“Our year,” Ty repeated firmly, and they all toasted.

Then Pace slept for two more days, staggering to the door when someone knocked, staring bleary-eyed at the woman who’d woken him. He was hurting pretty good so he didn’t speak. Instead, he just soaked up the sight of Holly as though she were a balm for his abused senses. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore sweats—Heat sweats, with his number on them. He tried not to be moved by that but failed.

She appeared to be having the same trouble, staring at the only thing he wore, the only thing he could put on by himself—loose basketball shorts.

“Hi,” she said, sounding a little unsure of her reception.

“Hi. I thought you were on the job.”

“I’m more than the job, Pace.”

He didn’t say anything to that because her point slammed home hard. She was more than her job.

He was not.

“I know you have doctors and PTs and a million people looking out for you,” she said. “But I thought I’d come do some stretching with you, the ones your doctor recommended when I checked you out of the hospital.”

“There’s no point in rushing, not if I got suspended for twenty-five games. Or worse.”

“Don’t give up, Pace. We can get to the bottom of it, expose who did this to you, and—”

“And then what? Destroy someone else instead, someone I likely know and—” Care about.

“Yes,” she said softly, clearly understanding. “If that’s what it takes.”

Wishing he was still dead asleep because being awake hurt like hell, he moved aside for her to come in.

“I’ve been researching, writing,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know. I want to be upfront with you on this.”

Ah, hell. “Sounds argument inducing.”

She turned and looked him over. “It won’t be. I’m not here to argue. I’m here to help you stay in shape. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. And you’re already dressed for what I have in mind.”

Okay, that sounded a lot more promising than he’d thought. Especially when she put her hands on his belly and gently pushed him past the living room toward the hallway.

“Your doctor suggested a lower-body workout for circulation.”

He was game for a lower-body workout, only she didn’t go as far as his bedroom, pulling him into his home gym. She turned on the light and looked at him as she pulled off her sweatshirt and then her pants, leaving her in a pair of bicycle shorts and a sports bra. She pointed to the leg-press machine. “Sit.”

He did, only because she looked exceedingly hot. He put his legs up and pushed.

“Good,” she said, leaning over him. “Keep going.”

He liked her workout outfit. A lot. He reached out to touch, but she slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all, “but people who don’t trust me don’t get to touch me.”

“It’s not that I don’t—”

“Shh. This is a workout.” She sat at the bench press next to him. “I bet I can do more reps than you.”

He eyed her gorgeous, curvy body, which had probably never seen a gym, and pulled out a smile he didn’t know he had in him. “No, you can’t.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Prove it.”

“I’d rather kiss you.”

“Of course you would. I’m very kissable. Oh, and FYI . . .” She cocked her head. “I can see up your shorts.”

She didn’t sound too impressed, and he felt the need to defend himself. “Yeah. I don’t think I’m . . . working. I think it was the anesthesia.” Or so he’d told himself.

She raised a brow. “You’re not . . . working? You mean you can’t get an erection?”

Giving up with the weights, he lay flat on his back trying not to be embarrassed. So he couldn’t get it up. He could live with that.

No.

No, he really couldn’t live with that. “It’s probably only temporary—” He broke off when he felt her finger outline his anklebone, then run up his calf. His basketball shorts were low on his hips and long to his knees, and she easily skimmed beneath the loose material to stroke his thigh.

“Did you ask the doctor about it?”

“No. It said something about it in the paperwork they gave me. In the fine print.” Specifically it’d said that erections might be tricky for the next week or so. He hadn’t gone a day without his dick at least twitching on its own since he’d turned twelve, but it’d been over a week now and nothing—

She stroked his leg again, with her entire hand now, then added the other to the mix in an intoxicating massage that felt so good he groaned, deep and heartfelt.

“You’re tight, is all,” she murmured. “Stressed.” She dug her fingers into the muscles of his thighs. “That’s not good for your recovery.”

He opened his eyes and found her leaning over him, her ponytail hanging forward, lightly grazing his skin as she rubbed his legs. Her eyes locked on his and she smiled. She ran her gaze over his chest, then his lap, checking for success, which had him letting out a low laugh. “Don’t bother. I told you—”

Her fingers skimmed back up to his hips and lightly stroked over his belly, then caught on the waistband of the shorts, which were so low they’d probably be too indecent to wear out of the house. Especially since, hello, her magic was working.