“I’m not a patient yet. I’m just here to meet with her.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out folded-up papers. “I did fill out these forms in case we end up working together.”
“Okay. I’ll hold on to these for now.” She took them and then pushed out of her chair. “Let me show you to the conference room.”
Grey followed her into a small room. He leaned his crutches against the small table and sat in one of the plastic chairs with his back to the door. “Thanks.”
“She’ll be here in a minute.” The receptionist smiled and left him alone.
While waiting, he scrolled through his email, then texted Trip with a reminder to pick him up at five.
“Mr. Lowell.”
He looked up at the source of the soft voice.
“Bambi?” His ears burned as soon as the word flew from his mouth. Bambi was Randall’s sister? Good God, another stroke of bad luck—or maybe not. Damn, she was just as pretty as he’d remembered.
Despite his discomfort, her confused expression made him smile.
“Excuse me?” Her stunned voice yanked him from his lusty daze. He noticed her eyebrows had risen to her hairline. “Did you just call me Bambi?”
Sky blue, not green. Sky blue eyes dappled with warm flecks of gold. Mesmerizing, but not as bright as the first time he’d seen them. Now faint dark circles beneath them underscored the strain she’d been under.
“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his jaw, trying to look nonchalant despite the rush of embarrassed heat racing up his neck.
She paused, clearly flabbergasted by his ridiculous remarks. Way to be impressive, Grey. He tucked his phone into his pocket. Unlike the other night, today she wore simple black sweats and a white, Alpine PT-embossed pullover. The boxy clothes did little to conceal the womanly frame underneath. She’d been seated when he first saw her, so he hadn’t known if her figure would be as cute as her face. Apparently this girl had it all.
“I’m sure I’ll regret this question, but where did that come from?” She held his gaze, just like the first time he’d seen her.
Backbone.
He liked it. A lot.
Maybe too much.
“From the way you reacted to me at Plum Tree.” He shrugged, grinning. Something about her provoked the hell out of him, which prompted him to push her buttons and watch her respond. He decided to roll with the pleasant buzz traveling through his limbs . . . and elsewhere.
“Reacted?” She closed one eye and scratched at her temple, pretending to think back. “Gee, and here I recall you ducking out before we even spoke.”
A ripple of satisfaction skimmed through him upon confirming she remembered their near encounter. He leaned close enough to smell her light perfume.
“When you looked up at me, your eyes got real wide and you blinked a few times.” He paused, smiling at the memory. “Well, like a deer in the headlights.”
“I did not!” She tugged at her ponytail, but she didn’t back away. A good sign. “Anyway, that name’s demeaning.”
“Is not. Everyone loves Bambi.” He squared his shoulders. She might claim not to like the name, but the subtle quirk at the corners of her mouth gave her away. He affected her, which revved him up further. “Regardless, it’s how I always think of you.”
Oh Jesus, he might as well have simply used the word fantasize. Real smooth, Grey. When he finally found the balls to meet her eyes, he noticed a hint of temptation in her expression.
“That’s . . . interesting. But we should probably stick with my real name.” She held out her hand, smiling. “I’m Avery.”
His pulse kicked up a notch when he clasped her hand, more than it had from kissing her friend Kelsey. Not good. He didn’t want to let go. “Avery.”
“No. Avery,” she repeated.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” His mind struggled to focus on their conversation, which seemed impossible with every nerve ending in his body on high alert.
“Uh-uh. You said A-vree. But it’s three syllables. A-ver-ee.” Up close he could tell she enjoyed poking at him. Playful—he liked that, too.
He bit his lower lip and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. “Guess I’ll stick with Bambi then.”
“But I don’t like it.”
Sure you don’t. He chuckled. “Since when does a person get to pick their own nickname?”
She narrowed her eyes as if about to lay something good on him, but then her expression fell serious. “I suspect my name, real or otherwise, is the least of the awkward things between us.”
Dammit. He’d been flirting as if they were at a bar instead of in a clinic dealing with a sticky situation.
“Yeah.” He tried to catch her eye again. “But I’m hoping we can put aside any personal matters and work together.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.” She shuffled her foot.
“My issues aren’t with you. You’re not responsible for your brother’s screw-up. You didn’t put my whole future at risk.”
Avery winced. “Gee, thanks. But your ill will toward him may be a problem for me. Despite his mistakes, I love him. And I’ve got professional ethics to abide by. Taking you on as a patient is a conflict of interest.”
Grey scrubbed his hand over his face. “You didn’t cause the accident. What’s the conflict?”
“The conflict is that your recovery will affect your claim. Working with you would put me smack in the middle of a messy situation with my brother, especially if you don’t achieve the results you desire.”
Not achieve the results he desired? The mere idea pissed him off, but he wouldn’t alienate her by letting his anger bubble to the surface.
“Well then, I’ve got a problem since the only other ortho PT in this little town isn’t even in Colorado right now.” He could see her struggling with the decision, so he applied more pressure. “From what I’ve been told, the sooner I start therapy, the better my chances of recovery. On top of that, I’ve been told you’re the best. If that’s true, then you should want me to work with you instead of some lesser PT. Aren’t you my best chance at getting back on the mountain ASAP? Won’t a speedy recovery mean less trouble for your brother? So the way I see it, it’s in both our interests to work together. No conflict there.”
One of her brows shot up. “Subtle.”
“I can’t really afford to play nice, so I’m respecting you enough to play it straight. I don’t think that’s unfair unless, somehow, you blame me for this mess.” He watched her withdraw, which was not the result he wanted. His ham-handed approach was proving her fears right. Time to change tactics. “By the way, thanks for the get-well card.”
The fight in her eyes dimmed, but her arms remained crossed.
“I wasn’t sure about the etiquette, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I’m sorry about your injuries.” Her voice had dropped to just above a whisper. Misery and disgrace washed over her features. “And I don’t blame you.”
When despair shone through the cracks in her tough shell, he yearned to offer the comfort of his arms.
Hell. Maybe she was right. Maybe they couldn’t work together without creating bigger problems. But he wanted to work with her, and deep down he knew it wasn’t only because she was the best PT around.
His body came alive around her. Every little thing she did or said stirred him. Therapy would put her in his orbit a few times each week, a positive outcome of an otherwise dire situation.
“Avery, despite my current mood, I am sorry your brother got hurt. I’m sure his troubles are at least as big as mine right now, and I’m sorry about how it all affects you.” He meant it, too.
“Thank you.” She glanced up, misty-eyed, petal-pink lips parted, eyes lit with appreciation. “I would’ve assumed you’d be glad to see the book thrown at him.”