Clarity Page 5

  With a smirk he starts up the car, asking me for my address to enter it into his GPS. Within minutes we’re driving out of the building towards my apartment.

  “I take it by the way you acted back at the club, it wasn’t your idea to go?” His question brings me back to the reality of the night.

  “No, I don’t usually go out.”

  “Why not?”

  It’s a simple question, but the tone he used gives me the impression that he’s teasing me for something I should normally do. “Like I said, it’s not my kind of thing.”

  “So, you have a boyfriend?”

  “I appreciate the ride, but had I known this was going to be the perfect opportunity to question me about my personal life, I would have taken the taxi instead.”

  “Are you always this uptight?” I’m not surprised by his remark. It’s actually a common assertion I get from people.

  “Yes,” I unwillingly admit. “No to your earlier question, I don’t have a boyfriend. Most think I’m too uptight,” I mock, repeating his comment. I expect another comeback from my response, but instead I’m surprised when he laughs.

  “Little Ms. Firecracker,” he mumbles.

  Shifting my gaze in his direction, I find him completely focused on the road ahead of him, a smirk remaining on his lips as my eyes linger on his face a little longer than needed. When I catch his eyes glancing at me, his lips widen and I turn my head to look out of the passenger side window, now blushing from head to toe.

  The remaining twenty-minute drive to my apartment is made in an awkward silence, except for the occasional command from the navigation system. When he puts the car into park I automatically reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it,” I politely tell him, already opening the door to step out of the car.

  Nick climbs out from his side of the car then rushes over to my side. “I’ll walk you up,” he strains out.

  His face looks pinched, as if in pain. Looking down at his ankle, I find him slowly rotating it.

  I gasp. “What happened?”

  Grimacing, he replies, “I stepped on it wrong as I rushed out of the car.”

  “Don’t move it like that! You’re going to stress it more!” I shout, dropping down on one knee and grabbing for his ankle to lift it in my hands. I place it on my bended knee. “Taylor, get up off the ground,” Nick commands before he tries lifting me up by my arm.

  I ignore him and begin to massage the muscles in his ankle. Within seconds I no longer feel Nick protesting to pull his ankle away. When I feel completely satisfied he should be feeling better, I place his foot back on the ground and this time allow Nick to help me up.

  “You didn’t have to do that. You’ve probably gotten all dirty.”

  Looking up at him with confusion, I remember what I’m wearing. It hadn’t occurred to me. My actions were second nature and something I would have normally done at work.

  “Can you walk on it?” I worriedly ask, giving him a minute to test the pressure while bearing weight on it. He nods, but from the look on his face I know he isn’t telling me the truth. Rolling my eyes, I lead him to my apartment, mentally praying I won’t regret bringing him in.

  When we reach my door I open it, allowing him inside and ordering him to take a seat on the couch while I head to the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer. Returning to him, I grab a throw pillow and place it under his ankle on the coffee table. Nick winces as I place the ice pack on his jean-covered ankle, making me smirk at his reaction.

  Men can be such babies sometimes.

  Satisfied for the moment, I leave him and go to the bathroom to retrieve two ibuprofens from the medicine cabinet and return to him with a glass of water.

  “Here, take these. They’re anti-inflammatories. And leave the ice on for at least twenty minutes,” I order, handing him both the water and the pills. He looks back at me with skepticism, but I shove the pills into his hand and sternly order him to take the pills with a glare. I watch him swallow the pills, feeling satisfied.

  Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, I make sure to keep a generous gap between us. The pain from wearing the heels tonight finally catches up to me so I remove my shoes. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and let out a satisfied moan while massaging the ball of my foot. I hadn’t noticed how badly my feet were hurting until now.

  “You know, you look really sexy right now,” Nick huskily says. My eyes shoot open from his comment and I stare back at him as he watches me. His words make me stand up from the couch, needing to put much more distance between us.

