Okay, maybe it was. She’d watched some of his competitions on TV, and she’d held her breath and curled her hands into fists, as if doing so might somehow help him hold on. And maybe she’d been excited for and proud of him every time he’d beat the buzzer. But still, it wasn’t as if he was changing the world. He was just playing at being a cowboy, as he’d always wanted to do, so that he didn’t have to grow up and get a real job.
So yes, she’d seen the magazine. She even had a copy of it—and all the other magazines that had featured him on the cover or mentioned him in a footnote—in the bottom drawer of her desk.
“If you saw that cover, then you know the guy who was all that in high school is now all that and a whole lot more,” Megan said.
“The whole lot more could be staging and airbrushing,” Kenzie suggested.
Megan pushed her empty plate aside. “I’m a little surprised by your lack of interest,” she admitted. “Of all the girls in our class, you had the biggest crush on him. If he ventured within ten feet of you, you’d get completely tongue-tied.”
“It was embarrassing,” Kenzie agreed. “It was also a long time ago.”
“You really don’t care that he’s coming home?”
The only thing she cared about was that she might see him, and then have to face the memories and humiliation of the last time she’d seen him. When she’d thrown herself at him and practically begged him to take her virginity.
Not surprisingly, he’d rejected her offer.
She’d been both heartbroken and relieved when he left for UNLV the next day—and certain she couldn’t ever face him again.
Over the years, he’d made regular if not frequent visits home, and Kenzie had always been careful to stay away from any and all of the places he might be.
If Megan was right about the reason for Spencer’s return, and if he planned to stay in Haven for any significant period of time while his unknown injuries healed, it was inevitable that Kenzie would cross paths with him.
But she was confident that when that happened, he wouldn’t detect any hint of the pathetic, lovestruck teenager she’d been inside the confident and capable woman she was now.
* * *
“Your two o’clock is waiting in treatment room four,” Jillian, the clinic receptionist, told Kenzie when she got back after lunch.
She glanced at her watch. “Mrs. Ferris is early today.”
“Mrs. Ferris canceled,” Jillian informed her. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
Kenzie shook her head. “She complains that her treatment isn’t working but refuses to take any responsibility for the fact that she only shows up for half her scheduled appointments.”
“And complains when we bill her for the ones she misses last-minute,” the receptionist added.
“So who’s my two o’clock?” Kenzie asked.
“A new patient rehabbing a shoulder injury.” Jillian sighed dreamily. “And, oh-my-god, does he have fabulous shoulders. And a smile that could melt any woman’s panties from across the room.”
Though Kenzie was accustomed to Jillian’s outrageous and unapologetic objectification of their attractive male clients, the remark made her cringe—and glance around to ensure there were no other clients within earshot.
“Not my panties,” she asserted confidently. Because only one man’s smile had ever had the power to do that, and that had been a long time ago.
“I’m telling you, if you’d been five minutes later, I might have snuck into the treatment room to massage him myself,” Jillian said, then immediately amended her claim. “No, I probably wouldn’t have lasted more than three minutes.”
Kenzie shook her head. “Does Mr. Panty-Melter have another name?”
“As a matter of fact, he does.” The receptionist glanced down at her computer screen, where the scheduled appointments were displayed. “It’s Spencer Channing.”
It couldn’t be.
There was no way Spencer Channing was here. In Haven, yes. In her treatment room, no.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t catch that.”
Jillian touched the screen, where his name and number were noted in the two o’clock slot. “Spencer Channing,” she said again.
Clearly. Unequivocally.
An injury, Megan had said.
Kenzie had immediately wondered what kind of injury and how bad it was. Somehow, she’d never considered that he might come to Back in the Game for treatment.
She made her way to room four, then paused with her hand on the knob to draw in a deep breath and will her heart to stop racing. Confident and capable, she reminded herself, then stepped into the room.
“So it’s true,” she said, by way of greeting.
Spencer’s head turned toward the door, the widening of his deep blue eyes suggesting that he was as surprised to see her as she’d been to hear Jillian speak his name.
Then his lips curved in a slow, sexy smile that confirmed the receptionist’s assessment of its power.
That smile was lethal. But it was only one weapon in an arsenal that included mouthwatering good looks, a tautly-muscled physique, quick wit and effortless charm.
Yeah, Spencer Channing was all that and a whole lot more.
But it was her job to treat his injury, not lust after his body like a hormonal teenager.
“It’s good to see you, Kenzie.”
“I take it you didn’t know your appointment was with me,” she guessed.
“I didn’t,” he confirmed. “When I was told there’d been a cancellation, I just said I’d take it, without asking any questions.”
She wondered if it would have mattered if he’d known, but she didn’t voice the question.
“What brings you in?” she asked instead.
He tipped his head toward his right shoulder. “Glenohumeral dislocation.”
She winced sympathetically, imagining the pain he must have endured. Of course, he showed no outward evidence of any discomfort now. Then again, Spencer had never let anyone see what was going on inside.
He handed her a large manila envelope. “Copies of the doctor’s report and test results.”
She opened
