Lady and the Champ by Katherine Lace

he’s smiling a little.
    I leave as quickly as possible, and I’m careful not to slam the door.

    * * *
    O n the way home , my brain starts to settle. I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I’m a professional—if I have this kind of reaction to every client, I won’t be a professional for long. Just because there’s a low-level, buzzing attraction doesn’t mean I can lose my shit.
    Low-level, my ass.
    The pragmatic inner voice that always calls me on my shit is right. What’s going on when I’m in the same room with Austin isn’t a low-level buzz. It’s more like the screaming, frantic hum of a million beehives somebody has just poked with a stick. Adding Emma to the mix…well, that was just playing dirty, not to mention turning the buzz up to eleven. There’s no way to ignore that.
    Well, you’re going to pull up your big girl panties and do exactly that.
    Stupid voice. If it weren’t from inside my own head, I’d slap it silly.
    At home, I fling my bag on the couch. It sucks that I’m going to have to go back to get the mat. That’ll have to wait until I can get myself better under control. Maybe I can sneak in—break in through his window, grab the mat, and run.
    Forget that. I’d never get past the main gate.
    I’m still on edge, anxiety making everything feel prickly and unmanageable as I try to pace it off. Austin will call Dr. Richards and tell him what happened. Dr. Richards will call me into his office, dress me down, and then take me off Austin’s case. He’ll probably fire me, in fact, for not being able to manage a high-profile client. It’ll take me years to get my reputation back…
    Oh my God, stop it, Chloe.
    In my head, I’ve fast-forwarded myself all the way to my late thirties so I can see the tragic failure I’ve become. Hell, if I let my imagination run much further, I’ll be in an embarrassed-physical-therapist protection program.
    I flop onto the couch. I just need to apologize. But first I need to get myself under control.
    Digging my phone out of my bag, I find Austin’s contact information and stare at it for what feels like four hours. Finally I take a deep breath, swallow hard, fix my hair—because you can totally tell over the phone if somebody’s hair isn’t perfect—and touch the screen to dial his number.
    “Chloe?” He answers right away, like he’s been waiting for me to call. Somehow that makes me a little less nervous. Maybe he’s worried about me.
    “Hi,” I say. My heart starts pounding again, and I wonder how I ever thought I was calm enough to do this. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. There was no excuse for me to run out like that.”
    “Are you okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.
    “Yes. I just…I don’t know. I kind of lost it. This job is really stressful. My boss is putting a lot of pressure on me to do everything right and be sure you’re ready in time for the championship game and—”
    His chuckle cuts me off.
    “What? Why are you laughing at me?” I demand.
    “I’m not laughing at you.”
    “Yes, you are!”
    “Well, Doc, you can tell me about the stress and the pressure and job security and your boss being a dick all day, and it’s not going to change the fact that I know exactly what’s going on with you.”
    “Oh, really?”
    “Really. I can read you like a book, Doc.”
    “You can read?”
    There. Be pissed off. Remember he’s an asshole. Remember how much you hate football players.
    He just chuckles again. “You want me. You want me so bad it hurts.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.”
    “What, you’re a bloodhound now?”
    “No, I just know when a woman wants me.”
    My teeth are grinding together now. “You just assume every woman wants you, which is not even remotely true.”
    “Tell me you don’t want me.”
    “I don’t want you.” I say it firmly, and it sounds almost like I believe it.
    “Tell me you don’t want to do filthy things with me on my massage