  My heart is racing and I’m beginning to grow worried knowing I’m alone with Nick. I don’t like it. Heading over to the wall, I stand against it with my arms crossed defensively over my chest, hoping my reaction will not cause alarm. The last thing I want Nick realizing is how terrified I feel being alone with him.

  When I look at him, his disappointed face is studying me. “Did I say something wrong, Taylor? I was just trying to compliment you.”

  Shaking my head at him, I try to explain. “I don’t need your compliments, Nick. I’m not interested, so don’t bother wasting your breath or time on me,” I reply with despair clear in my voice, already turning my head to look out the window to avoid his scrutinizing eyes. A silence overtakes the room before I hear him sigh. He stands up and heads in my direction. Seeing his determination only makes me panic. It’s more from being alone in a room with him and not knowing what his intentions are than anything else.

  I automatically start to retreat into the kitchen, hoping to keep the distance between us. With the counter separating us, he seems perplexed by my reaction. His lips turn down into a frown as his brow furrows.

  “I think I should just head out. Thanks for the pain killers,” he voices, leaving the bag of ice on the counter. My eyes follow him to the front door. “I’ll see you later,” he says without a backwards glance as he leaves the apartment.

  The pain swells in my chest from the hurt of watching him walk away, like a knife stabbing at my heart, knowing it’s entirely my fault. My lack of trust caused me to react the way I did and I hate that I keep letting it do this to me.

  I’m left standing alone in my kitchen, hating how no matter how badly I want to trust again, I won’t allow myself to do so. If I don’t change, I never will be able to.

  I end up going to bed, depressed and disappointed with myself about what happened, eventually crying myself to sleep. I wake up late the next morning as I usually do on the weekends, but instead of getting up like a normal person, I lie in bed staring up at the ceiling. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about what happened. Telling Nick I wasn’t interested was an automatic reaction. It’s what I tell every guy that attempts any type of relationship with me. But this time, it actually hurt when I saw the rejection on his face. I had stood there in the kitchen for a while, wishing I’d gone after him, but knew deep down inside I couldn’t.

  Not because I didn’t want to, but because he was my patient.

  Katie did eventually come in to check on me, but just to scold me for leaving the club the way I did. I simply ignored her, knowing if I let her vent she would eventually leave me alone. Although I wanted to tell her about what happened, the last thing I want to hear from her is another lecture about needing to start trusting again, so I didn’t say a word.

  Eventually, my lack of response to her argument cued her into the fact that something was wrong. She knows when I get in this bad mood, it’s just best to leave me be. There’s nothing that will cheer me up or get me out of bed. So instead, she left me alone for the rest of the day, allowing me to wallow by myself without another word. I keep repeating the sequence of events that happened last night over and over in my head. No matter how many times I try to tell myself that it’s for my own good that things ended the way they did, it still hurts knowing it did.

  I’D SPENT THE rest of the weekend going over everything that occurred on Saturday night and I’m still confu
sed. My mind keeps telling me to let Taylor be, but somehow her vulnerability was intriguing. With every new piece of information I’ve discovered about Taylor, I’m tempted to keep peeling off the layers she’s desperately keeping around herself. Today I was going to attempt to peel another one off, and the only way to do that was to get on her good side.

  “You’re on time, Mr. Hunter. I can honestly say that I’m surprised.”

  “I promised I’d be on time, didn’t I?” I comment before hopping up onto the exam table. Taking Taylor in, I wonder who knew a pair of scrubs could look so damn sexy? Or maybe it was just the girl wearing them.

  It’s clear my remark has offended her by her dejected expression she is wearing when she reaches for my ankle and begins to examine it. Throwing myself back onto the table to try to distract myself from the feel of her silky smooth hands gliding up and down my ankle is the only thing I can do to keep my dick from growing hard.

  “How is it feeling today?” she asks, still massaging my ankle. “Did you have any major swelling or discoloration with the ankle after you left?”

