* CURRENTLY EDITING.*
Luke Madden is a NHL superstar. But when an injury sidelines him, he's required to undergo physical therapy. With a stable family and girlfriend, Luke has all the resources he needs. Or so he thinks. As it turns out, there are...
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Rosalina
Rosalina
My father is a well-known psychiatrist. Throughout my education, he always told me I would be a great physical therapist. That my empathy and compassion would serve me well. Those were the greatest compliments I received; the ones that kept me going through long nights while working through my education. Dad played a pivotal role in helping me define who I am today.
It's when fractions of my mother come forward I spiral. Keeping the boundary between me and patients has always been easy. I do it so for ethical reasons and because that means there are no hard goodbyes in the end.
It was so fucking easy.
Until I met Luke Madden.
Pushing Luke away and focusing on more job-orientated aspects of our relationship were supposed to help. Instead, I continue to fray at the edges. Although Luke is trying to respect the boundaries we've set, I can tell he's having a difficult time, too. Neither of us wants to ignore the friendship we've created. It's clear through the banter and comfort.
But it's getting worse for me. On weekends, each time I sleep with someone or get buzzed, I wonder what Luke would be like in bed. Our natural chemistry is driving me to the edge of sanity. His personality doesn't help either—he's sensible, family-orientated, and humble. Those are all traits I desire in a man, despite my fears of commitment.
Watching Mom and Dad's marriage fall apart has affected me well into adulthood. Which is why I'm beating myself up. This attraction to Luke is wrong. He has a girlfriend. I have broken no morals because I haven't made a move on him, but I wish my fucking heart would stop reacting to him.
I expel a deep breath and peel off my swimsuit. After our session in the pool, Luke and I are now getting changed in our respectful areas. It's nice now that I don't have to monitor his every move or see him naked. That's an image that'll never leave my dirty mind.
Hanging it up, I quickly towel-dry my skin and pull on my usual attire: an athletic T-shirt and matching pants. My socks and worn runners follow.
When I'm finished changing, I toss my bathing suit and towel into a water resistant bag. Then I make a quick stop at the mirror to fix my hair. Strands at the nape of my neck are damp and curling, but the rest is okay. I do, however, notice how flushed my face is. This time, the sigh is extra heavy. Chlorine has never reacted well with my skin. By this time tomorrow, my face will be covered in circular patches of dry skin.
Once I'm satisfied with my appearance, I exit the change room. Luke is waiting outside, leaning against the wall. I freeze. His knee brace is secure, and the golden midday light seeping through the windows illuminates his skin. With his arms crossed, the muscles in his arms bulge. The veins are also exposed, making my throat turn dry.
I'm taken aback by his looks. I feel like a suicidal moth drawn to a blazing flame.
Swallowing thickly, I remind myself where I am and what my purpose is. Where I come from. Why I avoid relationships.
