“Focus, Josephine,” he whispers.

I nod, my nose brushing against his as I finish pulling his shirt off his other arm and take a step back just as my father’s footsteps get closer and he walks in the room.

“You’re late,” Dad says behind me and even though I knew he just walked in, I jump to the other side of the room, still holding Jagger’s shirt in my hand. “Next week you have to be on time. I can’t stay late every week.”

“It won’t happen again. I was stuck explaining to Coach why I wasn’t going to use the team’s PT.”

“Coach?” Dad raises an eyebrow, then looks over at me, then at Jagger. “You went to practice?”

“I did.”

“Did you just have my daughter help you take off your shirt?”

“Yes.” Jagger clears his throat.

“Which means you can’t do a simple task on your own,” Dad says. “Which means you shouldn’t have been practicing today. What the hell are your coaches thinking?”

“I told them I was fine.”

“You told them you were fine and they listened?” Dad shakes his head. “Pull up the file I sent, Josephine.”

I click the file and watch as a ton of different X-ray pictures pop up on my screen and the big screen beside me. I click the first one. I know I’m looking at a shoulder, but I have no idea what to look for in an X-ray, so I don’t even try. I set Jagger’s T-shirt down beside me and click on the next picture and the next as Dad instructs me.

“It’s still healing,” Dad says finally. “He did a great job pushing it back in place. Have you been doing the exercises he recommended?”

“Not really.”

“Have you been laying off the weights?”

“For the most part.”

“For the most part,” Dad says. “Do you want to get back on the field or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“You’re not acting like it.” Dad shoots him a hard look.

Once he finishes looking at the pictures, he goes over exercises with Jagger, winding motions, him standing with his back against the wall and bringing his arms up to a v-position. They do five different exercises that seem fairly easy but all make Jagger hiss out in pain. I feel kind of bad for him. When they’re done, Dad pats Jagger’s arm, rubs antibacterial gel on his hands, and tells him to come back next week. As he’s walking out, he glances at me.

“Can I trust you to lock up tonight? Your mother’s been waiting for me.”

“Sure.”

“Finish sweeping the floors. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t even worry about the bathrooms. Milton said—”

“I know, Dad. Donna already told me.” I shake my head and look away.

“Well, Josephine, I don’t think I need to explain to you why you’re here, do I? Because if you need me to go over the things you’ve done wrong and the lapse of judgment—”

“I’m good, Dad,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the ground, wishing I could totally disappear from earth in this moment. “Thank you for letting me pay you back and stuff.”

“You’re welcome.” He walks out.

Jagger is still standing there, but thankfully hasn’t spoken a word. I’m pretty sure if he does or says something nice I’ll start crying right on the spot. I give myself a count of ten before taking a nice deep breath, shutting down the computer, and grabbing Jagger’s shirt. I toss it to him as I walk out of the room.

“I’ll be in the hall.” I turn around and start walking out.

“I need help putting it back on.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I pivot around and walk over to him, grabbing the shirt from his hand. I avoid eye contact as I help him slide his left arm into the sleeve, put the neck over his head, and step away. “You really should not be practicing right now.”

“I could have put it on myself.” He grins.

My jaw drops. “That’s not funny.”

“I beg to differ.” He finishes putting on his T-shirt and I turn around and walk into the hall, picking up the broom to continue cleaning.

“You want help?”

“No, thank you.” I focus on the floor.

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

I stop sweeping and look at him. “You can’t even put your shirt on. You think you can help me sweep?”

“I have my right arm. You’d be surprised at the things I can still do.”

“I’m good.” I shake my head, fighting a blush and dirty thoughts. “Really. If Dad caught wind that I let someone help me with this . . . ” I shake my head. As it is, his words caused a lump in my throat that I haven’t yet gotten rid of and I need Jagger to leave before I can cry in peace.

“You want company?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” He shrugs his right shoulder. “See you around then, Roomie.”

I don’t even watch him leave. I’m so pissed off and sad at what my dad said and Lawrence’s stupid NDA and those are the only things that get me through my angry sweeping session. The last thing I need is to focus on Jagger Cruz and his kindness and his gorgeous face or his stupid muscles.

Tags: Claire Contreras Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net