Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (7 page)

I couldn’t help smiling a little at her. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was driven—I heard the intensity in her voice. I could appreciate intensity, even in a dyke.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll try to be a good boy.”

She grinned. “Not too good, I hope. I wouldn’t want to be disappointed after hearing so much about you. Witnessing what I heard, even at arm’s length, it’ll be one perk to this gig.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What have you heard about me?”

She coughed. “Sorry. That came out all wrong. Forget I said that.”

“No, please. Tell me more. I really want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

I leaned forward in my chair and scowled without meaning too. Shit. They weren’t kidding that I should have been on bed rest. Every move I made hurt like hell.

“Ouch.”

I clocked the concern in her face when she whipped her head back to look at me. “Are you okay?”

“Probably not…on account of this grade two groin injury.”

“I’m just around the corner from the address in your file. Hang tight. Try not to move.”

“Okay. Hey, exactly how do you plan on getting me from the bus to my room inside?”

“You live at a frat house, don’t you? Some of your friends should be around. If not, I can manage.”

“Yeah I’d bet.”

She rolled up to the front of the house and came around to open my door before stepping onto the pavement. “I’ll see who’s inside.”

She was gone and back with Tre and Pat in minutes.

“Hey guys. Thanks for helping out.”

“Dude, did they fix you up with a quickie lobotomy or something?” Tre asked, getting his shoulder under my armpit and lifting me out. “It sure sounds like it, because I thought you were just nice to me right there.”

“All right, smartass. I’ll give you that.” When I realized Samantha was following behind us, I told the guys to let me into my room through the outer porch door. The frat brothers probably wouldn’t want me bringing a lesbian into the frat house.

Once I was in bed, Tre and Pat left. She cleared her throat. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” she informed me. “Here. That means do not go back to the athletic training center unless Dr. Burton or Ryan authorizes it… because you’re on bed rest. Once I get back we’ll go from there.”

“I thought we were going to get started now.”

She looked me in the eye, and the temperature in the room dropped around ten degrees. I shifted around to get comfortable, wincing as my muscles pulled. I needed help. Or rest. She closed my file. “No. You’re on bed rest, remember? Plus I’m still a student, last time I checked. I’m not a twenty-four hour caregiver.” She excused herself and came back a minute later with my student-athlete file. She had a copy of all that too? I frowned. I didn’t like her knowing my schedule, or my medical history, or possibly my grades. It was my personal shit, like she had been given her very own window into my college history and my life. “When was the last time you took a dose of your prescription?”

“About four hours ago.”

“Okay. The dosage is every four to six hours. Take one now. I should be back before you need the next one.”

“Sure.”

“See you around two or three in the afternoon, then?”

She walked out the door before I could answer, shutting it behind her. I slumped a little, letting out a deep sigh. What the hell was I going to do with her?

I
had
to get out of there. I couldn’t be around him for one more minute. I also needed to cool off and give myself a healthy dose of perspective after mouthing off with Dr. Jeffries.

I drove back to the athletic training center to park the shuttle. Before heading to class, I ducked into one of the washrooms on that floor, locking the door behind me. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, my eyes went wide. I was flushed and hot and so out of sorts I barely recognized myself. Dousing my face with cold water, I gave myself a long, hard stare.

What the hell happened to me? The minute he walked into Dr. Jeffries’s office, my panties were wet. One minute, no problem. The next, my body responded to Evan as though he’d reached across the room and touched me. Why did I react so strongly to such an ignorant jerk? Logically, my disdain for him was front and center. Everything he’d said since I met him was either rude or conceited. Too bad my body wasn’t being rational right now. It was as if he’d turned into a strong magnet and I was just a paperclip. I was attracted to him yet also fighting the urge to grab him around the throat and shake him until he shut up. There was no fighting these strong push-pull urges. Or maybe I just needed some air after being dealt such a shitty career-altering hand from a cursed deck of cards.

Thank goodness I didn’t say anything too crazy to let on about what was going on in my head and my core. Every nerve ending was firing, and every pore on my skin answered to some ancient call that his presence demanded. Just my luck that he happened to elicit just about equal doses of magnetism and hostility for me. It made me wonder whether the women who found their way into his bed just ignored the annoying parts, or if he never gave them enough time to see that side of him—not until he was done with them. It had to be the latter if these girls he slept with were dropping panties left and right to give up their goodies when he had such a piss poor attitude. Something he said or did could make a woman believe she would have the time of her life with him, once she parted her legs and gave in to his charms.

Well, that was not going to be me.

