I Hate Football Players 3 | 18+

Chapter 115: Emmitt

"Ship sailed, if it was ever even in the harbor," she retorted smartly, which I just rolled my eyes at. "Twenty more."

"Stop," I gritted out through my last reps, which tugged and strained at the tightness in my ankle. The beads of sweat that formed near my hairline pissed me off because I knew the exertion level of Charlie's exercises was near zero but my body had other ideas.

"Need to find some motivation for your lazy ass," she quipped quietly and handed me a water bottle. "You work hardest when I bring up Ellie. Should I talk about how close I think she and Logan are to being the next engaged couple?"

"Fuck," I huffed through pants that heaved my chest and wipe the sweat off my brow with the edge of my T-shirt. "Why weren't you ever in my corner like that, Montgomery?"

"Because Wes told me who you really are." Her blue eyes narrowed before one of her arms pointed at a nearby PT table. "Can't hide from the past, Verns. Always catches up."

With a grunt, I hoisted myself up, laid down, and tucked my arm behind my head while she worked over my right leg. I flinched at the pain that bit into me when she rubbed around the ankle joint.

"It'll hurt for a while," Charlie murmured in a much appreciated, quieter voice. "Don't push it and ruin the earlier progress you've already made. I'll hook you up to the tens machine for twenty minutes, then ice it for ten more and you can go."

"And here I thought you didn't care," I teased her with a smirk we both knew none of her appreciated. The way she wrenched her face in complete disgust was worth my efforts.

"I don't." She pressed her thumb into the muscles on the back of my leg where my ankle was attached to my foot and I gnashed my teeth at the pain that erupted there. "Just doing my job."

"Like cock-blocking me from Ellie." I grunted as she moved up and worked over a knot near my achilles tendon.

"Did that all on your own, Verns," she chided me and roamed her hands up and down the tightness in my shin. "Keep your wet dreams, that's all you're going to get."

"Fuck, Charlie," I cursed, both at the tightness she kneaded her fingers into and her harsh words. "What did I do to you?"

My hypothetical question only earned me a raised eyebrow before Charlie released my leg and stepped away from my line of vision. Her voice echoed from across the PT room, "Don't pretend you're a good guy now, Emmitt."

"I've always been a good guy," I groaned up at the sight of Charlie at the right side of the bench with her favorite torture PT device in one hand and an ice bag in the other. "Just have bad luck."

"Tell it to a judge," she murmured quietly and snapped a few electrode attachments around my ankle, then wrapped my whole foot in ice. "Sit up, big baby."

Silently, I obliged and winced at the needle-like sensations from the tens machine, coupled with the sting from the ice, while she adjusted the strength setting. I hadn't appreciated Charlie's dig against my past, about a time when my bad decisions were worse than my luck until my parents hired a lawyer that pulled my ass out of a bad situation.

Unfortunately, nothing in life was free, particularly lawyers. My parents were well off enough that we lived comfortably, but lawyer's fees were horrendous until a defense attorney's office stepped in and offered a reduced rate. During my high school mistakes, I hadn't known the details of the arrangement the lawyers made with my parents but had a feeling that someday a favor was called in.

Like my phone read my message, it buzzed in my side pocket. I groaned at the cryptic message, how the words weren't wrong, and what they implied.

RS: Running out of time.