Short of flat-out lying to her, there’s no good way to get around this, so I keep my mouth shut even as I answer her with a very mature shrug.
“You might as well tell me what you did,” she says as she takes hold of my arm again. This time, instead of stretching it straight above my head, she rolls my shoulder backward and then forward. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
She crosses my arm in front of my chest and presses until there’s a strong pull in my shoulder. “How about that?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Maybe a little twinge, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You didn’t come to me to prove how well you can handle pain, Shawn. You came to get rid of the pain, and I can’t do that if you won’t tell me when it hurts. I also can’t do it if you keep reinjuring yourself doing stupid shit.”
“How do you know I did something stupid?”
“You’re breathing, aren’t you?” She grabs hold of both my wrists, brings them together. “Lace your fingers.”
I raise my brows even as I do as she asks. “Is that an anti-man crack?”
“That’s an anti-Shawn crack.” She tugs on my arms until they’re extended straight out in front of me and pressed together from wrist to elbow. “From what I hear, when it comes to your personal safety you aren’t exactly t
he sharpest tool in the shed.”
“Hey.” I shoot her a mock-hurt look.
“I’m just calling them like I see them.” She lets go of my wrists. “Okay, unlace your fingers and stretch your arms as far forward as you can, but keep your shoulders rolled back and don’t lean forward.”
My shoulder gives a bigger twinge, but I don’t even flinch as I do exactly as Sage asked. She’s watching closely, though, and she must see something, because the next thing I know she’s digging her fingers into the spot that’s causing most of the pain.
I yelp before I can stop myself, start to jerk away. But she holds my hands in place with one hand as she continues to poke and rub at the aching spot with the other. It hurts way more than I think it should, but I put up with it because I don’t want to look like a wimp in front of her. And because I like her hands on me any way I can get them.
“Hey!” I jolt after a couple minutes of her working on the same spot. “How’d you do that? The pain’s gone!”
“I told you, I’m as good at my job as you are at yours. Definitely good enough to know that that pain comes from hanging. Were you doing pull-ups yesterday?”
“I was mountain climbing.”
“Mountain—” She pushes to her feet, then towers over me, hands on her hips. “Are you freaking kidding me? We’re trying to get you in shape for training camp and you’re out mountain climbing with that arm?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time. My PT told me to do as many different kinds of exercises with it as I can—so that I’m testing the muscle in all kinds of different positions.”
“I’m pretty sure I just demonstrated that there are ways to isolate your muscle and test it without hanging off a damn cliff.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know that yesterday.” I shoot to my feet so we’re on equal footing again. I’m learning that if I want to have any chance of holding my own with this woman, I really need to up my game. Otherwise she’ll be five steps ahead of me before I even roll out of bed in the morning.
For a guy who’s spent his life running faster than anyone else on the field, the idea is strangely appealing.
Then again, I’m finding out that everything about Sage Kauffman is appealing—even when she’s calling me on my shit. Maybe especially then.
“Yeah, well, you know it now. And insane payment or not, I’m not going to waste my time working you out only to have you mess up our progress the second I leave.” She glares at me. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Do you? Because that obnoxious smirk on your face makes me wonder.”
“I’m not smirking, I swear.” I hold up both hands in mock surrender. “Don’t hurt me.”