Nodding, Tristan slipped into his gym shorts and sat down on the mat.
“Bend your knees,” Zach instructed. “Now gently press down with the elbows onto the knees to increase the stretch—”
“I know how to do it,” Tristan said as he felt a gentle stretching in the inner thigh. Although it wasn’t really painful, it felt a little uncomfortable.
“Hold for half a minute,” Zach said, ignoring his words. As if Tristan hadn’t said anything.
Tristan glared up at him.
“Now long adductor stretch,” Zach said, a corner of his mouth twitching up. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Since you know how to do everything. Obviously you don’t need my help.”
Tristan hesitated. He wasn’t sure which stretch it was, but he’d be damned if he admitted it now.
He stood up and put his feet apart. Looking at Zach and trying to gauge if he was doing the right stretch, he bent the left knee out to the side and leaned to the left.
“Good,” Zach said and Tristan smiled in triumph—until Zach spoke again. “But that’s not the stretch I meant.”
Tristan scowled. “I’m pretty sure this one stretches the long adductor muscle.”
“It does,” Zach said. “But I wanted you to do something else.”
“Too bad for you, then,” Tristan said in a mocking voice, throwing Zach’s own words back at him. “I’m done stretching the long adductor muscle.”
A muscle twitched in Zach’s lean cheek. “Sit on the mat.”
Tristan didn’t move.
“Sit.”
Tristan didn’t move.
Zach took a step toward him and another, his brows drawn together and his jaw working. “Do you enjoy being difficult?”
“Yep,” Tristan murmured, looking him in the eye. “But clearly not as much as you enjoy bossing me around.”
They glared at each other from a few inches apart.
The silence stretched.
Tristan’s heart beat so fast, he could almost feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “I did stretch the long adductor muscle. I don’t have to do anything else only because you get a kick out of watching me do as you say.”
Zach’s hand twitched toward him before Zach clasped both hands behind his back. “I am your physiotherapist,” he said, his calm tone at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “You will do as I say if you want to get fit. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re my physiotherapist, not my boss.”
“When it concerns your recovery, I’m your boss.”
Tristan raised his brows. “And what are you gonna do if I refuse to do as you say? Spank me?”
A strange expression crossed Zach’s face. “You think I wouldn’t?”
Tristan smiled. “I dare you to try!”
Zach’s nostrils flared. “Don’t tempt me.” He stepped back. “On the mat,” he barked out.
Tristan’s retort died in his throat. Zach was truly angry now—far angrier than the situation called for. Why?
Slowly, Tristan sat down, eyeing his physio curiously.
“Legs as far apart as possible and knees straight,” Zach said, his tone still harsh. “Keep your back straight and lean forward.”
Tristan did as he was told.
“Hold for twenty seconds.”
The seconds ticked by.
“Hip flexors,” Zach said, sounding a little calmer now.
Tristan did the required stretches without any comment.
When he was done, Zach turned away. “You will do all of them four times a day. Five, if you don’t feel sore.”
And then he was gone, leaving Tristan staring after him, frustrated and a great deal puzzled.
Chapter 3
The next day, Zach was back to his normal bossy and slightly aloof self, the wry curl to his lips firmly back. The brimming anger of the previous day was nowhere to be seen. It was a mystery. Tristan could never resist a mystery.
“I want a full-body massage,” Tristan told him after he finished doing the exercises under Zach’s supervision. “It’s been days and I’m sore.”
Zach nodded and retrieved the massage oil from his bag. “Undress and get on your belly.”
Tristan pulled his t-shirt off and shimmied out of his shorts and briefs. Naked, he got onto the massage table. It was new, just like the brand new bed upstairs. Just like the assortment of “healthy” food in his fridge. It was pretty disturbing how Zach had managed to change so many things in his life in such a short time.
Zach threw a towel over Tristan’s hips. That surprised him a little. Unless asked, the team physiotherapists didn’t bother preserving footballers’ modesty—if such a thing even existed. It was difficult to care about modesty after long, brutal games, when their bodies ached and hurt. Zach obviously knew that, as a professional sportsman, Tristan was used to massages, and that he didn’t really need to cover Tristan to preserve his non-existent modesty.
Did his nudity bother Zach?
The thought intrigued him. He was pretty sure Zach was straight—he was getting married, for fuck’s sake—but…
But.
Tristan closed his eyes when Zach started massaging his neck.
As Zach’s strong oiled fingers kneaded his stiff muscles, Tristan’s thoughts went back to the towel covering his ass. “Do you think I’m attractive?”