Except, darned if I didn’t want to do that very thing too. He hadn’t even had to try with me. At least, I didn’t think he’d tried. Or was he just that good? He had tall, broad and fit body like he was carved out of marble, and naturally tanned skin going for him. I had seen a lot of athletes’ bodies over the past three years as a student in the athletic training program, and his was something special. His smoking hot good looks didn’t hurt. Those dark brown, alluring eyes, almost cupid-bow lips, his defined jawline with just a hint of scruff on his chin, and wavy brown hair so thick I could lose my fingers in it if we were to kiss.

This was exactly why I was the wrong person for this assignment, no matter what I’d said to Dr. Jeffries back there. Picturing myself kissing Evan? Having an ache in my belly to know what it was like to feel him touch me? And this hot blush rising in my cheeks when I imagined him with no clothes on? I was sure to go mad for the next six weeks.

I leaned against the wall of mirrors opposite the sink, wishing I had enough time to undress and step into a cold shower. Anything to undo the effect he had on me.

Lust and loathing.

Desire and dislike.

A craving ache and animosity.

Hunger and hatred.

What the hell was I supposed to do to get over this war going on in my head and all through my body within an hour or meeting him?

So, that was how he did it. The stuff Kristy said about him had me thinking all evening, trying to understand just how he managed to be so successful with the ladies if he had such a terrible reputation with them. Now that I understood what I was dealing with, I needed a game plan if I wanted to survive the next five or six weeks. My approach had to be on point for both of us to come out at the other end without ripping each other’s head off.

Or each other’s clothes.

I stood up, pushing myself away from the wall, and found a hairband in my purse. Wrapping my hair in a bun, I clipped it back, to throw some cold water on the back of my neck and the insides of my wrists. It was an old trick to fool the body into feeling cooler and more comfortable. After a few minutes, my pulse settled down and the flush of my skin evened out.

This reaction was just crazy. It was as though I’d never been around men before, which was not the case at all. I worked with athletes all the time. They just never had this kind of effect on me. I’d assumed for a long time that I was not that interested in anyone sexually, which was how I’d made it to almost twenty-one years of age without losing my virginity. That reasoning was the only thing that made any sense. I was definitely into guys, but no one had really stood out.

Until now.

Except why did it have to be him?

I paced around the in front of the sinks, trying to find an upside to all of this. I needed some kind of silver lining to make this whole crap deal feel less like my life was over. And fast too, as one of my lectures was starting in half-hour. The first thought that popped into my head was what Dr. Jeffries had mentioned. I’d have some options. My versatility could get me on another team too, I imagined, not only football. I let out a short giggle when I thought of the other upside. I could thank Evan for putting those fears of becoming a frigid twenty-first century spinster in training to rest. At the same time, with this awareness, it was crucial that he didn’t know. A guy like that would use it to have the upper hand. If he thought I was into him, it would be game over. He wouldn’t let me live it down, and there’d be no chance of even a hint professionalism.

Once I was sufficiently cooled off, I headed to my Advanced Kinesiology class. I had a degree to complete and a career to kick off right after that, so I put the whole Evan situation out of my mind.

* * *

A
fter my lectures
, I dared to check the faculty lounge to see if Dr. Jeffries was around. I needed to apologize to the man. Even if he was a dick for forcing this assignment on me, I was way out of line, and a bit embarrassed for throwing that hissy fit, to be honest. To think, I usually strode these halls with confidence, and now I was skulking about like a thief. I didn’t see him, and he wasn’t in his office, so I hurried out to my car to get back to Evan’s place.

I got to the front of his frat house and my eyes went wide. Evan was sitting on a bench outside.

What the hell did he not understand about bed rest?

If he was planning on being
that
kind of patient, my job would be twice as hard.

I passed the house to find a parking spot up the street and walked back to give him hell. He hadn’t seen me, so I got a few extra seconds to check him out. This guy had the profile of a Roman god, and the dark hair and olive skin to match. Jesus Jones, if I kept up this line of thinking it was going to be the end of me.

I folded my arms when I got closer. “What are you doing, Evan?”

He looked up at me from his spot on the bench. “Oh, it’s you. I’m just resting.”

“Does this look like a bed?”

“I can’t lie around all day like that.”

“Well, you’ll have to for the next five days if you want to start the rehab exercises. Or do you want to re-injure yourself when we do get to that point?”

“Don’t give me a hard time, all right?”

“The way I see it, you’re making it difficult for the both of us. Is anyone around to help you inside?”

