Lady and the Champ (16 page)

Roger’s face starts to go red and pale at the same time, which is interesting to say the least. He’s got high scarlet patches on his cheekbones and grey shadows just under them.

“Is that what you want?” He glances around, trying to draw in other members of the team. Several more have wandered in, and most of them are standing with their arms crossed, looking at him like he’s a cockroach who just slithered in off the street.

“What the fuck you talking about?” Peterson asks.

“You want a talentless bitch like her working on your star receiver? You really think for a half-second she knows anything about getting him in shape in time for the championship?”

Peterson takes a single step forward. Roger has the good sense to move backward. “You want to take that back, you little punk?”

Roger swallows. Peterson’s just staring at him. The other guys are like a wall behind him, wide and solid. The arms crossed over their chests are the size of Roger’s waist. Roger’s eyes get crazy, like he’s desperate to get someone to back him up. Nobody seems to be taking him up on the offer.

“You really think—” he starts, and Peterson reaches out and grabs him by the collar.

“No!” says Chloe, but I reach back to block her. She stops, but I can feel her shaking against my forearm.

“What I think is that you need to shut the fuck up,” Peterson snarls. He glances over his shoulder. “Am I right, guys?”

“Yep.” There’s a staggered chorus of voices, a unanimous series of nods.

“What I also think,” Peterson continues, “is that you’re going to apologize right now to Doc Chloe and to Sherwood, and then I’m going to call your boss and ask for a PT who isn’t a little bitch. That sound like a plan?”

“What the fuck are you—” Roger starts, but Peterson’s fist tightens on his collar.

“Do you know what apologize means?”

Roger is silent. After a long exchange of glares, Peterson lets him go. Roger still doesn’t say anything.

“Apologize means say you’re fucking sorry,” someone pipes up from the group in the back.

“How stupid are you?” another voice adds.

I can see Roger’s closed fists shaking. He clenches his teeth. Finally, he turns partially toward me. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn fucking straight you are,” I snap back. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He looks like he has more to say, but for once he exhibits some intelligence and doesn’t say it. Instead he turns and leaves the room.

Immediately, the tension in the room disappears. A couple of guys, including Peterson, step toward Chloe and me and ask if we’re okay. Peterson makes an extra effort to check on Chloe, which I appreciate even while it sends a stab of jealousy through me.

“It’s okay, Doc,” he tells her.

I turn back toward her. “Damn straight it’ll be okay. We’ll take this guy down. No way I’m letting him fuck with you.”

Chloe nods, but her face is tight. Abruptly, it crumples. She’s on the verge of tears.

Shit
.

“No, it won’t, Austin. It really won’t.”

She brushes past me and walks the gauntlet of half-naked football players back outside.

I
’m so fired
.

It’s inevitable at this point, but I keep my phone off. I can’t bear hearing the disappointment in Dr. Richard’s voice. Especially since it is all my fault.

Seriously, what did I expect would happen?

My hands ball the tissue paper into a fist as I imagine Roger’s gloating smile.
See? I told you she was unprofessional.
I can picture him leaning against the wall, a thin-lipped smirk carved into his fat cheeks, his beady eyes narrowed in malevolence. He’ll probably break into applause when I clean out my desk.

Fuck him. If he thinks I’m going to lie down and make it easy for him, he better think again.

The bathroom door opens. I freeze as footsteps enter the room. Then I see shoes under the stall door—men’s shoes—and there’s a gentle knock.

“Chloe? You in there?”

The cockiness is gone from Austin’s voice. Instead, it’s filled with concern.

“Austin, please leave me alone.” Great. I sound nasally and phlegmy. So attractive.

“Jesus. Are you crying?”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to cry for about five hours.”

“I’m not leaving until you open the door.”

A huge sigh shakes out of my chest. I can either sit in here until he goes away or just face him. And I seriously doubt he’s going to go away. He’s like that.

I open the door and come out. Austin is dressed in a fitted black suit that hugs every inch of his powerful frame. For a moment, I’m speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything but gym clothes. Damn, he’s stunning in a suit. He touches my shoulder gently, taking in my face with a look that’s equally gentle. I suddenly realize something important—I feel safe with him.

He steers me toward the lounge area at the front of the restroom. Once there, he sits on the couch, drawing me down next to him. The pain in my chest throbs as he pulls me into his chest. He’s so warm.

“You okay?”

“
No
. He’s going to get me fired. He’s been working on it for a while, and now I’ve given him plenty of rope to hang me with.”

A sob catches in my throat, and he curls an arm around my waist.

“I won’t let him do that to you.”

“It’s not really up to you, is it?”

