Southern Heat (Game On Book 2) Page 4

  She’d grown up in the kitchen. As an Irish/Italian girl, her Granny and Nona had fought for supremacy in teaching Gabriella everything they knew about preparing a meal. And they’d known a lot. When she wasn’t in one of their kitchens, she could be found in her parent’s restaurant. Chopping, slicing, rolling, baking. It’d become a sort of therapy for her. She loved it, and it helped her relax.

  Not so much today, though. With each batch of scones she tried to forget the feel of Ty’s hands. The scent of his cologne. The wicked way he ate at her lips as though he’d never get enough. It hadn’t worked, so she’d moved on to bread.

  She placed the loaf in the oven. After setting the timer, she washed her hands and made her way back to her office.

  Along with baking through her frustration, Gabriella also spent the morning fighting the urge to search the Internet for information on her new client. She preferred to learn about her clients first-hand. At least then she knew the information was accurate.

  She glanced down at the paperwork Matt had sent over.

  Tyler Brady. First baseman, New York Empire.

  A major leaguer.

  She wasn’t a sports fan, which was sort of ironic, considering what she did for a living. She routinely worked with high-profile athletes. Triathletes. Football, baseball, and soccer players. She’d even worked with a few of those wrestlers on TV.

  Gabriella had spent years studying the human body. She held a degree in kinesiology and was a licensed massage therapist. She didn’t need to be a fan of a sport to understand the movement it took to play.

  After she met with Mr. Brady, she’d spend some time reviewing game footage, studying his technique, his style of movement. For now, she wanted to meet him with fresh eyes. Wanted to hear what he had to say about his injury and recovery.

  But ohhh, the temptation to Google was overwhelming.

  Normally, Gabriella didn’t like to work on the weekends. As the only massage therapist in the area who specialized in sports therapy, she had all the work she needed. Problem was, she had a serious problem with saying no. How could she? Saying no meant willingly ignoring a person in pain. It seemed a small price to pay to give up her personal time off to help someone.

  It wasn’t as if she had a life or anything.

  With a sigh, she glanced over Matt’s personal notes meant only for her.

  Impatient with progress. Argumentative, but does the work. Physically progressing according to plan.

  In other words, Tyler thought he knew best.

  She would’ve helped Matt with his unruly baseball player even if he hadn’t promised her a month of dinners, but damn she despised working with bratty athletes—the athletes who thought they knew everything and would somehow magically heal in record time. From what she’d read, it wasn’t a lack of hard work that made Tyler Brady a pain in the ass. It wasn’t even anything physical. She didn’t have to meet him to know fear ruled his attitude. She’d been through this before.

  Gabriella toyed with the edge of Tyler’s file. She stretched her arm across the desk, fingers caressing the keys of her laptop. Don’t do it. There wasn’t anything pertinent she could learn until she got her hands on him.

  The details Matt sent over were plenty, for now. Tyler had surgery to repair a rotator cuff injury he’d received during spring training. He was recovering remarkably well considering the surgery had been just shy of nine weeks ago. With her extensive training in soft tissue release and Matt’s physical therapy protocols, Tyler couldn’t be in better hands. She just hoped he realized it.

  She glanced to the clock. Her bread should be done any minute. Gabriella shuffled the paperwork into a manila folder. Tucking the folder under her arm, she went to pull her latest creation out of the oven.

  With the loaf resting on the cooling rack, Gabriella took stock of the place. The kitchen was a disaster. Scones on every available surface. Flour everywhere. Canisters sitting open.

  Hoping the mundane task of cleaning her mess would relax her, Gabriella got to work.

  After she cleaned the kitchen, showered, and changed her clothes, Gabriella decided she had time to deliver some scones to her neighbor Lillian. A forty-year-old widow with two kids, Lillian had become a trusted friend over the years.

  She packed scones in a disposable container and made her way through the house. After expanding the dining room, she’d converted it into a therapy room with a small waiting room. She had a door added to allow direct access from outside. Another creatively disguised door allowed her to enter and exit from inside the house. The electronic entry system prevented the clients from entering her home without permission, ensuring her privacy and her safety.

  Collecting the file on her way, Gabriella headed to the therapy room door. She entered the code and the door clicked open. She didn’t have much time, so she’d head over to Lillian’s from there, leaving the outer door unlocked in case Mr. Brady showed up early.

  “Come on in, Gab,” Lillian called at her knock.

  Gabriella found Lillian in the kitchen, her arms deep in a sink full of dishes. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got a client coming.”

  “On a Saturday?” Dark circles marred Lillian’s otherwise creamy complexion.

  “New client. Have you been sleeping okay?”

  “The last few nights have been rough. The kids are coming by today.”

  The twins were getting the jump on their freshman year of college by starting classes early, and had recently moved into an apartment closer to campus. They were only twenty miles away, but it had been a hard adjustment for Lillian.

  Lillian’s husband had been killed five years ago. The anniversary of his death was hard on all of them. Gabriella’s heart ached for her friend.

  “It’s good they’ll be here with you.” She set the container on the counter. “I brought you some scones.”