He shook his head. “All my buddies are in class right now.”

“Come on. I’ll help.” I leaned over for him to throw his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed…even if I throw my back out in the process.”

He grabbed his crutches and got them in position. “Save your back. I’ll manage.”

“Stop. You can’t do that, don’t you get it? Any weight you put on your hips or legs can make the strain worse.”

“I did manage to get myself into that meeting this morning, you know.”

“Yes. We all know you have an ego the size of Mount Rushmore and you want to prove to yourself that you can do it. You can, Evan, but if you overdo it before you even start the physical therapy, you may as well kiss your NFL chances goodbye.” He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips into a scowl. “Good. Now that I have your attention, let me help you inside.”

He cocked his head, still grimacing. “Dammit. All right.”

He placed an arm over my shoulder and I slowly supported his solid weight. I had to will my knees to not go weak from being this close to him, and to ignore those little electric impulses shooting through my body. I had to fight my own thoughts of what it was like to be with him, to understand what made him tick and maybe see these famous lady-killer skills of his in action. What an inconvenient time for my hormones to kick in and remind me what they were meant for.

Thank goodness the steps to the porch were less than ten feet away. After we got inside and he was settled yet again, I found a chair in the living room. I dragged it beside his bed to finish what we’d started earlier.

“Maybe we got off to a bad start,” Evan offered when I took a seat.

I flipped through his file to the approved recovery plan. “I’d say.”

“How about a truce?”

“It depends.” I looked up from my file, already doubtful that was possible.

“On what?”

“On whether I’m gonna find you anywhere but in this bed the next time I show up here, for starters. While I’m at it, it also depends on whether you plan to be rude and stubborn for any other phase of this plan.”

“I can do the bed rest but I ain’t apologizing for how I am. So I’m rude…and a bit stubborn. I’m also in a hell of a lot of pain from these crappy meds. Plus you people want me lying in bed staring at the ceiling and dwelling on that pain for five days straight. I have to live with that, so I guess you’ll have to deal with me being in a shitty mood.”

“And a dick.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me.”

“Fine. I’m a dick. Live with it.”

“Forget about the truce too, right?”

“Whatever. Now, what else are we supposed to talk about today?”

This situation wasn’t going to improve. I needed to face the facts and simply focus on the work. I shook my head, pulling put a copy of the plan for him to read along. “Let’s just review the damn plan and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Fine,” he grunted, snatching the document out of my hand.

I took an emotional timeout. He was an ass, but he was right that I was the professional in the room. He owed me nothing. I was here to get a job done. Taking a long breath to find my center, I observed him as he read. That when it dawned on me. Resting the file at the side of my chair, I got up and pressed my hands into the mattress at the foot end of the bed.

“What are you up to now?” he asked, putting the papers down beside him.

“Think about before your injury when you’d wake up in the morning. Did you have any aches and pain?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe. Why?”

“How old is this mattress?”

“Two or three years.”

“What about your pillows. Pass me one.”

“Why?”

“You need the right support to be able to stay in bed for most of the day.”

He picked up the one beside him and gave it to me, smirking. “Just don’t let this turn into a slumber party. I draw the line at pillow fights.”

“Trust me. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I figured that…as I’m a guy and all.”

“I’ll stop by the center and bring back some PT wedges and bolsters we usually loan out to athletes on the injured list. They should help.”

“Okay. So…tell me about this baseball thing.”

I gave him back the pillow and took a seat again. “What baseball thing?”

“What made you choose baseball and rule out all the other professional sports?”

“That’s a pretty personal question, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you have a boyfriend who’s a super fan or something? Or maybe a girlfriend?”

I stiffened. It was always guys like Evan who had to go there when a woman didn’t jump at the chance to hop into bed with them.

“That’s none of your business.”

He smiled. “I’m right, aren’t I? What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

I ignored the question. “I’ll also check the medication dosage with Dr. Burton.”

“I have nothing against lesbians, Samantha. Actually I like them, especially in threesomes.”

I crossed my legs in the chair. Any kind of movement would help me not respond to him. “I’ll ask for a meds review, and I’ll pop by later with the positioning wedges and bolsters. You can keep this copy of the physical therapy plan. Let’s see. What else? Right, I need to get you a few more compression wraps. You’re wearing one now, right?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Good. Just remember they need to come off while you’re applying ice to the area.”

“I know that, but you don’t have to get defensive about your sexual orientation. I don’t care if you bat for the other team.”

I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth. We were this close to butting heads again. He pushed my buttons like he was born for it.