Win Big:A Bad Boy Sports Romance(13)

"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.





8





Evan





The 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?"