“If I say I want to keep you, then I get to keep you.”

A flutter of warmth spreads over my skin when he kisses my head. Could it really be that simple? Austin laces his fingers with mine. The warmth behind his smile tugs at my heart.

“Besides, I’m going to get this Roger guy hung up by his heels.”

“Austin,
no
.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to white-knight that prick.”

“I just think it’ll make things worse.”

“How would getting rid of him make things worse?”

My eyes fly open. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not? That piece of shit reeks of desperation. He wants to hurt you.” There’s anger rising in his voice, and I start tensing up again.

“No. If you stand up for me—”

“Let me tell you what happens if I
don’t
stand up for you. I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

My mouth goes dry, and I feel tears welling up again.

“The guys would never let me hear the end of it.”

“I’m sure they’d move on.”

“No, they wouldn’t. They’d probably beat me with bars of soap wrapped in towels if they knew I let you get fired.” He tacks on a grin. “Anyway, this isn’t about them. This is about some asshole trying to hurt my woman.”

“Your
woman
? Did you fall out of a tree and hit a couple caveman branches?”

Turning to face me fully, he takes my shoulders in his big hands. “Look, Chloe. Maybe I asked for you at first because I was hoping I could fuck you”—I start to jerk away, but he holds me still—“but I’m not joking when I say you’re the best damn PT I’ve ever had. That’s just the plain truth.”

I can’t look at him. If I do, I’m going to start crying again. He shakes me a little.

“You believe me, right?”

I nod, though I’m not sure I do. What I went through with Mason knocked a giant hole in my self-esteem, both on a personal and professional level. Austin has been repairing that damage, but it doesn’t take much for me to relapse.

“I believe you,” I say finally, making my voice firm so maybe I’ll believe myself. “But still. Please. Don’t go after Roger.”

He frowns. “If it’s that important to you, I won’t do it.”

“Thank—”

“But you’re going on a date with me right now.”

“What?” My heart hammers against my ribs. He can’t be serious.

His fingers slid from my hand to grip the muscles of my waist. His gritty voice throbs somewhere between my legs.

“You. Me. A nice restaurant. Conversation. Wine.”

Tempting. So fucking tempting. I’ve already been caught with my pants down. Literally. What’s the harm in letting him wine and dine me? The thought of going on a date with him makes my stomach clench. Sitting across from him in some fancy restaurant is somehow more intimidating than being naked with him in a dark room.

“We never said anything about dating.”

“I’d be more than happy to drag you to my place and fuck the shit out of you after our date.”

“You’re not telling me why.”

“You’re starting to make me feel like you’re only interested in my cock.”

Wasn’t that the basic idea? I start to feel bad before a grin hitches on his face. “Um, well, casual sex
was
the arrangement.”

“Doesn’t defending your honor get me any points?”

Yes.
I won’t lie that watching Austin threaten to lay out Roger was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

“Yes, I want to fuck you, but I also want to take you out on a date. I don’t need a reason for wanting that.” He touches my chin and leans in close enough for me to feel the warmth of his words. “Then again, maybe I’m just an asshole. Maybe I just want to show you off.”

He’s getting under my skin, damn him. I shake my head and let it fall against his chest. “What am I supposed to wear? All I’ve got are these gym clothes.”

“I think you’re gorgeous enough to get away with that.” He kisses my lips very softly. “And I’m famous. I could show up in a hoodie-footie to the Ritz, and they’d probably let me in.”

I snigger at the image of Austin wrapped up in a onesie. “I really doubt it.”

Not that it really matters. When I get fired, nobody’s going to care that I went out with him.

Austin tugs me upright and we leave the bathroom together, heading out into the parking lot. A group of microphone-bearing beat reporters and photograph-bearing fans converge on us only a few yards from the building. I duck behind Austin, but he looks over his shoulder to be sure I’m there and gives me a reassuring smile.

The reporters start peppering him with questions. “How’s your recovery going?” “Are you going to be playing again before the playoffs are over?” “How bad is the injury exactly?”

Austin waves them quiet, and then leans in to answer so most of them will be able to pick up his voice on their recorders. “I’m doing well. My recovery is progressing well thanks to Chloe.” He pulls me by the hand to stand next to him. “She’s the best PT I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

One of the reporters—I recognize him from his videos on the team’s website, but I can’t remember his name—pushes his recorder a little closer. “Are you going to be ready to play for the championship game?”

“I don’t know yet. We have a ways to go before we make that decision. I certainly hope I will be. And I know with Chloe here working with me, I’ve got the best possible chances of being ready on time.”

My face burns as he praises me in front of all these people. Does he really mean it? He gives me a sweet smile. One that really makes me feel confused and happy at the same time.

