Mrs. Kimble hands the leash to Hannah with a nod and leaves.
I swing my legs over the side of the table.
Hannah moves in my direction with that behemoth of a dog. “Take your time getting up, okay? Make sure you drink a lot of water throughout the rest of the day and alternate heat and ice a couple of times, too. Tomorrow, you’ll do the exercise routine I showed you twice. Any questions?”
She’s squarely back in her command space, which I find to be one of her most attractive qualities. And here I thought the physical therapy exercises would be the hardest part.
“Nope. Got it.” I gesture to the dog. “The General?”
Hannah quirks a slanted grin. “She named him after her late husband, who was a general.”
Graham snickers. “Guess that’s one way to be remembered in this life.”
Hannah shoots him an irritated look.
The General lumbers toward me, then plops his massive head on my leg and looks up at me with soulful eyes. I put my hand in front of his nose so he can sniff me first. He licks the back of my fingers, giving me his approval, so I scratch behind his ears.
Hannah grins. “He likes you.”
“Most animals do.”
“Really?” She scrunches her face, resembling an adorable imp.
The General backs up as I stand. “Yeah. Are you surprised?”
She shrugs. “Not really.” She gestures at my arm. “You must love turtles to sport that.”
“Something like that.” I reach for the sling on the counter.
“Try to wean yourself off using that.” Hannah guides The General into the water treadmill she referred to as a torture device. Can’t help but appreciate her sense of humor.
“Sure thing.”
The General walks right in and stands there as the tank fills. Hannah pushes a button to start the belt. She strokes his head, then pops a kiss there as she coos over how good he’s doing.
The back of my neck turns hot, and it’s not from a heating pad. Am I envious of a dog?
Man, I’m in trouble. Maybe I should consider a different physical therapist after all. Working with Hannah may wind up more than I can handle.
And that concerns me even more. Why? Because she’s the first woman I’ve ever felt that way around.
CHAPTER 4
Nick
“Hey man, sorry about startling you like that.” Graham follows me into my apartment and flops down on the couch.
I drop my keys into the bowl on the table by the door. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just my future we’re talking about here.”
Graham throws one of the decorative pillows at me. For the record, I’m not a throw-pillows kind of guy, but the decorator I hired when I moved in insisted I needed some feminine touches to make my female guests feel welcome. I didn’t bother to tell her that the women I dated in the past weren’t exactly the type to hang around for long, which was how I preferred it, to be honest.
When I bend over to pick up the pillow, the ache in my shoulder shoots up my neck, making me grunt. This entire ordeal—I mean, experience—has taught me how much we take our shoulders for granted as far as how they affect the rest of the body. The first month after my surgery, I had to sleep in a recliner because lying down flat was too painful. And every movement affects the shoulders, so needless to say, that first week was hell.
Graham jumps up and stands next to me in a flash. “Here, let me help you.”
“Dude, I can pick up a pillow.”
He continues to hover as I slowly straighten. “But you sound like you’re in pain.”
