Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (5 page)

“Awww crap. I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to it.”

“I was. Mom and Dad are livid.”

“Can’t they put in a good word somewhere for you?”

“Not this time. It’s too late. So I get to work with Mo Grant…a running back who happens to be on academic probation this semester…and he’s a senior, so they’re bringing out the big guns to help him graduate. The one good thing he has going for him is he doesn’t live in the frat house with the rest of those guys on the football team. He’s at home, somewhere off campus. Well, that’s not the only good thing…”

“Wait, you’re… into him?”

“Uh, that may be jumping the gun, but hell, he’s a big blond sexy giant. Six feet seven inches, almost white blond hair, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, rippling muscles, ink…I’ve got my work cut out for me with this assignment.”

“Sounds like you plan on jumping in with both feet. Does he have a crappy reputation like Evan?”

“Not that I’ve heard about, but who knows? He’s a football player with NFL potential…if he doesn’t screw up on the academics this semester.”

“I can’t believe we’re kind of in the same boat, except this assignment will kill my chances of getting on a major league baseball team. Six weeks with this Evan character means half the semester will be gone. It’s a disaster!” I was ready to start crying and pounding my fists on the bed again.

“Don’t worry about it, hun. You’re still the best, or they wouldn’t be assigning you to Evan. He and Slade are the school’s two best chances of having alumnae in the draft this year. Maybe Mo too. They’ll do anything to get Evan through, including giving him the best athletic training hopefuls around.” She grinned. “Which means you, as if you didn’t already know.”

That helped, but only a bit. “He’d better be worth all this trouble,” I muttered.

“He will be. And I’m sure Dr. Jeffries will be happy to help you score whatever job you want when you graduate. You scratch his back, he scratches yours.” She stood and stretched, baring her slim waist and flat tummy under the gray and white varsity top she had on with baby blue skinny jeans and a blush pink long-sleeved cardigan. “It’s the way the world works.”

I looked over at my desk, at the plans and research scattered over top of it. I wanted to get back to this work, not set it aside for some beefed up jock. In spite of the urge to throw a tantrum, Kristy was right that it was the way of the world. I had to learn to roll with it.

My search engine was still waiting for me to enter another keyword. I cursed under my breath as I entered Evan Marshall in the bar. Now I wanted to know as much as possible about the guy whose injury screwed me over. From what Kristy had already said, he was either going to be an enormous jerk or a walking, talking STD. I wanted to be ready for him in either case. He had to know from the get-go that I wasn’t going to be a pushover and I wasn’t on his recovery team for his enjoyment.

I had never been that girl for anyone, and I sure as heck wasn’t going to start for him.

I
was
up way too early. The bright morning sun pored through the half-closed vertical blinds of the bay window. That sunny cheery look outside was the exact opposite of the mood I was in when I reached for my crutches to get out of bed and start the day. I was in my temporary bedroom on the main floor of the frat house.

The room was a small space at the front of the house that could be accessed from the porch or the living room. We normally used it as a study den when everyone was cramming around exam time. Last night, Slade and Chad cleared it out to move my bed and a few of my clothes down here. The sports physician instructed me not to take stairs for at least ten days.

Today, the only thing on my agenda was to meet a few people from the athletic training staff to discuss my rehab plan. I couldn’t even start the physical therapy for at least five days. Rest was doctor’s orders, along with no walking around, mandatory crutches for boy’s room visits, no driving a car, no operating heavy equipment, no riding a bicycle or motorcycle, no jogging, no stretching, and no exercise of any kind, until they give the all-clear.

And no sex.

Well fuck me.

Actually, don’t.

Because I couldn’t fuck anyone right now, not with this godawful groin pain.

I took the pain medication the sport doctor prescribed yesterday and limped through the main floor of the frat house on crutches, taking my time to get ready. Using the bathroom closest to my makeshift bedroom was a waste of energy. It had a large bathtub that I wouldn’t dare try to climb into. I ended up going to the small standing shower on near the back of the house. The only way I could manage to stand under the hot water was by going in there with one crutch under my right arm for support. Good thing they gave me these aluminum ones. Hopefully they were waterproof too.

This whole getting in the shower to start my day was unlike me, but so was being injured. I usually kicked off my mornings with a quick workout in my room—push-ups, crunches, pull-ups on a bar I installed in my closet doorway, more crunches, lunges, jumping jacks, squats and burpees. It felt weird not doing any of that. I never realized until today how much I relied on my workout to set my energy level for the rest of the day. My body craved it, too. Fuck, I was not looking forward to the next few weeks.

I got myself cleaned up and dressed. What used to take me fifteen minutes took me an hour, mostly because of the agonizing pain, but also because getting around on crutches was a real bitch. I made it to the kitchen because someone put coffee on. As I sat there with my mug of dark roast, a few of the frat guys who weren’t on the football team came in. I hated the looks on their faces. Everyone in the house already knew, and they were acting like they pitied me.

Assholes. I’d show them what they could do with their pity.

“Hey, man, how you feeling?” Tre came around and asked, looking concerned.

“How the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I barked, still grumbling as I took a sip of the steaming coffee.

He took a step back with his hand raised. “Jeez, man. I’m just checking in on you. You don’t need to be a dick about it.”

“Am I being a dick? I didn’t know. Sorry. Just don’t ask me that shit again or I’ll have your scrawny neck in a headlock before you can say
‘Bob’s your uncle’
.” I glared at him and the kid backed off. I didn’t want anyone’s fucking pity. I would rather have them all hate me than give me that annoying as fuck compassionate look, like my life was ending or someone just killed my cat.