* * *

I
’ve read
about this restaurant. Drooled over its haute cuisine and ridiculously expensive, locally-sourced filet mignon and house-made cheeses. The three-dollar signs on the Yelp page meant I’d never be able to afford it. The dress code, according to the page, is
dressy
. Here I am in my gym clothes.

Austin leads me to the table on his arm, beaming at me as though I’m Marilyn Monroe and not the most unglamorous women in the room. The old me would’ve found it embarrassing. Especially when the waiter approaches Austin with a distinctly uncomfortable look.

“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter’s voice rings out clearly.

Austin stops in his tracks. The waiter gives me a scathing once-over that makes my cheeks burn.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We have a strict dress code in this restaurant.”

I swallow my laughter as Austin frowns, glancing down at himself. “Is there something wrong with my suit?”

The waiter’s mouth works silently before glancing at me, almost as though for help. “The problem is with your date.”

Austin plays the complete fool, frowning at him. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Is she dressed inappropriately?”

“She is wearing
sneakers
.” He says the word as though it did him personal harm.

“No sneakers?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He lifts his shoulder in a shrug and continues in a deadpan tone. “All right. You heard the man, Chloe. Take off your shoes.”

My ribs are going to crack from holding back laughter. I bend over and reach for my shoes as the waiter looks on, horrified.

“No, no, no. You misunderstood me, sir. We have a strict dress code. That means heels or flats, absolutely no sneakers.”

The feigned confusion wrinkling Austin’s face is priceless. “I don’t get it. You said no sneakers. She’s taking them off. What’s the problem?”

“I—are you serious?”

An edge creeps into Austin’s voice. “Yeah, I am.”

I turn my head into his arm to hide my face, laughing into his suit.

Suddenly, a man with slicked-back hair and a squeaky clean suit appears at my elbow. “Is there a problem, Mr. Sherwood?”

“I dunno. You better ask him.”

“Sir, I was just telling Mr. Sherwood about the dress code.”

The maître d smiles at Austin as though they’re old friends and waves off the waiter’s beet-red face. “It’s not a problem. Come, Mr. Sherwood. We have a table waiting for you.”

Austin lets out a small chuckle. I feel it through his side as he leads me past the infuriated waiter toward our table. The maître d pulls back my seat with a courteous smile, showing no sign that he gives a shit that I’m wearing gym clothes. Austin smooths his suit before sitting down, looking at ease.

“I never knew you were such a sadist. Seriously, that guy is going to make a voodoo doll of you.”

A smile staggers over his broad face. “Nah. That was just a little bit of harmless fun.”

“His head looked like it was going to explode.”

“I don’t really give a shit, to be honest. You’re classy as fuck in your gym clothes.”

I snort, looking around. Everyone’s dressed in formal attire. “Gym clothes don’t belong in this restaurant.”

“I agree. You should just take them off.”

He smirks as I lean across the table. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Babe, I can guaran-fucking-tee you half the men in the restaurant would love the sight of you naked.”

I roll my eyes at him.
Yeah, and then they’d call the cops
. “I can’t believe your star power got me inside here. I know you’re famous and all, but damn.”

“All I have to do is write one hundred and forty characters about how I was mistreated at a restaurant, and my fans would be lined up outside with egg cartons within five minutes. I wouldn’t do that, but I could. My tweets are like lightning bolts from the sky. With great power comes great responsibility.”

I laugh. “Did you just quote Spider-man at me?”

“It’s a badass quote.”

I settle into my chair, grabbing the menu. Scanning the list of mostly unintelligible food items, I zero in on the few I understand: locally sourced filet mignon and a flight of house-made cheeses. The steak arrives on a bed of chive mashed potatoes and a rich wine gravy. The filet practically falls apart when I look at it. Austin tops off our wine glasses and smiles at me as I cut off another slice of steak.

The alcohol seeps through my veins, into my muscles. I feel them loosening. Warmth pounds in my chest when he gives me a smile. I didn’t expect to like him so much—to actually be interested in what he has to say.

“What’s it like being famous?”

He takes a sip of wine and savors it as though mulling over my question. “Mostly it’s isolating.”

“What? You’re surrounded by people all the time.”

“People who worship me. People who want a piece of me. They think I’m a football god.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not a god,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “I’m just talented. Being a football player isn’t my identity.”

No, it’s not
.

He frowns. “Honestly, I would give anything just to have normal interactions with people again.” Then his gaze turns, fixing on me. “Like this.”

My blood simmers just beneath my skin as he looks at me as though I’m wearing nothing but a thong. I’ve never had a man really make me believe that I was beautiful.