  “Left when?” I question up to the ceiling. I can feel the tension in her hands. Lifting my head up to look at her, I find her nervously glancing to the side before her eyes find mine. She’s apprehensively biting her lip and it occurs to me she means Saturday evening.

  “No.”

  Her hands relax and return to their massaging. Still biting her lip, it takes more determination than I’d expected to not grow hard as my mind wanders to remembering what she was wearing Saturday evening when I left her.

  The next hour is a struggle as the minutes tick by, but thankfully her small demands are my distractions. Taylor is all business when it comes to my therapy session. No matter how long my eyes watch her, she is entirely focused on my ankle. Towards the end of the appointment she demonstrates the exercises I’m expected to practice at home on a nightly basis. The only thing I can do is nod my head, wondering what it would take for me to convince her to come over to my place on a nightly basis and do them for me.

  “Mr. Hunter?” she lightly snaps, breaking my thoughts. “Any questions?” she asks, finally making eye contact with me.

  “I was thinking if maybe I should come in twice a week instead of one to help speed up my recovery.”

  Her narrowed eyes worry me. “I agree. The Wednesday morning spot is still open and you’re welcome to take it,” she informs me with an arched brow, as if testing me.

  Fuck. Why does it have to be a morning appointment? Considering it’s my only option at this time to get more time with her, I agree to it. With a small salute goodbye, I exit the therapy room. I’d told myself I wouldn’t push my luck by interrogating Taylor at this appointment, and I’m sticking to my plan. One layer at a time is how I’m going to get her to open up. My one layer today was getting more time with her.

  Entering the club, I’m already thinking this may not have been a good idea. Normally the pounding of the music is welcome, but tonight I’m just not feeling it. Eyeing my friend in the VIP area, he’s already waving me over. Pushing my way past the crowd leading towards the secluded area, I check out several girls who are clearly eyeing me as I walk by. Usually I’d tease them by responding and act as if I’m interested, knowing it may help get me laid later in the night. But tonight, taking one of them home is far from my mind.

  Reaching the private booth where my friend Jeremy is waiting for me, he greets me with our usual handshake. “Hey, man, didn’t think you’d make it tonight.”

  “Yeah, I almost wasn’t going to.”

  I’d turned down the offer of going out tonight knowing I had my appointment with Taylor in the morning, but with much coaxing from one of my closest friends, I had caved.

  “Here, you look like you could use a drink,” he states, shoving a double into my hand. Without hesitating I throw it back, allowing the alcohol to course down my throat. Looking at the bottle of Patron sitting on the table, I may regret doing that. Jeremy takes the glass from me and is already handing me another.

  “I’m good,” I comment, trying to gently shove the glass away, but he’s persistent. “Quit being a pussy. It’s not like you have practice in the morning.”

  He does have a point. Taking the glass from him, I down it just as fast as the earlier one. With a satisfied smile, he replies, “That a boy.”

  “Speaking of practice, how are things going?” I shout over the music as we sit on the couch provided for us.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “It’s going. The replacement they got for you is worthless. Doesn’t know how to throw for shit.” The statement makes me laugh since Jeremy is the first baseman and it’s usually him I’m throwing the ball to.

  “You’ll figure him out sooner or later,” I joke.

  He snorts. “I don’t want to figure him out. What I need is for you to get your ass back on that field.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m working on it,” I grumble.

  Jeremy is about to continue speaking, but is interrupted when Tracie, the girl who I’d kicked out the other morning, stands in front of me with a satisfied smirk on her lips. Arching my brow up with confusion, I wonder what the hell she wants. Before I get the chance to ask, she takes a seat on my other side, her hand slowly creeping up my leg. The alcohol is evidently already taking effect since her simple touch has already given me a hard on. Her hand reaches my dick, gently gripping it.

