Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (8 page)

“I think that’s it,” I said, closing the file. “When I’m back tomorrow, we’ll cover the next phase of the plan. We’re done here.” I got up and took the chair with me. “Have a good day, Evan.”

I drew myself up to my full height, turned on my heel, and stalked off. I didn’t wait for him to get in another word. That chair was back in the living room and I was in my car again in record time. I got the items I promised him from the athletic training center and took it back to his place. Tre was going inside when I drove up to the front of the house, so I gave it to him, got back in my car, and sped home to my dorm like a bat out of hell.

* * *

W
here was
Kristy when I needed her? I was emotionally drained, like I could go to sleep and stay that way for days if I didn’t talk this out with someone. I was disappointed in myself too, for letting him get a rise out of me like that. I should have expected him to keep being an ass. I punched a pillow, wishing it was his perfect face.

My phone rang while I was sprawled out on my bed, still angry as hell. The number on the ID listed as Unknown. It could have been my mother. Some of the phone lines over at her hospital were automatically set to block for some reason or another.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear a thing about Dad. I was miserable enough with my own problems. Sparing some of my energy to get the usual updates from home would be a major feat.

Still, I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Samantha. Hey.”

I knew right away it was Evan. Why the hell was he calling me? My heart leapt before I could stop it. “Evan? Did something happen? How did you get my number?”

“No, I’m fine. Still in bed. Your number’s on the contact form in the recovery plan.”

“It’s there for emergencies. Is this something urgent, Evan?”

“No. I’m good.”

“Why are you calling me? It wasn’t enough for you to take up our consultation time with your…name-calling. Now you have to eat into my personal time too?”

“Look. That’s why I’m calling. I’m sorry, all right? I may have taken the whole lesbian thing a little too far.”

“A little?”

“Okay, way too far. I can be an ass sometimes. I apologize.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of it. “All right.”

“I’m not homophobic at all. I was just kidding around—”

“For crying out loud, Evan! Cut it out, will you? I’m not a lesbian.”

“Oh, you’re not? Uh, okay. My bad…What are you, bi? That’s pretty hot too.”

“Stop. Just stop. The only reason we need to talk at all has to do with your injury. Do you have any questions about your injury?”

“Not really. When are you coming by again?”

“Tomorrow. Jeff may get in touch with you if Dr. Burton changes your prescription.”

“Thanks. Hey, uh…I’ll be sure to tell everyone you helped me get back in shape in time for the combine and the draft. That’s gotta carry some weight.”

“I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t plan to spend any more time around football players once we’re done working together.”

I could tell this seemed unfathomable to him, as he was quiet for some. “Okay. I get it, I guess. Still, it’s no joke. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t pretend I don’t need your help, because I do.”

It had to have taken a lot for him to admit that.

I chewed the inside of my mouth, thinking it over. Kristy walked in just then. I muted the phone. “Thank God! I’m a wreck. Evan’s on the line.”

“Hi honey. Evan Marshall? Well isn’t that something. Finish up with him so we can talk.”

I nodded and took him off mute. “Okay,” I finally said. “I appreciate hearing that, if you really mean it. See you tomorrow, Evan.”

“You know where I’ll be.”

I hung up, unsure what to make of him after this call. He was a puzzle, for sure.

“God, Kristy. This is going to be hell, working with this guy. It already is.”

“What did he do?”

“First of all, I’m a lesbian, according to him.”

“What? He said that?” She covered her mouth and came over to sit on the edge of my bed. “No, he didn’t.”

“Yes. He did. He just phoned to apologize, but jeez, how can anyone stand this guy long enough to have a one-minute conversation with him, let alone work or get in bed with him? I’ve never met someone who could get on my last nerve like this.”

“Calm down, hun. He’s not worth it.”

“I know that, but I still have to work with the guy.”

“Right. When’s the next time you have to see him?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Whatever you do, don’t go over there on Friday or Saturday after five in the evening.”

“Not that I was planning to, but why not?”

