All In_ Paying to Play(24)

A young, muscular guy in a black baseball hat and dark glasses stands up, so I hold the door open for him while I skim over the information about his emergency today. All it says is he has a severe case of untreated Tourette's, narcissistic personality disorder, and sexual sadism.

"Hi, I'm Dr. James, come on back."

Not getting much of a response from the man, I lead the way into my office and shut the door behind us. Sitting down at my desk I notice the client remains standing, sort of pacing, before resting with his back braced against the door and his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. I try not to freak out at the way he's blocking my only exit from the room.

"So, what can I help you with today, Mr. Reckshun?"

"Nice office, doc, and you can just call me Hugh G."

I gasp at the sound of his voice, the first words he's spoken, and then I wonder how I didn't notice it was him before. Or pick up on the ridiculous name.

"Jake? What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, getting back to my feet. My face is burning in embarrassment that he was able to pull one over on me, and at the memory of the last time I saw him. The brutal last words he’d spoken to me.

"Where've you been?" he asks, finally taking off his glasses and nailing me with his midnight stare.

"Home," I say, sitting back down, lowering my eyes to the desk as I pretend to read the papers I shuffle. "You're wasting my time. I skipped my lunch hour and inhaled my sandwich because of your bullshit appointment."

"I'm sorry," he says, and I still can't look at him.

"Whatever. Just leave, so I can get back to work."

"No, I mean I'm sorry for Sunday."

My breath catches in my throat at the hurtful reminder. It takes a few seconds for me to recover and respond. "Don't be. Honesty really is always the best policy."

"I thought you were trying to manipulate me to void our contract."

Now I can't help but look up at him. He actually thinks I'd do that to him?

"Football has been my life, all I've ever known since my dad taught me how to throw a ball when I was five years old. Making it to the NFL is the only thing I've ever done that they were ever proud of me for. So if I lose that, then I lose them all over again."

"I wouldn't do that to you," I tell him softly. "If that was what I was after, I wouldn't need you to touch me. It's just a matter of my word against yours."

"So you'd lie?"

"No, I wouldn't lie. I'm just telling you that's how easy it'd be if I wanted out."

"They why did you leave?"

"You know why," I mutter, lowering my eyes in shame.

"Because I rejected you?" he asks, making me cringe at the reminder.

"Yes."

I’d left because he said he wasn’t desperate enough to sleep with me, even though he’s known for sleeping with everyone. I’d also left because I felt guilty for what I did with Zack. No, Jake and I might not actually be a couple, but it obviously hurt him.

"So you were going to fuck me for no other reason than to apologize for fucking Zack?"

"Uh-huh," I respond, instead of getting into the discussion of all those details.

"Then come back," he says simply.

"No. It was stupid of me to even think about doing that the other night. I wasn't acting like the intelligent, professional woman that I am." No, I acted like a stupid, lustful slut. One that thought a man would want me after I fooled around with his best friend. Besides, the deal between me and Jake doesn’t allow any physical contact, and it was idiotic of me to think of crossing that line with him.

"Oh, so now you're too good for me?" he grumbles.

"That's not-" I start, but he interrupts.

"Yes, it is. But screw it. You don't have to fuck me, but if you don't hold up your end of the bargain, you know, going out in public with me, then my contract is fucked."

"I know," I reply, rubbing my temple while I wonder if my brain has stopped functioning. "And I'm sorry for avoiding you. We can get some good PR at the game in New Orleans Sunday night, okay?"

"No!" he quickly exclaims.

"Ah, what do you mean no? My dad's already made the arrangements."

"Cancel it. You're not going," he says, starting to pace again. He looks like one of my high anxiety patients.

"Um, yes, I am."

"Don't do this to me, Addy. If you're there, I'm gonna play like shit," he tells me, coming to a stop with his hands aggressively on his hips.

"What the fuck, Jake? You say I need to do my part, but you don't want me there?"

"You can't go. Period. I'm serious. Promise me you'll stay here. Please." He actually looks panicked, not like he's just saying he doesn't want me there to be an asshole.