  “Someone is happy to see me,” she hums in my ear. Sighing, I know it’s more a result of the tequila I’d swallowed than her. “Behave, Tracie,” I clip out as I shove her hand away, not wanting to encourage her.

  She pouts like a child, but the gleam in her eyes tells me she’s far from giving up. My mind is slowly starting to grow hazy, making me regret skipping dinner.

  Looking over to the dance floor to distract myself, all I can do is hope the next hour goes by as quickly as possible. It’s all I’m giving myself before I leave. The last thing I want is to encourage Tracie into thinking she’s coming home with me.

  Wednesday morning comes and to my surprise, he doesn’t show up. I’m left sitting on my ball, pissed that he’s wasting my time. I have to remember it’s not my job on the line, but his. So why should I care? With any other patient I would have just brushed it off, not giving a shit, but for some reason Nick has gotten under my skin and it’s pissing me off.

  Finally giving up on waiting, I head back to my desk at 9:30, deciding to take advantage of the time and catch up on my paperwork. As I enter my office I hear the phone on my desk ringing and decide to let it go straight to voicemail. I’m so pissed right now, I wouldn’t want to take it out on the person on the other end of that phone call, especially if it’s a patient or parent. They shouldn’t have to feel my wrath.

  Taking a seat, I wait for the flashing light to indicate a voicemail, if they leave one. When I see the little light on the phone flashing, I pick up the receiver and punch in my code to retrieve the message. What I do not expect is to hear Nick’s voice on the other end.

  “Hey, Taylor, I’m really sorry about missing my appointment this morning, but I woke up with the flu and I didn’t want to get you sick,” he says, sounding pathetic as he speaks in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry, but I’ll be there on Monday.”

  I’m left wide-eyed with surprise and staring at the wall ahead of me as I hold the receiver in my hand. I now regret not picking up the phone and giving the person on the other end my wrath. Especially since it was the person who caused it. I’m beyond pissed that he had the audacity to wait until the middle of the appointment to call me. He probably thought I’d still be waiting for him in the therapy room like a desperate puppy.

  Slamming the receiver down on its cradle with a little too much force, I let out a frustrated growl. This fucking asshole insisted that he come in this morning, but then tries to use the excuse that he has the flu. He has some damn nerve to think that I’d actually believe his pathetic excuse. It was clear in his voice that he wa
s out drinking last night and he has a fucking hangover. He’s just too chicken shit to admit it. I’ve had enough experience with this shit to know the telltale signs. I’m surprised he was even able to get up to call me; that pisses me off even more. If he was able to call me then he was obviously able to crawl in here if he wanted to.

  Resting my elbows onto the desk, I drop my head into my hands and grab my hair. I take a fist full in each hand, allowing the burning of my scalp to mask the anger boiling up inside of me. I just want to scream at the top of my lungs, but knowing that I can’t at this moment, I restrain myself from doing so, and just sit there with my eyes tightly closed for a couple of minutes to calm myself. I stand up to head to the vending machine to grab some chocolate. I already have a feeling it’s going to be one of those days . . . again.

  After finishing my chocolate, I make a rash decision to put in a request to have Nick transferred to another sports physical therapist. I’m not putting up with his bullshit anymore. You’ve screwed with me one to many times, Nick Hunter.

  Not that he even cares for one bit that he did, but I do.

  Once the request is put in, I’m left feeling a little satisfied, yet disappointed in myself for easily giving up. How I’ve managed to let myself get so involved with this one patient is beyond me. Normally this would never happen. I really must be losing my mind.

  My only answer is chocolate. Chocolate will never disappoint me, which is the reason why I’m going to take the remainder of Nick’s appointment to satisfy myself. Maybe it will help cool my temper before my next appointment. Yet, I wouldn’t have to do so if it weren’t for Nick being such an asshole.

  Just like the other day, the ringing of my phone awakens me from my slumber. Why can’t people just let me sleep? But then I remember I’d called and left Taylor a message and it may be her calling me back to reschedule.