I limp after him to hold the door open. He reminds me once again to expect his call before hustling out to his car. I wave him off then close the door and lean my forehead against it.

A part of me is pissed at my father’s audacity, but another part of me is glad for his pop-up visit because it just solidifies that I need to keep Kai in a strict friend-only zone.

Olivia

My good knee bounces up and down viciously as I wait for Kai to finish up his notes after our session.

I hate this office. The walls are too white and the air is too thin. Every time I sit in this damn chair I feel even further from my goals.

“Tell me what’s up,” Kai demands.

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t look at me nor does he stop typing his notes. “That knee is going crazy over there and you’re really quiet. What’s bothering you?”

When I don’t answer, he scoots his chair over until he’s right in front of me, pulling my chin up so I’m forced to look in his eyes.

I’ve never been so conflicted by someone’s touch. I want to fall into him and not come up for air until our bodies can’t be separated, but at the same time I want to get far, far away from him until my life transforms from the bright technicolor I crave back to the safety of the dreary gray I’ve grown accustomed to.

Being this close to Kai is dangerous. His sage-and-peppercorn scent floods my senses and ignites a fire inside of me.

“Olivia.” God, the way he says my name, I feel it in my core. What is happening to me? “It’s only been six weeks. You’re exactly where you should be at this stage. You’re not walking with a limp. You don’t need the crutches anymore. There’s no swelling. Your quadricep activation is getting better and it’ll continue to get better as we go. So what’s up? What’s upsetting you?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep my thoughts from spilling out. My grip on reality is slipping by the second.

“I told you; I think we should be increasing the frequency of our sessions to speed up the process.”

He leans back in his chair. “And I told you that we’re already meeting every day. I’m not going to push you harder than your body can handle to get you back on that field. You and your health are more important.”

I haven’t been more important than the game of soccer in a long time.

I wipe my hands down my face. “You’re right. I just—”

He cuts me off. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“What?”

“Did you say I’m right?”

I press my pointer finger into the wall of muscle he calls a chest. “Shut your ass up. I’ve said you’re right before.” I start to pull my finger back, but he lays his hand on top of mine, keeping it there.