Lady and the Champ (6 page)

He leans over and peers into my face through the helmet, which he didn’t bother to take off me. “You’re going to be just fine, Sherwood. Just relax.”

“
I want Chloe
.”

“Fine,” he says in a snippy voice. “We’ll get her.”

“I’m right here.”

I almost lurch off the stretcher trying to twist around so I can see her. Her voice is a little breathless, like she’s been running. Sure enough, she half-jogs into my line of sight and lays a hand on my shoulder as they roll my stretcher down the hallway.

“Doc,” I say, relieved.

“I think I asked you to stop calling me that.”

“What took you so long?”

She leans over the gurney so I can see her, and one hand gently brushes over my forehead. There’s a crease between her eyebrows as she studies my face. I’m not sure what she’s looking for.

I do know I’m relieved beyond any kind of logic to see her there. I know the team doctor would take perfectly good care of me—he’s fixed me up before—but I need Chloe.
Need
her. Like somehow I’m convinced nothing will be fixed properly in my body if anybody else does the fixing.

“Of course I’m here.” Her tone is cool, but there’s a look of strain on her face. “Where else would I be?”

She pushes a strand of unruly hair back behind her ear. Has she always been this pretty, or did something happen after the last time I saw her? Did she wrap up in some kind of cocoon that made her even more drop-dead gorgeous? I start to feel dizzy. The pain is making me loony.

The sound of the gurney wheels changes, and I can tell we’re finally in the locker room. They wheel me into the training area and leave me on the stretcher.

“I’ll get some ice,” Chloe volunteers, and the doctor nods.

“No…don’t go.” I reach out toward her, and the small jostle makes pain stab up my leg again. What the fuck did I do to myself? I’m beginning to wonder if there are bones sticking out of my leg or something.

Chloe pats my arm. “I’ll be right back.”

The doctor leans over me, looking into my face, then carefully takes my helmet off. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“No. Where’s Chloe?”

“She’ll be right back with ice. In the meantime, we need to get this leg straightened out.” His hands move down my leg, brushing over my knee.

“It’s not straight?” Visions of compound fractures dance through my head again.

“It’s not too bad. I just want to be sure.”

Chloe reappears in my line of vision and I reach for her. She takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re going to be fine, Austin. Just relax.”

Right. Relax.

The doctor moves my knee, laying my leg straight on the gurney. The pain blinds me. Everything goes black.

* * *

M
y eyes peer
open to blinding whiteness and a black, orb-like object. The orb is connected to a pair of legs, and that’s when I realize I’m staring at a woman’s ass. Chloe’s ass. How do I know? I remember the shape of her ass like I remember the warmth of her tits.

She’s bending over to rummage for something in her purse. My arousal rises sharply, numbing the dull pain in my leg. The world spins when I move my head slightly, and it’s all I can do to keep my gaze focused on her incredible body.

Waking up to your ass in my face is the highlight of my week
.

Chloe whirls around, outrage shooting from her electric blue eyes.

Oh shit. Did I say that out loud
?

“Yes, you did.”

“I’m sorry. My inhibitions are low as fuck right now.”

Her eyes narrow. “That would be the Vicodin.
Sherwood
.”

Just looking at her makes my mouth dry. She is fucking gorgeous.

My voice drops down to a whisper. “It would be super unethical if you took advantage of me right now,
but nobody has to know
.”

“Austin,” her voice snaps like a whip. “There are four other people in the room.”

I barely understand the words coming from her mouth. “What?”

A man clears his throat loudly, and I turn my head, the world spinning. Are there eight people? No, there are four other people standing there. A distinctly uncomfortable-looking man in a white coat, my coach, and a woman wearing scrubs. I decide that this is hilarious and burst out laughing.

Coach looks like he’d like to slap the smile off my face. So does Chloe.

“You guys look so hostile.”

The doctor takes a step forward, interrupting me. “I don’t think anything’s actually torn, but I can’t be sure.”

Something ice-cold touches my lower quadriceps, just above my knee. I jump a little.

“Sorry,” Chloe’s voice says gently. “Just trying to keep it from swelling. I think waiting for the MRI results would be best.”

“Me, too,” says the doctor.

“No hospitals,” I interject. Surely this is just a little sprain or something. “I can walk it off.”

Chloe smirks at me. “You’re already at the hospital, Sherwood.”

Oh
.

Now that I’m a bit more coherent, I can feel the hardness of the hospital bed and my growing sense of humiliation that I might’ve said too much in front of, well,
everyone
.

The doctor snorts. “You are
not
walking it off. ”

“Did we win?” I ask Coach.

“We did.”

“Hot damn.”

Chloe crosses her arms firmly over her chest—well, under her breasts, which makes them plump up nicely. I stare by accident, and she glares at me. “You have more important things to worry about, Mr. Sherwood.”

I glance at the doctor. He’s stone-faced. “What’s the verdict?” I ask him. I’m thinking shredded ACL, torn MCL. Maybe both, for a beautiful shredded CL salad.

“Don’t know yet,” he answers in a clipped tone. “Waiting for the MRI.”

Everybody seems really cranky. This can’t be a good sign. On the other hand, I’m not hurting too badly at this point, which is probably not a bad sign. Mixed messages galore. I start to ask if there are any prevailing theories, but before I can get any words out, another doctor comes in. I don’t recognize this one, so she must be affiliated with the hospital.

“Good news,” she says. “Nothing’s torn. It’s just a very bad sprain.”

“Is there bad news?” I ask.

“You’ll be out for a few weeks. Four to six, minimum.”

“Shit,” Coach says, and I echo him.

“I can’t be out that long,” I add. “We’re heading for the playoffs—”

Coach breaks into my developing tirade. “You do what the doctor tells you to do, Sherwood. We’d rather have you out now than lose you for the championship. Or for all of next season.”

