Win Big:A Bad Boy Sports Romance(9)

"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."





6





Evan





I did everything I could to get comfortable on the treatment table after he left. The meds had kicked in, but only slightly. Every position hurt like a bitch. As I sat there, wondering who the athletic training department chair would assign to the team, the door opened. Professor Jeffries walked in with the football team's Sports Physician, Dr. Burton, followed by Ryan, the team's athletic trainer, and Jeff, the graduate student working under them all.

And a girl.

What the fuck?

"Evan, we weren't expecting you to come down here in your state," Dr. Burton stated.

"I … well I figured I'd get a head start," I stammered out. This chick they brought along was hot, but I wrote her off during the first three seconds. If they thought she was getting anywhere near my junk they had another thing coming.

"Since you're already here, we can discuss your prognosis and treatment plan." He probably noticed the way I stared at the girl. "In case you don't know everyone on your core team, this is Samantha Woodward. She'll be your dedicated assistant athletic trainer and therapist. She will provide daily support during and after your first five to seven days of resting the area."

I couldn't say anything. I couldn't even smile or nod my head. I was frozen on the spot and had to devote a shitload of energy to pick my jaw up from the floor. She didn't seem thrilled to see me, either. We spent a long time sizing each other up. Dr. Jeffries eventually cleared his throat, getting our attention. We both turned to him.

"Everyone, please. Have a seat."

"Not you, Evan," Dr. Burton added. "You stay put. I'm surprised you could manage getting out of bed today. If you don't remember anything else this week, remember this. Five to seven days of rest, starting today. That means bed rest. You're only getting out of bed to use the bathroom. No exceptions. Got it?"

"What about course lectures? And meals?" I had to ask.

"You'll have to miss a week of classes," Dr. Jeffries answered, flipping through my student-athlete file. "It's the first week of classes. I can't see you missing much. This semester, you're enrolled in Advanced Media Persuasion and Exercise Journaling Fundamentals."

He smirked. It was a condescending sneer. Probably because they were easy courses, or bird courses as my Canadian mother would call them.

Well chirp chirp, motherfucker.

He should have blamed the douchebag faculty board that allowed it on the curriculum, or better yet, the idiot professors who taught these piece-of-shit courses that we athletes took to bump up our GPAs.

"I think you'll be okay for a week. As for meals, I believe there's enough in the budget for your campus meal plan to be delivered. You're fine."

Everyone else took a seat in the chairs along the wall beside the treatment table I was in. My eyes were trained on Samantha.

A chick.

How was I supposed to do the work I needed to do with a girl managing my man parts? What the hell did she know about physical therapy for football players? The only kind of therapy I used girls for had to do getting my dick up inside them. That was way different from what this Samantha would be doing. She didn't even look like the type I'd let touch me when I was healthy. The chick had a permanent frown on her face, and her nose wrinkled a little every time she looked my way. I wondered if she knew that her clear displeasure to be at this meeting was all over her snobby little face.                       
       
           



       

Kind of the way mine probably looked right about now too.

Dr. Burton folded his arms. "Dr. Jeffries has updated Ryan and Samantha on your injury, so we're all up to speed. As you're aware, tests have confirmed the diagnosis as a grade two strain of your left groin tendon. It's severe, but not the end of the world. A full tear would have been potentially … catastrophic. Thankfully, that doesn't apply to you. You can make a full recovery from this."

"That's a relief," I admitted, breathing a little easier, but not much, because he did mention it was severe.

"For sure. I would hate to see a more serious injury derail your goals-as I'm sure you would, too. We've put together a plan for you which should have you up and running well in advance of the Combine. I'm sure that hard target date is a big concern of yours."

"Should? Is there some doubt about the timing? Or the injury?"

"He didn't say it shouldn't be, you know." Samantha put her two cents in with a voice laced with what sounded like acid and resentment. I figured she was either PMS'ing right now, or she was a dyke. It was the only explanation I could think of for the way she spoke to me. Maybe I was onto something with my dyke theory. I never got this kind of reaction from women right off the bat. That only happened if I said something cocky, or used them for the usual one-time sex act when they wanted more.

Yeah, she had to be a lesbian.

I turned slowly to her. "I heard what he said." We locked eyes. Hers were a deep sapphire blue and bitter as hell.

"Let's move on," Dr. Burton continued, ignoring us both. "As mentioned, if you follow the rehabilitation program and heed our advice, you'll be in great shape by the time the combine rolls around. In terms of your care plan after bed rest, we've prepared a plan which you will follow under Ryan and Jeff, with Samantha's daily guidance. You'll meet with me once a week, and Dr. Jeffries will check in with us, in the event that we need to secure any academic accommodations for you with the Disabilities office. I doubt we'll need any, given your course load, however let's keep an eye on it."

"So the advice will be coming from Ryan, Jeff and …  Samantha here?" I glanced at her, then back at the doc.

"Yes. I should mention that Ryan has to manage three other athletes on the football team's injured list. Jeff's in no better shape, as he's providing coverage on the soccer and track teams. Resource-wise, we're stretched thin for a few weeks."