Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (44 page)

"Don't know," I say to Alicia, turning back and looping the pre-wrap around her ankle. That's the easy part, and I yank the spongy wrap to cut it quickly. "Hey, you're a rising senior like Duncan, right?"

"Yep. But I've got two years of eligibility left, since I redshirted my freshman year. I'm going to use it to get started on my Master's while still under scholarship. Why, what's up?"

"Why is he called Touchdown? Linda from the volleyball team called him that yesterday, right before he nearly ran me over in the hallway upstairs. He didn’t even help me up."

Alicia chuckles and nods. "That's Touchdown. A lot of us girls around campus that know him call him Touchdown for two reasons. One, of course, is the connection to football. When you're the man who creates more points than anyone else, you get nicknames like that."

“I should probably know who he is, but the football team's the pickiest with student trainers, and I haven’t gone to any games in what little free time I have. Studying, you know?" I say honestly. Maintaining a full-ride academic scholarship is hard, and spots in the training community are few and far between. I don't want to graduate only to face a job market where the best I can do is compete for clients at the local Globo-Gym. Most of them are housewives, and who would choose me to train them over some hot guy who can
really
motivate you?

"Well, the other reason is a bit of a joke, too. There's debate on the exact details of the particular number, but he’s got a reputation around campus with the girls. I once jokingly called him Eighty-Three, since that's his jersey number. I bet that guy sees more ass than a proctologist."

"Ew." I laugh at Alicia's disgusting joke. "Still, Touchdown? That's just . . . I mean, I'm not sure I've had eighty-three orgasms in my life," I joke back as I wrap another strip of tape around her ankle. I quickly finish the job and give her foot a squeeze. "How does that feel?"

She circles her foot to the inside and then the outside, then smiles. "Good. You seriously know how I like it—not too tight, not too loose. Thanks."

"No worries. Make sure you do your warmups," I say, helping her on with her sock. Alicia thanks me and gets her shoe on, walking out of the training room while I put my stuff away. Just as I put the tape back in its bin, I hear a knock at the door, and I turn around to see Chelsea Brown, one of the other student trainers and another rising senior, at the door. "Hey, Chels, what's up?"

"Coach Taylor wants to see you in the office. He sent me to take care of the rest. Who's been by?"

"Just Alicia—got her ankle done."

"Okay. Thanks. Anything I should be aware of?”

I check my clipboard and shake my head. "No, just ankle tapes. Thanks, Chels."

I go through the weight room, noticing a couple of hot guys from the baseball team getting in some work with the midsection routine that Coach Taylor likes to call 'Puke City,' and I admire their builds before one of them gives me a wink. Really? Was he just winking to make me blush, or was he checking me out?

"Hey, Carrie?" Coach Taylor calls from his office, startling me. "You forget something?"

Yeah, my brain, which is not where it should be. I shake my head and go into his office. "Sorry, Coach. Just had a brain fart. Chelsea said you wanted to see me?"

He nods and indicates Duncan, who's sitting in one of the other chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands behind his head. This close, he's even sexier than I'd seen from a distance, with coal black hair and gray eyes that can only be described as smoky. There are flecks of something in his eyes that glitter and shine, like gold or diamonds hidden in the midst of all that smoke. "This is Duncan Hart, from the football team. Duncan, have you met Carrie before?"

"Hi, Carrie Mittel," I say, offering my hand, but Duncan just sits there with his little cocky smile, his hands not moving as he just undresses me with his eyes. I suspect he does that with every woman he sees between the ages of eighteen and forty, but I could be wrong. It could be fifty from how Alicia described him. I drop my hand and turn to Coach. "What do you need, Coach Taylor?"

"Duncan here is coming off elbow surgery. Nothing too major, just a debridement and some partial fractures of his ulna. I remember that in the course you took with me, you did a paper on elbow rehabilitation, didn’t you?”

I nod, seeing where this is going. "Yes, Coach, on rehabilitation protocols after Tommy John surgery."

"Good paper. While Duncan's rehab won't be anywhere near as extensive, I'm assigning him to you. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, four thirty start. Duncan, Carrie may be only a rising junior, but she's one of the best I've got. You give her any of your shit, and I'll be the one breaking a barbell off in your ass. Got it?"

Duncan's cocky little smile slips slightly, and he scowls before nodding his head. "Whatever. So, Carly—"

"Carrie. My name's Carrie," I correct him. I hate getting my name screwed up. It pisses me off. "Unless you want me to start calling you Dunc."

"No, thanks," Duncan says, getting to his feet. I'm not short for a woman, but he towers over me. I'm tempted to back down, but instead, I stand my ground, looking up at his sexy gray eyes and trying not to let the flush that I feel in my chest creep up my neck. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Four thirty. Be ready to work," I reply, not moving when Duncan steps to move past me. He stops, and I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Can you let me out?" he huffs, and I step to the side. Duncan doesn’t make contact when he leaves, but only by the slimmest of margins.

I wait for him to go out, then turn back to Coach Taylor, who's giving me an amused look. "How was that?"

"Good start," Coach says. "Stick around a bit. How are you on your elbow rehab knowledge?"

"Bit rusty since this last semester didn't touch on them, but I'll brush up this evening. Do you want me to script the exercises too?"

Coach shakes his head and nods at the chair Duncan just left. "Have a seat. Carrie, I assigned Duncan to you for two reasons. First, the rehab protocol is actually pretty simple. The reason Duncan was sent down here by Coach B from the football team is because he wants Duncan to learn a little bit about hard work and sacrifice before he declares for the draft next winter. So I get to write something that'll put him through his paces. The main thing he needs is a babysitter, and since you're still pretty green, I thought he'd be a good case for you to start with, since there isn't anything training-wise that'll be too difficult."

"But . . ." I say, noticing his expression, "you have something else you want to tell me."

"Yeah," Coach Taylor says. "I chose you because you can be tough when you want to be. That's what Duncan needs. He'd try to intimidate any of the male students I could assign to him, and to put it frankly, the female students . . ."

"He'd seduce,” I finish, and Coach Taylor raises an eyebrow. "Alicia Torres was getting her ankle wrapped when Duncan came in. She filled me in on
Touchdown
."

Coach Taylor nods, then laughs. "We get one like him around here every few years. He's not the first football player to be called Touchdown. In any case, he's probably going to make a pass at you. Watch yourself, okay? You're a good kid. I don't want to see you getting yourself all emotionally busted up for a guy like Duncan Hart."

"Don't worry, Coach. I won't," I say. "Did you know he nearly ran me over in the hallway yesterday afternoon and didn't even stop to help me up? You can tell by his face that he didn't recognize me either. You think I'm going to let someone like that get to my emotions?"

"Still, be careful. All right, I'll get you the protocol for him by the time you leave this evening. Thanks."

I go back to work, finishing up my taping duties with Chelsea before she goes on to monitor tennis practice, since the tennis team doesn't practice near the Pavilion. When I'm done, I go get my backpack and change clothes, grabbing my own workout clipboard from the rack and starting my routine. If I'm going to get Duncan's respect, I need to show him that I can hang in here and that I know what I'm doing.

And of course, I'll have to not back down from him. Which is hard, because even as I do my kettlebell swings, I'm still seeing those gray eyes flecked with reddish gold and diamonds and that face framed by coal black hair.

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