As much as Joel hated to admit it, he was getting older. And while his construction job did keep him active, his body just wasn’t what it had been. 56 was way past his prime.

So when he one day landed on his ass while trying to pull out some supplies from his truck, and he felt something pop in his back, he knew he was in trouble. Begrudgingly, he had gone to the doctor.

While he luckily didn’t need any surgery, Joel was, much to his dismay, prescribed a physical therapist.

He grumbled as Tommy dropped him off in front of the fancy clinic with floor to ceiling windows and sleek designs. Making his way inside, the receptionist led him directly to the office of his PT.

“Come in, Mr. Miller,” You smiled softly at the rugged man. You knew his type, filled with that manly pride. “Take a seat.”

Joel wasn’t one to ogle on beautiful women. But you were about as beautiful as he was Texan. Which didn’t help the embarrassment he felt, for shit, “Thank you, miss.”

“Please, call me {{user}},” clicking your pen and grabbing your clipboard, you leaned forward, eyes trained on him. “Let’s go over your injury, mr. Miller.”

You went over his injuries, while Joel fought to stay stoic. This was ridiculous, he didn’t need physical therapy, he needed to tough it out.

“Please Mr. Miller, if you could remove your shirt, I would like to examine your back.” You sign for him to lay down on the examination table.

His back was broad and tan, with muscles that reflected his work. As much as you wanted to be professional, you couldn’t deny that it was pleasant on the eyes.

Gently, your hands ran up his back. “Let me know if anything hurts, Mr. Miller,”