TEMPTATION IN THE DARK

Olivia's Pov 

The mat lay in the middle of the living room, the soft rubber catching the lamplight like a stage I never wanted to step on. I crouched down to straighten the edges, stacking ice packs and resistance bands neatly beside it. My heartbeat was too fast for something that was supposed to be clinical.

“You sure about this, Mom?” Ethan asked from the couch, helmet still in his lap. He’d come home late from drills, hair damp from the shower. “I mean, it’s kinda weird doing therapy here.”

“It’s better than the facility right now,” I said firmly. “Less stress, fewer reporters sniffing around. He needs peace.”

“Peace?” Ethan’s grin tugged. “With you? That’s not what he’s gonna get.”

“Ethan.....”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” He stood and stretched. “Don’t overthink it. You’re the best. He’ll be fine.”

Fine. That word didn’t fit anything about this.

Right on cue, Xander limped in from the hall, crutch under one arm. He wore shorts and a fitted black tee, the fabric clinging to him like it had been stitched in place. His grin was too smug, like he knew exactly what he was walking into.

“Wow,” he said, looking at the mat. “You really went all out. Looks like a personal dungeon.”

“It’s physical therapy,” I snapped, trying not to look at his legs.

“Sure,” he said, easing himself onto the mat. “Just saying… you could at least light some candles.”

“Sit down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at Ethan. “She loves ordering me around.”

Ethan groaned. “Don’t start.”

Xander stretched his leg slowly, grimacing, then leaned back on his elbows. “What? I’m just saying the truth. Your mom’s scarier than any coach I’ve ever had.”

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, kneeling by his side.

“Don’t I know it,” he said, eyes glinting.

Ethan clapped Xander’s shoulder. “I’ll give you guys space. Holler if he starts whining too much.”

“I don’t whine,” Xander protested.

Ethan smirked. “You will.” He headed toward the hall, leaving me alone with the one man I never wanted to be this close to.

The door clicked shut. Silence filled the room, heavy and thick.

“Alright,” I said briskly. “We’ll start with range of motion. Bend slowly when I guide you.”

“Yes, Doc.” He lay back, folding his hands behind his head like he was lounging poolside. “Don’t be shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Xander,” I warned, placing my hands on his thigh to steady him.

He hissed, not from pain but because he wanted me to hear it. “Oh, damn. That touch.”

“Don’t start.”

“Too late.” His grin widened as I pressed gently. “Feels… too good.”

I gritted my teeth. “Stop making noises like that.”

“Can’t help it, Doc.” His voice dropped, rough and teasing. “You’ve got magic hands.”

I dug into the muscle harder, more clinical than careful. He groaned louder, throwing his head back.

“God, yes,” he said dramatically.

“Xander!”

“What? You’re amazing. Cassandra never—” He broke off with a sharp laugh. “Forget it.”

I froze. “Never what?”

His eyes opened, pinning me. “Never touches me. Not like this. Not at all.”

“That’s....” I swallowed hard. “Not my business.”

“Maybe not. But it’s the truth.” His smirk faltered, replaced by something rawer. “You think she’d kneel by me like this? Hands steady, eyes focused, actually giving a damn?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to shut him down. But his voice was too soft, too close to breaking.

“Focus,” I said finally, pressing his leg straighter. “Breathe.”

“Oh, I’m breathing,” he murmured. “Every second you’re this close, I forget about the pain.”

“Good. That’s the point.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Xander.”

He chuckled low, letting the silence stretch, then groaned again as I flexed his knee. It was quieter this time, rougher, almost real.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” I muttered.

He caught my wrist before I could pull away. His grip was warm, steady. “I am. That’s the problem.”

My breath hitched.

He held my gaze. “You pretend this is just therapy. Just doctor and patient. But it’s not. We both know it.”

My pulse hammered. “This is wrong.”

“Then why does it feel so right?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I pulled back, but he sat up, closing the distance. His good leg bent, his injured one braced, our knees almost touching. His chest was inches from mine, his breath brushing my cheek.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

“Say you don’t want it,” he murmured.

“I—” The word died in my throat.

His eyes dropped to my lips. “Can’t do it, can you?”

I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. His hand slid to my wrist again, thumb brushing my pulse. The heat between us was unbearable.

“Xander,” I whispered.

“Olivia,” he answered, softer than I’d ever heard him.

The air tightened. We leaned in, slow, helpless, a pull I couldn’t fight. His nose nearly brushed mine, his mouth hovering—

The front door banged open.

“Yo!” Ethan’s voice rang out. “You two done making him cry yet?”

I jerked back so fast I almost tripped over the mat. Xander leaned back on his hands, smirk snapping into place like armor.

Ethan strolled in, water bottle in hand, eyebrows raised. “Well. This looks cozy.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I blurted.

He snorted. “Relax, Mom. I’m kidding. But seriously—” He glanced at Xander. “She’s not going easy on you, huh?”

“Not at all,” Xander said smoothly, eyes still locked on me. “She’s got a mean streak.”

“Good,” Ethan said, grinning. “Means you’ll heal faster. Don’t let him slack, Mom.”

“Trust me,” Xander said, his smirk twisting. “She doesn’t let me get away with anything.”

Ethan laughed. “Suspicious,” he teased. “You two look suspicious.”

My stomach dropped. “We’re not suspicious. Nothing’s happening. Nothing.”

“Jeez, chill,” Ethan said, backing toward the hall again. “Guilty conscience much?”

“I don’t have a guilty conscience,” I snapped.

Ethan raised a brow. “You’re the one yelling, not me.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Good luck surviving her, bro.”

He disappeared down the hall.

Silence fell again, thick and sharp. My chest heaved. Xander’s grin was slow, dangerous.

“Suspicious,” he echoed, dragging the word out.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

He leaned forward, close enough that I could feel his breath at my ear. His voice was a whisper, velvet and heat.

“Tell me, Doc… what exactly are we guilty of?”