  Lillian turned a sharp eye on her. “What’s wrong?”

  Gabriella laughed. “There’s nothing wrong. I was in the mood to bake, so I baked.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m not buying it for a minute. Dish, sister.”

  Understanding Lillian’s need for a distraction, Gabriella did. She dumped the whole story of what happened the night before into Lillian’s lap.

  “Wow. So, you just left? Wasn’t he a good kisser?”

  Gabriella’s body reacted to the memory of Ty’s talented mouth. “Oh, he was. Very good.”

  Lillian shook her head. “How can I live vicariously through you if you don’t stick around for the good stuff?”

  She would’ve, but it seemed her patience for idiotic male behavior was non-existent. Gabriella wrapped Lillian in a hug. “You don’t have to live through me, Lill. Live for yourself.”

  Lillian gently pulled away. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  Gabriella’s gaze sought the clock. “Oh crap, he’ll be at my house any minute.” She gave Lillian’s cheek a peck. “I’ll check in with you later.”

  Gabriella jogged across the yard, noticing a rental car in the street in front of her house. At least the man didn’t plan to make her wait. Score one in his favor.

  She stopped at the door and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She wasn’t some inexperienced twit. She’d worked with hundreds of men, some with more severe injuries than Tyler. She could handle anything he dished out. She could—

  She entered and came to a quick halt. The door behind her closed with a soft snick.

  “Gabriella?” Ty stood in the waiting area, dressed as if he were headed to the gym. Shock stayed her tongue. “What are you doing here?” His expression morphed from something akin to joy, to surprise, and finally, to suspicion. If she’d had half her wits about her, she might’ve laughed. “Are you following me?”

  “Following you?” Gabriella shook her head, trying to process too much information at once. What was he doing here? How had he found her? “What are you talking about?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. Not without pain, she noted.


  Oh, God.

  “Why are you here?”

  His hostility caught her off guard. “What do you mean why am I here? This is my place. I should be asking you the same question.”

  She was afraid she already knew the answer.

  “I’m here to see Mac.”

  Gabriella closed her eyes. Goddamn it. She was going to kill Matt. She sighed. “That would be me.”

  “You told me your name was Gabriella,” Ty all but growled. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Whoa. Let’s take a step back for a second.” She approached and gestured to the cream-colored wingback chair in the corner. “Why don’t you have a seat and let’s see if we can work this through.”

  He stood his ground. “I’m listening.”

  Wow. Good thing she hadn’t seen this side of him last night. Things would’ve turned out much differently. “I assume you’re Tyler Brady?”

  “I am.” His jaw tightened. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “You said your name was Ty.”

  “It is. Ty … ler,” he mocked. “Some people call me Ty. Not too far-fetched, wouldn’t you say? Tyler. Ty. Makes sense, right? You, however, said your name was Gabriella. Not even close to Mac.”

  Gabriella groaned and covered her face with her hands. What a mess. She had worked hard to keep her reputation clean. Rule number one: no fooling around with clients. Ever. Not only was it unprofessional, but no way would she feed into the annoying stereotype that massage therapy involved happy endings. Not in her place. Not ever.

  Thank goodness she hadn’t slept with Ty last night. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered his hands all over her. “I didn’t lie to you, if that’s what you’re implying. My name is Gabriella. Of course, I didn’t realize who you were last night, or we’d never … well …” Okay, as embarrassing moments go, this one was right up there. “I’m the therapist you’re here to see. This is my house.”

  “Matt told me I was meeting with Mac.” His stance softened somewhat.

  Gabriella rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You assumed Mac was a man? And that’s my fault?” No, but it wasn’t Tyler’s either. Damn it. “Mac isn’t my real name. Well, not the name I go by anyway.”

  “Care to explain?”

  Definitely killing Matt. She didn’t make a habit of sharing personal information with her clients. However, since less than twenty-four hours ago he’d had his tongue down her throat in the back of a bar, she supposed the normal rules didn’t apply.

  “My middle name is Mackenzie.” When Tyler made a swirly motion with his finger to indicate she should keep going, Gabriella blew out a breath. “I’m sorry for the confusion. Matt has called me Mac for years. Honestly, I don’t even remember how it started. Just so you know, Matt didn’t email your information to me until this morning. So even if I’d known who you were last night, I had no way of knowing you were the client I was seeing today.”

  Tyler ran a hand over his head. He blew out a heavy breath. “I admit I wasn’t exactly focused on much more than getting my hands on you.”

  He had great hands. Confident. Strong. He’d touched her like a man who knew what he was about.

  Whoa, Nellie. Time to put the brakes on that train of thought.

  “Now, I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What’s with asking me if I was following you?”

  He waved her off. “Sorry about that.” He chose that moment to investigate the certificates adorning the wall. “I was surprised to see you … after you ran out on me last night.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “Devon deserved it. I stayed out of the fight.”

  “I can’t believe he let Freddie goad him into a fight in the first place.” She grimaced. “Was Devon badly hurt?”

  Tyler turned, his gaze taking a lazy stroll down her body. “Not bad enough for what it cost me.”