“They party like crazy. It wouldn’t be safe for you…one of the frat boys will probably sniff out that you’re a virgin.”

“You know that’s a load a crap, right?”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t risk it.”

“I think I need to turn in early,” I told her, flopping back into bed.

“Are you hungry? I’m going to grab some dinner at the cafeteria.”

“I don’t think so. Don’t be too surprised if I’m asleep by the time you get back hun. I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” I pulled the blankets out from under my legs, covering up.

It was time to sleep off this nightmare.

T
he TV was
on when Samantha knocked on my bedroom door from the porch. This was her third day in a row at my place. I had been doing a lot of thinking the last couple of days, binge-watching shitty cable TV shows and my usual allotment of hard core porn. There was little else to do, with all this time on my hands and nowhere to go. My apology to Samantha was genuine, and then she gave me that new tidbit of information—the fact that she was straight. Finally, something to work with. I was ready to have a little fun to pass the time, and take her along for the ride.

Damn, she was lucky.

She may have worshipped baseball and hated football, but that was pre-Evan. My new six-week plan was to follow the physical therapy program religiously, with her help, and by the time we were done, I’d make her a raving football fan.

And an Evan fan.

With a whole lot of cozying up to my dick along the way.

“It’s open,” I called out after she knocked, turning off the TV.

Samantha walked in with a clear plastic storage tub filled with supplies, almost strutting. It was probably because of my admission that I needed her, so maybe she was feeling superior. She could feel as self-important as she wanted to, as long as her focus was on helping me get past my injury…and looking hot as hell while she did so.

She was in a tight college baseball tee and yoga pants, both of which showed off every curve on her body. How did I miss that the last time? Now there was a woman. The waistband of her stretchy pants wrapped around her slim waist under her t-shirt. Those pants hugged her figure down past the flare of her hips, over her long, lean legs and just past her calves. Some of her silky brown hair escaped the ponytail pulled up to the top of her head, and those long bangs fell over her deep blue eyes and down the sides of her heart-shaped face. Her nose crinkled as she stood there, and that mouth, well, I had plans for that sexy mouth.

“Hey Samantha.”

“Hi.”

She placed her things on the floor beside my bed then straightened up again, glancing at me in the bed. She was tall, which didn’t usually appeal to me, but she carried herself well. Things were going to be different between us. I was counting on it.

“I’ll be back in a second.”

“Take your time.”

Samantha headed back outside and returned with a portable treatment table, getting right down to business. “Where are your crutches?”

I nodded over to the door to the living room. “Over there.”

She stared hard at me. “How are you supposed to use them if they aren’t within arm’s reach?”

“I get help from the guys.”

“That’s fine. Just make sure you use them if you have to get around on your own.” She looked at my chart. “Have you been wearing the compression wraps?”

“Oh, yeah. I have one on right now.” I patted my leg and grimaced from the pain that shot up to my groin and stomach.

“And have you been icing too?”

“I have. Ten minutes on, twenty minutes off. Twice every other hour except at night.”

“Good.” She unfolded the treatment table, sliding it to the cleared space against the wall so there was just enough room for maybe two people to stand between it and my bed. “Have the wedges made things more comfortable?”

“Sure. It’s still a long time to lie around doing nothing, though.”

“It can be, but we’re almost past that stage now. Soon you’ll be wishing for bedrest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Physical therapy can be exhausting. You know that. Okay, let’s get started.” She placed my file back in the storage tub, got my crutches and came over to me. “Sit up slowly.”

“What are we doing?”

“First, I’ll help you get on this table. I’ll elevate the left leg with a few wedges, apply ice packs and I’ll check you out.”

“You’re the expert.”

“You’re okay if I leave the table here, right? Makes no sense taking it away for the duration of your home treatment.”

“Sure.”

She helped me onto the table and made me stretch out, then put a foam block under my left leg to keep it up. “Let me get a few ice packs. Where’s your kitchen?”

“Out through the living room to the back of the house, then turn left.”

“All right. Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I grumbled.

