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“Your patient is hot.”
She did not need her fellow PTA’s reminding her. She knew he was hot. It was unavoidable. He was also nearly twice her age.
“Shut up. He’s a veteran, you need to respect him,” she shushed Jen, scolding her ogling as the middle aged man in scrubs checked in at the front desk across the room. But her scolding felt like she was trying to remind herself.
Jen huffed and crossed her arms, watching the grey haired man hike his backpack up on his one shoulder. “Thank him for his service for me…” she turned around and walked away, disappearing into the small break room.
“Doctor Abbot, it’s great to see you this morning!” She greeted him with a gentle smile. His cool eyes and sure demeanor made it hard to not want to twirl her ponytail around her finger like a school girl. But he was a patient. An “old” one. And he was probably married, based on the ring on his finger.
They didn’t really talk much. He had an attitude about physical therapy like he was a little embarrassed to still need it. He was a above the knee right leg amputee. A veteran. A doctor. That’s all she knew about him. He never shared many details. And he never asked questions.
“Morning,” he said, letting out a deep breath. He was in a tight black tshirt, the sleeves pressing into his biceps. The shirt was lazily tucked into his black scrub pants. He must’ve just got off work.
She guided him toward a more secluded area, one with a mat on the floor, a couple chairs, a bar on the wall, and a massage table. He set his backpack down against the wall and stood up right, crossing his arms and looking around.
“You know the drill, Doctor. Let’s take your prosthetic off so we can adequately stretch.” She set the clipboard she carried down on the bed beside him as he sat on the edge. She pulled up a chair, sitting in front of him, her face waist level. It was hard to not feel a little wave of anticipation every time. She rolled his scrub leg up, revealing the cold metal and plastic.
“I can do it,” he mumbled, removing the leg gently, rubbing his hand over the scar before rolling the pant leg back down.
“You’re right. I’m bad about not remembering if I’m ‘helping or doing’, I’m sorry.” She nodded softly, watching as he set the leg on the floor beside him.
“You’re young, still. You’ll learn,” he sighed a little. It was the most he’d ever really said to her that wasn’t about how an exercise felt or that his leg had been hurting.
She smiled a little. “Long night?” She tried to chit chat as she gently began moving his leg side to side, assessing his range of mobility. “You’re a little stiff. Did you take any sitting breaks?”
He scoffed, looking down at her for a moment then turning away. “I work in the ER. There’s no such thing as sitting. Not when I have to take over for some overconfident med students fucking up.”
She felt a small smirk grow on her face. “Take over, you say? Well, are you helping or doing?”
He looked back down at her and matched her smirk, raising a brow. “Touché.”
She stood up and moved her clipboard, dropping it haphazardly to the ground. “Okay, lean back. We’re gonna do some stretching and rhythmic movements.”
He closed his eyes as he leaned back on the bed, squirming as little as he fought to get comfy.
“I know. These beds suck.” She rolled up the leg of his scrub again to keep it from dangling. “I gotta say, it’s easier when you come in on your off day and you’re in shorts. The pant leg is awkward.”
He laid an arm across his as a sly smirk grew on his face. “I could take my pants off if that’s easier.”
She felt her cheeks flushing and she thanked God her long sleeve underscrub shirt hid the flush that traveled down her chest. “That won’t be necessary.” She cleared her throat. “I’m going to gently push your leg outward, kind of a half butterfly pose.”
She leaned over him cautiously, moving the leg slowly to avoid straining. “Just tell me if it hurts. No need to be tough here.”
“I’m tough everywhere, sweetheart.”
She swallowed hard. The blush on her cheeks wasn’t going anywhere today.
“I believe you. But pain isn’t our goal here,” she laughed softly. “Does this feel okay?”
He winced a little as she applied some light pressure. “Little tight,” god, “I haven’t got to do my yoga in a few days.”
“Yoga?! You never told me you did yoga! That’s great!” She grinned. He moved his arm from across his eyes and looked at her beaming face. “What kind of yoga? Hot yoga, flow, acro, barre?”
He licked his lips, “naked.”
She coughed a little, releasing all pressure from his leg. “Oh.”
He smirked, stifling a laugh. “It’s freeing. Even better when it’s nice outside.”
That was definitely not an image she needed. And it was breaking her brain.
“I like doing yoga outside. But never naked,” she laughed awkwardly as she gently rocked his leg back and forth, loosening up.
“Try it sometime. It’s freeing.”
“Nobody wants to see that,” she scoffed.
“Well, nobody has to. But believe me, there’s at least one person who wants to see everyone naked. Nobody is without an admirer who wants to see them naked.”
“I’ll have to trust your medical opinion,” she bit her lip, trying to distract herself from the thoughts racing through her mind. “I’m going to pull your leg back toward your abdomen, okay? Tell me when to stop or if it hurts.”
She bent his leg back slowly and gently, leaning over him to get a good stretch.
“I didn’t peg you for the yoga type,” he observed out loud.
She scoffed, “why, because I’m thick?”
He laughed a little, “size has nothing to do with yoga or exercise. I just figured you were more of a cardio gal.”
She shook her head, “nope. Too painful.”
“Painful? Maybe you should be the one getting PT,” he quipped.
She rolled her eyes. “I mean. Running or climbing stairs is not enjoyable when you’re…top heavy.”
She sees the realization wash over his face. “No, I imagine not.”
Her face was practically stained red from embarrassment. She could feel herself perspiring through her shirt. She stayed quiet for the rest of the session, only giving minor feedback and directions for the next exercise.
She helped him reattach his leg when they were finished and gave him a printed packet of new exercises to do at home.
“I’ll see you next week?” She hummed softly as she passed the packet to him.
He rolled it up like a tube and shook it at her, tilting his head. “Next week.”
She nodded and watched him saunter out the automatic doors, less stiff than when he came in.
Jen’s voice startled her from behind. “He’s so fine. And he likes you.”
She rolled her eyes, “no he does not. And he’s probably too old anyways.”
“I thought your excuse was he’s a veteran.” She could hear the smirk in Jen’s voice. She didn’t even have to look at her.
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “That too.” Whatever it took to keep her professional. “I’m gonna go take my long sleeve off. I’m warm.”
“Sure,” Jen laughed. “He got you all worked up.”
“Shut up.”
But it was true. And everyone with eyes could tell.