some trouble, sonny boy?” I scoffed.

  “Smart ass.” He smiled at me, but kept looking over his shoulder as Paloma strutted closer. The guy was actually really creepy, I had to admit.

  I wondered why none of the other staff were helping Ethan, but they were all laughing from the safety of the reception desk. Sabrina was there, too, and, judging by the smug look on her face, she had set Ethan up with Paloma in the first place.

  Frigid ginger witch.

  I had an unconquerable urge to wipe that look right off her ugly mug. I turned to face Ethan and drew closer to him.

  “Need some help?”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. I could see Paloma approach; he only had one more chair row to cross. I almost broke my concentration when I realized that Ethan had run full tilt away from a guy who moved at a snail’s pace.

  The creepy claw-hand began to extend again. I slung my good arm around Ethan’s neck and attempted some semblance of a hug, spinning us both around in the process just before Paloma made contact with my butt.

  I let go of Ethan, reluctantly, and fixed a stunned look on my face. I turned to look straight into Paloma’s eyes.

  “What the hell?” I shrieked.

  Paloma stiffened and locked his arms behind his back, shocked. Everyone looked shocked, especially Sabrina.

  “You got in my way!” he accused after he seemed to get over being foiled.

  Wow. This guy was something else.

  “Of what? You groping my boyfriend?” I sneered at him, but hoped that I wasn’t overdoing it. I hadn’t really meant that last part to come out.

  “Your boyfriend, huh? You covering fer him?”

  Before I could think of an appropriate comeback, Ethan’s hand snaked around my waist and pulled me back against his body. Thinking wasn’t really an option anymore.

  “Look, pal, your appointments here aren’t going to work out, so I’ll give you a referral to another office. And please stop harassing my girlfriend.” Ethan’s tone was serious, and he didn’t stumble at all over the label he gave me. It did funny things to my chest area.

  Paloma squinted at Ethan’s face above me. “Hmm,” he said. “Guess you ain’t kiddin’.’”

  “Nope,” Ethan said.

  Paloma huffed and turned to leave, albeit grudgingly. I was about to enter that stage of Ethan’s hand is still on my waist, so how the hell do I react to that, when he grabbed my hand and hauled me off into the back. I managed to wink at Sabrina in passing.

  We entered our usual therapy room, and Ethan closed the door before he burst into raucous laughter. I couldn’t help but join him, and we blew a good five minutes on tear-inducing fun. The back of my mind focused on the hand that remained so nicely wrapped in his.

  When we calmed down a little, Ethan stared at our joined hands for several seconds and then let me go like a hot potato. I was disappointed until he spoke again.

  “Tasha, you are fantastic.” He was still kind of laughing, but kind of not.

  “Yeah, I know.” I grinned.

  “Thank you so much. That guy was a complete ass-hat.”

  “No problem. Glad to be of help in driving away the freaky old perv.”

  “Now that the humor has died down, it’s kind of mortifying actually.” He blushed. Man, it was cute.

  “Does this happen to you a lot?” I couldn’t help but wonder. After all, I could barely keep from stalking him myself.

  He raked his hands through his messy hair. “Umm…not like that. That was the worst ever.”

  “Well, good. No repeat performances then.”

  “Yeah. We’d better get started or I’m not going to be of any help to you at all today.”

  “Laughter is the best medicine.”

  “True.” He turned to fetch the massage supplies, and I slipped the requisite gown over my head. Since we had limited time together, I wasn’t going to waste any of it by sending him out of the room just so I could change. I’d gotten this down to a routine, and I was wearing my new super-cute yoga clothes, making it easy to slip off my hoodie and tank under the gown.

  When Ethan turned around again, I was all ready and he rewarded me with a pretty awesome, eyebrow-raising, mouth-gaping stare.

  “Did…did you just…” he stuttered adorably.

  “Yeah. I just changed right in front of your face in like, three seconds.”

  His grin split his face in two. “Did I mention how fantastic you are?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure I’m convinced yet
.”

  “I guess I’ll have to find a way to make it clearer.” How did I always end up turning into some cheesy, flirty weirdo with valley-girl speak when I was around him?

  He winked at me. “Okay, DuPont, torture time.” He held up the massage oil. ’Cause having Ethan’s hands all over me is so painful. Sure.

  ****

  A month passed, four weeks of blatant flirting, deep conversations, and neither of us making a move. Oh yeah, and some therapy.

  “So, Tasha. Can you bring a swimsuit next week? I think you’re ready for water therapy.” He shuffled his feet and rubbed his palms together, but it was nothing compared to the raging anxiety that suddenly took over my body.

  “Umm…what?”

  “A swimsuit? A one-piece is best since you’ll have to move around a lot.”

  “Oh, sure. Yeah, okay. Wednesday.” I mumbled the whole lot of it.

  “Tasha, you okay? Do you dislike water?” Ethan’s brows drew together and the corners of his lips turned down.

  I looked into his sincere gaze and realized I could either let self-consciousness take over and prevent me from possibly seeing Ethan dripping wet and shirtless, or I could suck it up and be okay with being mostly naked in front of him.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just scared of slipping on the bottom. I do that every time, and I don’t want to hurt myself again.” All that was true anyway.

  “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll catch you.” He smiled his crooked grin.

  Hmm. Maybe I would have to slip on purpose.

  As I drove home, I thought about the hours I’d spent with Ethan and was startled to realize I was halfway done with the regimen. Ethan had once said in the beginning that it could be more or less depending on my progress. I knew my insurance was really good and that not everyone got such a great PT package, but still…I should be grateful that I go to see him as often as I did, not resentful that our time was halfway over.