There were a few moans echoing across the room and someone near the coffee station muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Mark remained completely unfazed. “Each pair will stand back-to-back and attempt to sit down on the floor. Here’s the tricky part. Both of you need to reach the floor at the same time and…” he paused for dramatic effect, “you must do so without using your hands. It’s all about communication and trust. And for those of you whose knees won’t make it, there’s no harm in sitting this one out. Plenty of games to come.” He flourished both arms across the room. “So, find your partner, and let’s get started!”
Bette exhaled sharply. Great. Just fantastic. Nothing like forced closeness to really get the heart beating. Without waiting any longer—there was no point in prolonging the moment—Bette wove through the crowd and met Emily near the center of the room. If this was going to work, she just had to act as if the rescheduling hadn’t bothered her at all, as if everything was perfectly normal between the two of them.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather lie down on a bed of needles than participate in this team event,” Bette muttered, hoping it would cut right through the ice.
Emily snorted, and it was as if a rain cloud had suddenly flown in, sweeping away all the tension, all the disgruntlement Bette had felt over the last few days.
“I’d rather listen to Miss Earl in bed three tell me about her cat, Mister Kingston, missing the litter box for three hours straight,” Emily replied, smirking.
Bette, who had treated Miss Earl for a knee replacement this morning, knew all about Mr. Kensington. Her mouth twitched into a smile.
“Everyone ready!” Mark bellowed, slapping his hands together. “You’re going to get ten seconds to get into position and then I’m going to count you down.”
“I guess we’ve got no choice now,” Bette replied, flicking her attention from Mark back to Emily. She wasn’t going to admit it, but she was hating this event a little less, which honestly scared her somewhat.
“I guess not,” Emily said, stepping closer. Close enough that Bette’s instinct told her to back away. She was feeling things. Unknown things. A ridiculous flutter in her stomach, like a butterfly trying to escape a cage.
But this was a competition, she couldn’t back away. Bette had no choice but to follow the rules. And so, she did what she had to do. Bette squared her shoulders and pressed her back against Emily’s, feeling the stiff tension radiating off the surgeon like a livewire.
“Whatever you do, don’t strain your shoulder,” Bette instructed. She’d rather lose if it meant Emily completed the stupid exercise without any pain.
“I won’t,” Emily replied, shifting her feet into position. “As long as we move at the same time. You ready?”
Bette nodded, well aware that Emily couldn’t see her. But she could feel her. In fact, Bette could feel every ripple of the surgeon’s back muscles, the heat baking off her body, the slight change in Emily’s stance as if she too were aware of Bette’s every movement.
It was somewhat disconcerting.
“One…two…” Mark began the countdown. “Three!”
Bette and Emily both bent their knees, lowering inch by inch. Or at least, that was the plan. The second they moved, it became painfully clear that neither of them had the same idea of pacing. Bette dropped too quickly, while Emily hesitated, and they came dangerously close to toppling over.
“Wait!” Bette’s voice pitched slightly as she fought for balance.
Emily braced, but the shift in weight sent them tilting too far back. Way too far.
“Stop leaning like you’re trying to dive off a cliff,” Bette said, adjusting her stance. “Push your weight against mine. Like a counterbalance.”
“How about you push your weight againstme, and we see if my plan works better,” Emily said, yet she did exactly as Bette instructed.
They tried again, this time moving more in sync, their backs pressed firmly together, a strange sort of tether anchoring them as they lowered inch by inch. At one point, their movements evened out, muscles adjusting, shifting, compensating.
Bette didn’t dare look at anyone else, didn’t assess the competition, she was too busy concentrating on the feel of Emily’s back against hers, the soft hum of concentration that seemed to sizzle between them. At one point, Bette even felt Emily’s breath hitch as they passed the point of no return.
They kept going, lowering their bodies further to the ground until Bette’s thighs were burning as hot as the sun.
Until their backs slid a little too far, gravity taking over, and all of a sudden both Bette and Emily landed hard on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, a little dazed but technically successful.
Mark’s voice echoed through the room. “And we have our winners. Physical therapist, Bette Bridge, and orthopedic surgeon, Emily Sharp. Congratulations.”
Bette, who had never enjoyed being in the limelight, felt a blush touch her cheeks when a round of applause erupted through the room. She stole a glance in Emily’s direction and was surprised
It seemed they had that in common.
“I bet you the prize is a water bottle with the hospital’s emblem on it,” Bette muttered softly, leaning toward Emily so that no one else heard the little comment.
“Or a stress ball,” Emily chuckled softly.
