Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

As I study how she stashes away my dishes—she puts as much attention into finding the right spot for my plate as a clockmaker might use to regulate an expensive Swiss watch—a thought pops into my mind.

Could Ellie’s yearning for neat physical surroundings also result from what she went through with Devon?

I’d always thought that her love for cleanliness and symmetry was just a charming idiosyncrasy. It becomes more dominant when she’s nervous, yes, but I’d never connected it to her wish to establish control in her life.

Ellie turns back to me.

She seems unaware that I’m trying to do her job by psychoanalyzing her because she smiles. “Now, that’s better.” Then her eyes flick to the mini-Parthian hot water tap that sits beside the main, aged-brass tap. “What’s this?”

“It’s an instant hot water dispenser,” I answer. “You get boiling temperature as soon as you open it. It’s a handy gadget for someone who drinks as much tea as I do.”

It’s actually the only addition I asked the previous owner to install before signing my contract with him.

“So, you still prefer a Sencha to an old-fashioned cup of Joe?” Her eyes round.

“Sure I do.” I grin. “Those antioxidants are a must to recover quickly from muscle strain.”

She smiles as if she appreciates finding out that I hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought.

Eager to impress her a little further, I dart to my fridge and fetch a large cucumber and a lemon. I pull out a cutting board from a drawer and grab a knife.

Ellie follows my movements with a suspicious glare. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing us some refreshments before we start working. I know you prefer infused water to plain so—” My hands, which had already begun chopping the cucumber, freeze. My eyes drift to her face. “Or at least you used to. Uhm…do you still?”

“Yes, but I actually have a bottle in my bag already. I can drink that.”

“Oh, then I guess I’ll just…” I lower the knife.

“You know what?” She smiles. “Mine is probably all warm. The ride to your house wasn’t short. I’d love a fresh one.”

I’m not sure whether my clearly embarrassed tone changed her mind, but I don’t care. I’m glad to prepare a drink for her, especially her still-preferred one.

After adding cool sparkling water and a few ice cubes, I hand her the glass, and our fingers brush against each other.

My body is used to violent blows and swings. On the gridiron, I endure all degrees of pain, even excruciating pain, without a blink. Partially because a complete disregard for one’s well-being is admired in the NFL between players, but also because my personal levels of supporting agony are much higher than that of many others.

Yet the tiny caress from Ellie’s skin jerks my arm.

Some water spills on the counter, and a few droplets even reach her blue folder. I hurry to soak the moisture up with the rag.

After Ellie finishes her drink, I propose we move out to my large patio. “It’s covered by the shade of various whitethorn acacias, so despite being outside, we won’t be too warm.”

“Sure, wherever you prefer.” She picks up her bag and her folder.

I leave the sliding glass door open so the AC’s breeze can cool us even further. We take a seat on the comfy outdoor sofa.

“Today, I have another questionnaire for you,” Ellie announces. She pulls out a sheet from her binder and hands it to me.

“Another one?” I pay attention to taking the paper without touching her. My body isn’t ready for another electric shock just yet. “I’ve completed at least three different ones.”

Ellie places her elbows on the curved armrests. “I know, but we need to track your progress in each session.”

I refrain from a joke that you can’t advance when you’re at the finish line. I might not need help in the anger department like my coaches and Ellie seem to think, but I sure as heck don’t want to skip our daily meetings. The last time I’d woken with as much excitement as I did these past three days was when I’d waited on my first roster game in college. That was during the period when I was still dating Ellie.

I don’t know what to do with this random mental association my brain throws at me, so I decide to ignore it and instead scan the statements that are supposed to evaluate my state of serenity.

I have to rate myself from one to ten on each item. I quickly circle the adequate answers to the first questions, but when I get to a specific phrase, I pause.

“Which one’s causing you trouble?” Ellie asks, leaning closer.

“This one.” I show her the question: Do you feel unreasonably tense?

She furrows her brow. “Is it hard to answer?”

“It is. I mean, there are moments, like when Rodriguez taunted me, when I snap, but other than that, I’m chill. So what shall I put? Three?”

“Is three the most adequate number?”

I point at her. “I know what you’re doing. It’s a trick to make me doubt what I just said.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not. I’m just curious. Three seems a fairly low number. And during our past sessions, there were moments where you seemed rather restless.”

Yeah, any moment where my body accidentally touched Ellie’s would qualify for that.

I shake my head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Ellie stands up. “Let’s try something new.” She walks over to an empty corner of my terrace and waves to me. “Come here. You can finish the questions later.”

Puzzled but curious, I put down the papers on the sofa, straighten, and amble to her with arched brows. “What do you have in mind?”

“Our first role play.”

“That sounds exciting.” I flash her a lopsided grin.

She ignores my teasing and continues in a professional tone, even if her cheeks blush slightly. “We’ll try to emulate a scenario that’ll help you decide where your current level of tension originates. I’ll give you instructions,