It’s his mouth. His smart mouth has my blood humming in a way it never has before, and I’ve been around many muscular, hot AF guys in my life.
No. It’s low carbs. That’s it. All I need is a plate of pasta….
And to climb on his lap. What is wrong with me?
“I don’t think this is going to work out.”
“See.” He raises his hands in front of himself like I’m confirming what he said.
“No. I mean, dance could help you regain your balance, get trust in your ankle, and strengthen the muscles in your core and legs, including your ankle, but working with you will not happen. I don’t work with elitist assholes.”
“What?” His eyes are enormous as he stares at me in disbelief.
“Yes, I checked my horoscope this morning, and it said to steer clear of people who think they’re better than other people.”
His chest puffs out, and his shoulders tighten. “I don’t think I’m better than other people.”
“You don’t think dance is a legitimate sport.” I’ve never felt better about winning a bet in my life.
“Fine. It isn’t a competitive sport like football where people pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to watch elite athletes play.”
“They pay too much to watch a bunch of guys grunt and smack each other on the ass, but that’s how the world works.”
“That’s bullshit. This is ridiculous.” He smacks his fist into his open palm and cracks his knuckles. “You don’t understand what it’s like to play cutthroat sports. You spend all day in a studio with a bunch of kids who’re spinning in circles and jumping on a stage. It’s not the same thing.”
“You don’t think I have the qualifications to help you?”
“No, I don’t. This was a mistake. Maybe you and Devin clicked, but we don’t. I believe in real physical therapy and training.”
This guy is the biggest prick I’ve ever met. “You should try hypnotherapy sometime. Maybe they could adjust your personality.” I spin on my heel. “See yourself out.”
“Gladly,” he spouts off. His boots click on the wooden floor, lessening in volume as he moves towards the exit.
I bite my bottom lip to keep a smile from forming. This was too easy. I’m going to win this bet with my eyes closed.
Shit. My teeth grind together. Damn it. This is so not me. I don’t ever hope for someone to fail.
Why am I letting him push my buttons?
I close my eyes and send up a quick prayer. Please, don’t let this bite me in the ass. I hate bad karma.
Chapter Six
Weston
“How long have you been in therapy?” The sound of her voice has my muscles tightening.
I stop with my hand on the doorknob. “Fourteen months.” I drop my hand to my side and turn to face her. “After surgery, I started rehab. I work out two to three hours per day over the required training hours.”
Her hands are on her hips as she studies me. Her body is still, but energy radiates off her. It’s like everything is contained inside her compact body, but it’s ready to explode. “How far are you off from before your injury?”
“Two steps.”
“What about your push-off?”
I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen her before. But where? I frown. Is she a model or something? “What about it?”
“Are you pushing off with full velocity? If you aren’t, you’re losing speed. You need that extra force to propel you forward.”