She paused at the door and whipped her head back at me, scowling before she left. No matter. I got all that extra time to check out her ass in those body-hugging stretchy pants that gave me a better idea of how tight and toned she was. With a body like hers, she had to be a runner, or maybe she was into soccer. Samantha may have been acting cool and unfriendly right now, but I enjoyed a challenge. If anyone could melt down that icy exterior, it was yours truly. Tack on the fact that I had time to spare while getting back into top shape, and I was confident it would be a slam dunk.

With stress on the slam.

She came back with the ice packs, still frowning. “Here you go.”

“What is it?”

“You have some interesting friends.”

“Why, what happened? Did someone give you a hard time out there?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. I had to practically wrestle away two of your ice packs from that guy in a suit who hangs out with Tre.”

“That’s Franko, but you can call him Pat…or Pappa Thumbs. Take your pick.” She raised her eyebrows. We’d all had that confused look on our faces on the topic of what to call Tre’s friend, so it was nothing new to me. I got to the point. “What the hell was he doing with my ice packs?”

“He was using it as a beer cozy around his bottle. I put it back in the freezer, but does he realize it’s a groin injury you have?”

I grunted out a laugh. “I’ll have a nice time reminding him of that later.”

Her face relaxed for probably the first time since I’d met her. “I wish I could see his face when you tell him.”

She gave me a cute smile, one that seemed sincere, like one she would share with a friend she’d known for a while. Maybe those walls of hers were coming down slowly.

“You’re more than welcome to hang around…Ouch!” I was so busy admiring the expression on her face that I didn’t notice she had placed the ice pack at the top of my left leg just under the hem of the athletic shorts I was wearing. “That’s fucking cold. Do you have to put that pack so close my boys?”

“Quit your whining…and ease up on the profanity, will you? It should really be applied as close to the injury as possible.” She blushed and looked away, grabbing another wedge from her supplies. “That means you’ll need to make some room to get it up even closer.”

Hello.

I couldn’t help but play with her now.

“Oh, so I should take my shorts off?” I immediately tugged on them at the waist.

“Uh, that won’t be necessary. We only need to get this compression sleeve down your thigh a bit.” She averted her eyes from my groin. No doubt, she was fighting something. Too bad it would be a losing battle.

“I’ll get it out of the way.” I quickly set the ice pack beside me, letting out a grunt and grimacing in pain as I lifted my hips from the table. I wasn’t kidding, either. That marginal movement was enough to send pain shooting down my leg.

She tried to stop me, but it was halfway down already. “Don’t. I told you, those shorts are fine.”

“Yeah well, too late. I’ll have a hell of a time putting it back on now…unless you want to help.”

“Keep it down. It’s fine.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You may as well finish the job.”

Rolling her eyes, Samantha slowly slid the shorts from where I’d dragged them until they were down past my knees, careful not to upset my leg too much. I was glad I wore briefs today. They didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her eyes cut to my bulge a few times. I kept looking at her face for a reaction. She was wide-eyed, and her lips parted a bit, but she must have caught herself because she took a breath, clearing her throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” I asked, grinning.

“No.” She peeled the compression sleeve down my thigh, appearing relieved when it was all over, and she placed the ice on my leg again. “Now,” she breathed, “let’s get back to your therapy plan.” She sounded anxious, out of breath.

No way.

The sight of my package through my briefs did that to her?

I know I was big, but hell, it wasn’t a kickstand or some monstrosity. Yet her chest rose and fell like she was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Are you okay?” I had to ask.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked. Man, she was tense. I decided to give her some time to relax. There was no reason to rile up a broad who just had her hand near my Johnson.

She picked up my file again. “About next week…” Her voice still wavered. “On Monday we’ll start using heat on the muscles to kick off the recovery phase. From your course schedule, it looks like you’re free every day from two in the afternoon. Can you meet me at the center?”

“That’s no problem.”

“You can go without crutches and should be fine to drive, but if the pain is too much, let me know and I’ll reserve one of the shuttles to pick you up. We can start on the hydrotherapy pool and underwater treadmill, using heat to improve your circulation before we add to the workout. Make sure you bring swim trunks and an extra set of workout clothes.”

