The ripping sound of her torn shoulder muscle replays in Tasha's mind over and over, that is, until she meets the therapist bent on helping her recover. Ethan is a professional. He doesn't stray from his goals, he doesn't falter. But Tasha's quick wit and sweet personality make staying professional a massive challenge. Will recovery come to mean something more than a functional shoulder for Tasha and Ethan?
Page Count: 52
Word Count: 12292
“Your therapist will knock in five minutes. Please be ready.”
This was going to be as hellish as I had expected. I had learned how to manage my clothes one-handed, but getting my shirt over my bad shoulder was still a challenge. I’d barely thrown on the worn, candy-printed gown before the ominous knock occurred.
“Come in.” I was muttering again, my nerves getting the better of me. I didn’t like pain.
The door creaked open with cringing slowness, and my chart appeared again, this time held in front of the face of a man. A youngish man with a mop of unkempt, brown hair and the body of Adonis. If Adonis shopped at the Gap. I still couldn’t see his face, but his defined muscles were displayed perfectly by simple khakis and a white polo with the clinic logo on it.
I was still staring at his chest when he spoke. I barely heard what he said because the cadence of his voice made me feel like a cake peering upward in rapture as it awaited a blissful stream of molten ganache to cover it.
“Tasha DuPont?” The voice spoke again, and I felt myself sway slightly like a drunkard.
I tried to recover what dignity I had left. “Um, yeah, DuPont, like the appliances. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’m really nervous right now.”
How true that was. I finally managed to raise my head enough to see his face. Good thing I could blame nerves, because the brown eyes I peered into were making me shake on the inside. He was so gorgeous, and that was a really weak adjective. He’s my therapist? Gah.
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