Intercepted (New Hope #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mason

Nikolas holds the ends of the resistance band wrapped around my ankle, providing anterior force while I pull against him, attempting to close the gap between my foot and hip.

"Have you been doing a different form of exercise?" Nikolas asks, furrowing his brow while he examines my hamstring.

As my physical therapist, I'm used to him putting his hands on me. Throughout my career, my body has often been perused by doctors, coaches, trainers, and PT experts. Most of them pretended like there wasn't a living, cognitive person inside of it. That's not the case with Nikolas. The NFL and my agent put their heads together, outsourcing my recovery team from all around the world.

After the first mandatory eight weeks of post-op therapy, I dipped to the Maldives. We all know I wasn't paying attention to my health on that yacht. I figured Nikolas would go back to Ukraine, but he stuck around, waiting for me to show my face again. He busied himself with other patients until he got a call from my agent, asking him if he'd be willing to move to Philadelphia for the foreseeable future.

Nikolas has grown fond of the City of Brotherly Love, as well as the abundance of nightclubs.

"I'm sticking to the normal routine," I tell him, wincing when he adjusts the angle of my foot. It's not a sharp pain, but it is an uncomfortable stretch. "Weightlifting, cardio, and resistance training."

The dark-haired, eastern European man digs his thumb beneath my left hip bone, the uninjured one. "You are tighter here."

Immediately, my mind drifts to Mallory.

It's been a little over two weeks since Thanksgiving, and I've visited her every night. Sometimes we don't even make it to the bed. I've fucked her on every surface in her room. The dresser, the vanity, the floor, as well as the armoire, the bathroom sink, the wall. You name it, we've consecrated it. My record is making her orgasm seven times in a span of two hours, but I think I can break that.

I'd forgotten how bendy she is. It's like making love to a pretzel. A sexy, wet, warm-blooded pretzel. The woman can get her ankles behind her head, for God's sake. The first time she did it, I came on the spot. We were both so surprised by my instant ejaculation, we couldn't stop laughing for ten minutes straight.

Nikolas clears his throat, removing his hand from my hip. I glance down, seeing that I'm sporting a semi in my exercise shorts.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim, batting at my crotch like a fly has landed between my legs. "Sorry, man. That's not for you. I mean, you're good-looking, but you don't have the right parts."

"I'm not offended." Nikolas laughs, shaking his head. "Believe me, it happens all the time."

I raise my eyebrows.

"In fact," Nikolas jokes, tossing me a towel from the rack in our home gym. "If it weren't for the ironclad NDA, I'd love to brag to my gay friends that I managed to get a twitch out of Mason Reeves."

"A twitch?" I ask.

Nikolas points to my lap, which is sans erection, thank fuck.

I chuckle, wiping the sweat from my brow. "Like I said, it wasn't—"

"For me, I know. But a man can dream."

I toss the towel at his face, taking the hand he lends to help me up. "Good thing my lawyer recommends NDAs, otherwise I'd have even more speculation into my sex life."

"Speaking of sex lives," Nikolas says, gathering his iPad to make a few notes about today's session. "I've noticed the little ballerina is being a bit nicer to you. Any reason for that?"