Slade cleared his throat behind me. “You want a ride anywhere, man?”

“I was planning on walking over to the physical therapy building,” I spat.

“Chill out with that grumpy old man shit. Are you sure they weren’t sending someone here? I was sure I heard Jeff say they would come to you.”

“I’ll find out when I get over to the athletic training center.”

“Well, I’m heading to class. I’ll drop you off.”

“All right, dammit,” I grumbled.

Pushing off the table with both arms to stand, I tugged the crutches under my arms and followed Slade out the front door.

“Evan. Dude.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t, but you’re going to. What the hell was that all about?”

I turned my back to the car and lowered along the crutch to get inside ass first. Cradling my left leg at the back of my knee, I lifted it and gingerly turned the rest of my body to sit facing forward. Slade had already gotten into the car, turned over the engine, and was rearing to go. “See this shit? It’s painful as fuck to do anything, so no one gets to ask me how I’m doing or tell me to chill out or calm down while I’m practically a cripple. By the way, the fucking crutches just fell on the side of the car, and if I have to get back out to get them, I’ll punch something…or someone.”

“Crap. I forgot about that. One sec.” He popped the trunk and hopped out, running around to my side to get them stowed away. “They don’t fit back here,” he shouted, then took them around to his side to put them behind our seats.

“Sorry, man.” He climbed back into the car, looking over at me like I was damaged goods.

“That’s the shit I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“I don’t want anybody being overly-nice to me because of this.”

“Stop worrying about that, because soon no one’s gonna even look at you if you don’t tone this the fuck down. Jesus, dude.”

I didn’t answer him. I stared out the window, wondering what the hell I would do with my life without football. Nothing came to mind. I was fucked.

“We have the best athletic training team, the best doctors and the top sports rehab facility around,” Slade reminded me. “They’ll get you back as good as new.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You have to listen to them. Don’t overdo it. They know exactly what they’re doing. Push too hard again and you could really end up screwing yourself over. Like surgery-level screwed over. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, Mom, I feel you.”

“Don’t make me reach over there and slap you upside the head, son,” he joked. “You’re already in bad shape.”

“I can still take you down, boy,” I grinned.

He punched me on the arm to tell me it was all right. “And you’d better make nice with Tre. He’s one of the only guys in the frat besides me, Mo and Chad who has your back. Chris won’t even tolerate your bullshit. And the only reason Mo speaks to you at all is because he’s a team player. You’ve gone and made enough enemies from being your regular self, so don’t go making more.”

I hated the idea of apologizing to Tre, but I would have to do it. I wasn’t sorry at all. It was just too easy for him to stand back and feel sorry for me.

“I don’t want pity,” I muttered, looking out the window.

“Are you kidding me right now?” He shook his head and focused on the road. “Nobody pities you but you. Maybe you should take a look at yourself first. Most of the time you act like a mean, ungrateful son of a bitch. The rest of the time you can be a real prick, and trust me, I’m trying to be nice here by giving you a fucking clue as team captain. Not that I need to anymore, but hell, when are you gonna cut it out with this crap? I’m sitting here and I can’t think of one time through all of our years at college when you said or did something nice. Sure, you’re one hell of a talented football player, and you work harder at it than anyone I know. But geez, man, there’s got to be more to you than a rat bastard. I mean, seriously think about it. Would you act any different from Tre if he was the one who got the groin injury instead of you?”

I didn’t have an answer to that so I left it alone. Plus Slade knew me well enough to know when to stop talking.

He stopped in front of the training center main building beside the stadium. We’d all spent time in this part of the center at least a few times a year. All the players in most every athletic team on campus visited at least a few times a season to be poked and prodded. Plus the main student-athlete gym was attached at the back. The doctors and staff made sure we were healthy, and kind of used us as subjects while they supervised graduate and undergraduate students looking to earn their athletic training creds. All that did, in my opinion, was double the number of people we had to work with. I just hoped no untrained newbie was planning on using me as a guinea pig to learn about groin injuries. I had no time for that shit. What I needed was someone who knew what they were doing, didn’t fuck around or waste my time, and could get me back in tip top shape long before the combine.

I wondered who I would get. I remembered a few of them, all nerdy guys who clearly couldn’t make it in sports. I guess being an athletic trainer was the next best thing for them. Okay, maybe I was opinionated, lumping the bunch of them together as a whole, but hey, that was my thing. After graduation, most of them joined teams across the pro sports—baseball, basketball, hockey, football. They sometimes went into practice for themselves, too, but that wasn’t where the money or fame was. Those in the pro teams got the honor of being in the big leagues, along with the travel and a taste of the high-profile lifestyle, albeit from the sidelines. I could see why it was attractive.

With all the pain and exertion of making it out of bed, taking a shower, dressing myself and getting into the car, I was beat. Slade ended up half-carrying me into the building and down the hall to one of the treatment rooms.

“I’ll let Jeff know you’re in here,” Slade said, turning to leave.

“Okay…thanks, man.”

He spun around on his heels. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Maybe there’s hope for your sorry ass. That may be the first time I’ve heard you utter the word
thanks
.”

I rolled my eyes, grimacing a slight smile. “Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit.”

Grinning and with his eyebrows raised, he nodded. “Later, buddy. Text me if you need a ride back.”