“So I’ll be there every day?”

She peered at me from over the file. “Yes. At the center. Every day, Monday to Friday.”

“What about weekends?”

“During week three, we’ll add a sixth day to the schedule. What day do you prefer?”

“Probably Sunday. We’re all a wreck here on Saturdays.”

“No problem. You’ll be in great shape by the end of three weeks, so for weeks four to six, we’ll focus on explosive power and your position-specific football exercises. We can review this some more next week. It’s all about getting the muscles ready, alternating the hydrotherapy with…” Her cheeks turned red, then she added, “massage therapy, then stretching, then strengthening.”

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at her. This massage therapy component seemed to get her all antsy. Now I knew why she was blushing. I couldn’t wait to see how she would act when her tiny hands were brushing against my balls to get in nice and high as she massaged my upper thighs.

“Tell me more about this massage therapy…or maybe you should show me…you know, give me an early demonstration.”

Samantha shot me a look. How could I not provoke her? She made this way too easy, reacting the way she did. It was all over her face. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

“You’re not ready for it yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

“For starters, you were still in pain just to get from the bed to the table. You need a couple more days. We’ll start next week.”

I relaxed and rested my head back on the table. “Awww, come on.”

“It’s going to take as long as it’s going to take. Do I need to remind you about not pushing too hard every time I see you?”

“All I care about is getting back in top form by the combine.”

“I’ll do everything I can to get you there, and so will Dr. Burton, Jeff and Ryan. I need you to follow the plan.” She had determination in her voice.

“Good to hear you’re committed to my recovery.”

“It’s my job, Evan. I always do my job.” She checked her watch. “This ice can come off now, and we can pull the sleeve back over your thigh. I’ll go get these back in the freezer.”

“Pass me the remote over there on my bed, will you?” Samantha looked at me with contempt. “Please?” I added.

“Sure.” She snatched it off the bed and passed it to me before hurrying off in the direction of the kitchen.

I turned on the TV, but was not looking over at it. I had never known real frustration in my life until now. Before this injury, I had always been an instant gratification type of person. I didn’t like waiting. Two days felt like two years if it meant I had to wait. And now, getting back in shape meant learning to take it slow and let my body heal before I did more damage instead of make things better. Samantha wasn’t trying to give me a hard time. Dr. Burton, Jeff, and even the coaches would say the same thing.

It didn’t stop me from hating it all. Sitting around sucked. Falling behind was suffering enough. Knowing the rest of my teammates would be working out without me while I stretched out here on a table with an ice pack on my groin—that drove me nuts.

Samantha walked into the room at just that moment. “Let’s get the compression wrap back on.” She stopped halfway and pivoted around to look at the TV screen. Her face went beet red. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” She asked, pointing at the TV without looking at it.

“Since when is watching porn a big deal?”

“If I want to watch hard core stuff like that, I’ll do it on my own time. Maybe you can do the same while I’m here.”

“You watch porn? I’d never have guessed.”

She recoiled a little, and began packing up the equipment she’d brought with her. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“I thought we’d already established that the last time you were here.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stepped over to the side of the PT table. I was getting the compression sleeve back in position.

“You may not like the situation you’re in, but that doesn’t give you the right to subject me to that…” she pointed at the screen again, unable to find the words. “That…”

“Porn? Relax. At least I muted the sound.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she spat.

“I won’t hold it against you that you hate football, and you try not to hold this hardcore stuff against me…when do we get back on the field?”

“Week three.”

“That’s ages away.”

“Christ…Look, you need time to rest and work your way back from injury. I’ve seen what can happen when athletes ignore what we tell them to do.”

“Oh?” I worked the athletic shorts up my legs without her help. Icing the area made it much easier now than getting them down my leg. “What happened?”

Her eyebrows knitted together as though reliving a difficult memory while she gathered up her things and placed them in the plastic container. “Nothing you need to know about. I just don’t want to see you or any athlete hurt their own chances.”