"Elias, your turn. Post-game check."
She paces toward him, her movements steady and deliberate.
"Sit down, please," she commands, though it sounds more like a request for him to stop looming.
Elias, who had been halfway to his feet to meet her, pauses.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "The right shoulder again?" he asks.
He tilts his head, looking up at her with an expression that says he's entirely too aware of her proximity.
Mia nods, ignoring the way his blue-gray eyes seem to track the pulse point at her throat. "I need to check for any recurrence of the strain or new muscle tears."
This is the first time she has performed a formal check on him since his therapy sessions ended.
Usually, they are under the blinding, clinical lights of the medical room—safe, sterile,
