Facing Garrett tomorrow was going to be very difficult.
Running away from him tonight hadn’t helped at all. It had only made it worse.
THIRTEEN
GARRETT GOT UP AND WENT FOR A RUN EARLY, THEN grabbed some juice and went right to the gym for a lifting workout. That’s where he met Alicia, who came in dressed in tight-fitting spandex yoga pants and a tank top.
“Mind if I work out with you?” she asked, setting her towel and bottled water on the elliptical.
Jacking off last night hadn’t put him in any better mood. He figured the run might generate some endorphins, but he was still in a mood. “You can do whatever you want. There’s plenty of equipment here.”
She didn’t seem bothered. “Okay, thanks.”
She plugged earbuds in, turned on what he assumed was music, and started her workout. Instead of concentrating on her fine ass moving up and down on the elliptical, he was determined to focus on his workout. The one thing he could always count on to distract him was training his body. He worked with the weights, at least the ones he was allowed to do on his own, which meant legs and abs. Upper-body training was off-limits except under the direction of his trainers or his therapist, so he’d have to wait for Alicia.
He’d lost track of time, but he hadn’t lost track of Alicia, who after working up a sweat on the elliptical had moved to weights.
She was strong. She hadn’t once asked him to spot her, and despite being slight, she could heft a decent amount of weight on her own. He was impressed, and he liked watching her body.
Which he shouldn’t be doing at all since that’s what had put him in a bad mood to start with. He should do less ogling of her form and more paying attention to his own.
“You ready for me to work with you on your upper body?” she asked, swiping the towel over her neck and chest, which only made him focus on her br**sts, which weren’t large but still made him want to run his tongue across her cle**age. She was damp with sweat, which only made him think of getting her sweaty in other ways.
Naked.
Dammit.
“Sure.” The sooner he finished this workout, the sooner he could avoid her, which was his new plan. Avoidance.
“Let’s start with a light bench press to warm you up,” she said, and off they went on the upper-body work.
He went through the motions, did the workout, then grabbed his towel.
“We’re not finished, Garrett,” she said.
He frowned. “That’s the normal routine.”
“I thought we’d change it up today, add a little more weight.”
“Really.”
“I think your shoulder needs to have some stress added to it. We need to get you warmed up to start throwing pitches.”
The idea of throwing a pitch made him ache in the pit of his stomach. Since the injury, it was all he could think about. This was everything he was working for.
And everything he feared.
But he refused to back down, refused to let the fear control him.
He was either going to get back in the game again or have to accept that his days as a pitcher were over. And there was only one way to find out.
He tossed his towel down, excited to be challenged. The day was already looking up. “All right. Let’s do it.”
Two hours later, his enthusiasm had waned. Between the weights and the therapeutic exercises and more of that god-awful stretching that was beginning to remind him of some form of sadism on Alicia’s part, he was as limp as an overcooked noodle. He sat slumped on the living-room sofa while his evil therapist updated her notebook.
“I think you’re trying to kill me.”
She momentarily lifted her gaze to his and smiled. “Wimp.”
“Admit it. The other teams in our division have paid you to destroy me.”
Another quick look. “Oh, suck it up. Yours isn’t even the worst injury I’ve ever seen.”
He stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching as she concentrated, typed, chewed her bottom lip, then made a few more notes. He noticed when she was focused, she could shut out everything, including his constant complaints, which were obviously falling on deaf ears.
Tired of himself, he got up and fixed them sandwiches for lunch.
“Hey,” he finally said, hollering to her from the kitchen.
“Yes?”
“Lunch.”
She stood and came into the kitchen. “Really? You made lunch? I could have done that.”
“You were working. And I can throw a turkey sandwich together. Though yours is without the turkey. Hope you don’t mind avocado and all that vegetable and grass stuff.”
She laughed. “I love avocado.” She sat at the table and took a bite, then made a moaning sound that made his balls quiver. “Oh, you have mad sandwich-making skills. Thank you. I was getting hungry.”
“You were working away in there.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I have big plans for you.”
His shoulder winced in response. “Great.”
“You’re going to like it. I promise.”
He doubted it. “The only thing I’m going to like is when the Rivers put me back in the starting rotation.”
She took a bite of her sandwich and studied him like a science experiment. She was no doubt pondering new ways she could tear his shoulder apart. He finished off his sandwich, trying not to watch her watching him. He had to admit it unnerved him.
“Why don’t you tell me how you got hurt?” she asked.
“I’m sure all that crap’s in my chart. You read it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same as hearing it from you. I want to know what you were doing, what you remember about your body mechanics. We want to make sure you don’t reinjure yourself when you hit the mound again.”
He shrugged. “I was pitching.”
“What pitch?”
“A slider. I reared back, threw the pitch, and felt a pinch. After that, I was sore.”
“But you didn’t come out of the game right away.”
“No. I finished the inning.”
“And pitched another after that.”
He grimaced, remembering the leadoff walk, the base hit, and the three-run home run before the coach pulled him from the game. It had been a nightmare. He knew his shoulder was hurt, knew he’d been throwing nothing but shit and there’d been nothing on his fastball. But when the pitching coach came out after the base hit, he’d promised the coach he still had it, that he could get the next batter out.