  Ooookay.

  “First things first. If we’re going to work together, you’ve got to stop saying things like that to me.”

  “Why?”

  Because she liked it.

  Gabriella wanted to scream. Shake her fist at the fates for their twisted sense of humor. She’d have to do some serious compartmentalizing when she put her hands on him. This was her job, which was pretty much all she had going for her at the moment. But if he kept flirting with her … oh god. This was a horrible idea.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work out. Maybe you should find another therapist. I can have Matt recommend someone—”

  “Someone as good as you?”

  “I’m sure he would find someone qualified to help you.” In truth, there wasn’t anyone as qualified, or experienced, as her. Not in this state.

  “Matt said you were the best. He and I go way back, so that’s good enough for me. Prove to me you can help with my recovery, and I’ll behave.”

  After seven years in the business, Gabriella was done proving herself. To go into Tyler’s therapy as though she were auditioning was insulting.

  It’s not about me. Not about me. Not. About. Me.

  Arguing wouldn’t get Tyler back to his game. Time to do her job. She motioned for him to sit. She grabbed the paperwork and a pen and rolled her chair over to sit in front of him. “Tell me about your injury.”

  Tyler settled into the chair, casually crossing his legs, ankle to knee. “Matt didn’t fill you in?”

  “He sent over the basics.” She opened his file.

  “What more do you need to know?”

  “A lot, actually. The paper can’t tell me how you feel. Look, Tyler, I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to communicate with me. The work I do here depends on it.”

  He scowled. “I’m not here to share my feelings. That’s not the kind of therapy I’m looking for.”

  Gabriella slapped the folder shut, his attitude fraying her nerves. All signs of the man she’d met last night had vanished. “Good. Because that’s not the kind of therapy I provide. I’m talking about communicating pain, where you’re feeling it and how often. I can read about movement restrictions all day long, but until I see for myself what your body is doing, the words don’t mean much.”

  The thought of what his body had been doing last night caused her temperature to rise. She fought to shove those images into a box, deep in the back of her brain. She couldn’t help him if she kept getting distracted by how his mouth had felt against her skin.

  He blew a long-suffering breath. “As I’m sure you know, I tore my left rotator cuff. Had surgery to fix it. If you want the anatomical specifics, I’ll give you my surgeon’s number. I’m doing physical therapy with Matt. He sent me here.” A satisfied smirk blossomed across his face. “That about sums it up.”

  Unwilling to let his crappy attitude sway her, Gabriella prepared to take notes. “Do you throw with your left or right arm?”

  “Predominately with my left. That said, I’m a switch hitter. That means I can hit with my left or my right.”

  She bit back a grin. “I’m not completely ignorant of baseball. I know what switch-hitting means. Just because I don’t follow a sport, doesn’t mean I don’t know how it works.”

  His expression turned wounded. He clutched a fist against his chest. “You don’t follow baseball?”

  She laughed as some of the tension between them melted. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t follow any sport.” Before he could latch onto that bit of info, she got them back on track. “So, you’re a leftie, huh?”

  “Yeah. My dad didn’t want me to be left-handed. Some crazy Southern superstition. He tried, but some things can’t be changed. I learned to do most things with my right hand, but batting is the only thing that feels natural either way. There are advantages to being ambidextrous.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Tyler. You said you’d behave. I need you to forget about last night.” She wouldn’t, but this wasn’t about her.

  “Like hell I will.” He scrubbed a ha
nd over his mouth. “God, this is ridiculous. All right. Fine. Ask me your questions. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  Gabriella hadn’t wanted to upset him, but in her experience, anger worked to her advantage. A pissed-off athlete had something to focus on other than being hurt. Over the years, she’d learned one of the biggest roadblocks to recovery was the person him—or her—self.

  Tyler had been giving Matt a hard time. If he didn’t trust the people trying to help him, he would heal … but it’d take longer. Gabriella was determined to not let that happen.

  “Matt tells me you’re experiencing pain with external rotation. Is that still the case?”

  Tyler nodded. “I can reach forward without much trouble. Some pain, but not much. There’s pain with other movement, such as if I were to try to reach into my back pocket. I don’t carry shit in those pockets anyway, so it’s not much of an issue.”

  “But it does affect your ability to throw. Do you mind if we run through a series of range-of-motion tests?”

  Tyler shrugged. “Whatever you need.”

  “Okay, come with me.” He followed her into the main therapy area. She closed and locked the door behind them.

  For the next few minutes, she had him move his arm in various directions. She watched closely to find his limits, keeping him just shy of those each time. She didn’t need him to strain to learn what she needed to know.

  She could feel his irritation grow with each passing minute. His attitude wasn’t so unusual. Most of her high-profile clients were temperamental. She didn’t hold it against them. If they were in her office, it was because they were hurt, unable to be out there doing the jobs they loved. Tyler seemed no different.

  He was antsy to be playing again. To be back in New York.

  She went to a cabinet and pulled out a tennis ball. She held it up. “If I toss this to your left, could you reach out to catch it?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Underhanded, Gabriella gently tossed the ball about two feet to Tyler’s left.