It’s a sobering thought. I glance at Chloe, who’s still watching me with a deep frown, her arms folded over her chest.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Coach informs me. “You’re going to do exactly what you’re told. You’ll work with the docs and with Chloe, and if I hear one word about you stepping out of line, not doing your PT, or trying to push before you’re ready, you’re going to hear from me. And it won’t be pretty. You got that?”

“I got it, Coach.”

“Good.” He glances at his watch then storms out of the room, undoubtedly to go back to tell the rest of the team they’re down one wide receiver.

The two doctors exchange a look, then the team doctor makes a jerking motion with his head. The other two—the hospital doctor and Chloe—meet him in the corner. They talk quietly for a bit, just low enough that I can’t quite make out the words. It’s irritating as fuck.

Finally, the team doctor turns toward me. “There’s not much else we can do for you right now except prescribe meds and a treatment regimen. We’ll leave that regimen to your PT here.” His attention shifts to Chloe. “I’ll email you the official diagnostic information and some suggestions regarding long-term treatment.”

Chloe nods.

“We’ll keep you here,” the doctor continues, “until we get all the paperwork taken care of. We should have you out of here by the end of the day.”

“Fine.” I’m getting sullen and irritable now. I want more meds. My knee hurts.

The team doctor smiles at Chloe then, giving her a pat on the upper arm. “We’ll just leave him in your capable hands.”

The two doctors depart, leaving me alone with Chloe. Alone with Chloe.

“In your hands, huh?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “You know what he meant.”

“Of course I do.” I cross my arms over my chest, mimicking her posture. “This is the kind of thing I fantasize about on a regular basis. Me basically naked, completely at the mercy of a beautiful woman.”

“I bet you do.” She takes a step toward me, lowering her arms. Watching her, I let my eyelids droop a little, giving her my best bedroom eyes.

“You want to be my nurse for a while until they let me out of here? Maybe you could give me a sponge bath.”

She stops in her tracks. I’m pissing her off, I can tell. That’s fine. Irritating her is taking my mind off the pain. Plus it’s fun.

“I don’t think you need a sponge bath at the moment.”

“Sure I do. I came straight off the field. I’m all…sticky.” I let that hang in the air a moment so she can wonder exactly how and where I might be sticky.

Her eyes go dark, her expression darker. It’s the kind of expression that would make a smarter man fear for his life. Fortunately, I’m not a smarter man.

“Look,” she says, her voice hard and flat. “Let’s get a few things straight here before this goes any further.”

“You think it might go further?”

“
That’s not what I mean
. Shut up and listen to me.”

She’s
bossy
. I give her my full attention. I may or may not be smirking at her.

“First—nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing. Ever. So quit acting like there’s a chance in hell I’m going to sleep with you.”

“We don’t have to sleep—”

“Shut up. I’m not done.” She holds up two fingers. “Second—I don’t like you. At all. You’re irritating, rude, immature, and the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever had the displeasure of trying to work with. I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because my boss wants me to be. If I had my way about it, I’d be with other patients. Patients who don’t make rude innuendoes every time they open their mouths. Third, and probably most important—I’m here to make sure you can walk back out on that football field in four to six weeks. That’s what you want, that’s what your coach wants, and that’s what I want. So you do what I tell you,
exactly
as I tell you, when and how I tell you. And for your side of the bargain…”

Her teeth clench for a moment before she goes on.

“You will stop with the innuendoes. You will
not
hit on me during our therapy sessions. You will wear appropriate attire during treatment. This means no more too-tight briefs. My seeing your dick is not necessary for the successful treatment of your injuries. Therefore keep it covered the fuck up. Is that understood?”

“Sure. I get it. It makes you uncomfortable, and it’s unprofessional.”

“Exactly.”

I give her a second to think she’s in the clear, then add, “So. Am I getting a sponge bath, or what?”

Fire shoots out of her eyeballs. Well, almost.

“
What did I just say
?”

“Is this a therapy session? I didn’t think so.”

She points a finger at me. It’s shaking, she’s so furious. “You know exactly what I meant, and I am not—”

Her latest tirade is cut off when a noise comes from the phone on the table next to the bed. I stare at it. I haven’t heard an actual phone actually ring in so long I almost forgot what it sounds like. It rings again.

Chloe tips her head toward it. “Going to answer that?”

“If I do, they’re going to add like a million dollars to my hospital bill.” But, even though landlines are obsolete, I’m still somehow wired so I’m unable to ignore that sound. I pick up the phone. It’s probably one of the team doctors calling here since my cell is back at the stadium in my locker. “Sherwood.”

“Austin?” It’s not the voice of one of the team doctors. It’s a familiar voice, though, and I’m immediately flooded with a wash of guilt.

“Mom?”

“Oh, thank God. Are you all right? I saw on TV you got hurt and they took you off in an ambulance.”

I wonder how she ended up getting put through to my hospital room. Glancing at Chloe, I see her look quickly away. She’s trying not to eavesdrop, but she’s totally eavesdropping. I turn a little, putting my shoulder between her and my conversation. Not that it’ll make much difference.

“I’m fine, Mom.” I could kick myself for not having somebody call her right away. Mom’s not in the best of health, and I’ve always tried to keep her informed in case of injuries or anything that could even be remotely construed as an emergency. “Really. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why are you at the hospital?” Her voice is tremulous, and I wonder if she’s been crying. God, I hope not.

“Just routine. Some tests. They did an MRI because they thought I might have torn a ligament. But it’s just a sprain. No big deal. I’ll be playing again before you know it.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Are you in a lot of pain?”

“A little. It’ll be okay. They gave me medication. Now, stop worrying. Just relax. I’ll call you again later when I get home and give you all the details.”