Dirty Play:Sports Romance(13)

I began scrubbing my other hand, careful to trace all the creases in my skin.

I had spent two nights in Wes's apartment. Of course, that meant I had  to get up extra early to make it home and pick up clothes for work, but  it was worth it. I was scared to death. Scared to be with him. Scared to  not be with him. Scared that it seemed we were somehow igniting  something between each other that could blow up in our faces.

But I couldn't stop myself.

"Dr. Ashworth, the patient is prepped." One of the nurses spoke to me through the speaker system.

I hit the button with my elbow. "I'm headed in."

I pictured Wes one more time, then pulled down the shade, dividing him  from the rest of my thoughts. When I was in the OR, I had to be the one  in control. Not him. He could have that privilege in bed. Not here. Not  at work.







I tossed my keys on the counter and heated up a bowl of soup for dinner.  I should have brought some of the leftover Chinese food from Wes's, but  I was in a hurry this morning to make it to work on time.

I ate quickly, then walked to the shower, steeping myself in steam and  heat. The first surgery hadn't gone smoothly, and the ligament repair  took an hour longer than I thought it would. After that, I had a surgery  canceled because a patient refused to come to the hospital, and my  third surgery of the day ended up being assisted by the head of my  department, so I basically sat back and watched him do everything.         

     



 

I was tired and annoyed, but the hot water felt good. I dried off with a towel and ran when I heard my phone buzz.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Doc."

I immediately blushed. "Hey."

"Are you going to watch the game tonight?" he asked.

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"Are you telling me I haven't converted you to a football fan yet?"

"No, I'm not saying that." I giggled. He sure had one convincing way to make a woman want to know everything about the sport.

"Okay, I've got to go, but it starts in twenty minutes. I'll be on the sideline, of course."

"You better be." I knew I sounded stern. "Oh wait, before you go. Good  news, Dr. Evans said he'll take you on. You're no longer my patient." I  held my breath, waiting for what Wes would say. Did things change today?  Did it still matter to him?

"That's the best fucking news I've heard."

"Then, this is still … " I didn't know how to finish the sentence. We  hadn't put a label on it. There wasn't a definition for what we had  started together. It was new.

"Yes, this is still." He laughed. "Baby, I'll call you later. I've got to walk out with the team."

"Good luck. I hope you guys win."

"Thanks." He hung up and I hugged the phone to my chest. So this must be  what cheerleaders in high school felt like when they pulled for their  boyfriends on the field. I was always the one at the library, never at  the game. But somehow, I had turned into that girl. The one who was  going to watch her man at the football game, even if he was on the  sideline tonight.

I poured a glass of wine and turned on the TV. Other than yesterday,  this was the first time I was making it a point to watch an AFA game. It  was weird. I felt kind of nervous, even though he wasn't playing. I  felt the butterflies lift off when I saw the camera pan to him on the  sideline. Damn it. He wasn't wearing his sling. What the hell? I knew I  wasn't his doctor anymore, but I explicitly explained he had to wear it  at all times if he wanted to heal those bones.

I was startled when I saw a beautiful brunette sidle up to him and shove  a microphone in his face. She looked like a super model.

"I'm talking with Wes Blakefield, Wranglers star quarterback. Wes, we've  heard some things about your hand. Can you clear up the rumors that you  won't be playing in the play off games?"

He flashed a gorgeous smile at her and I felt a pit of anger. Was he flirting with the sports reporter?

"Hey, Becky."

She smiled. "What do you want to tell Wranglers fans?"

"As you can see, no cast, no sling. I'm just taking an extra week for  precautionary measures. Wranglers fans don't need to worry." He rubbed  the side of his sculpted jaw. "Easy sprain to recover from, and I have  the best doctor looking after me."

I eyed him through my TV screen. Easy sprain my ass-I had kicked butt on  his surgery. There was nothing easy about putting someone's hand back  together.

"What do you think about Cosech starting tonight?" she asked.

"He's been working through the drills and running these plays all  season. He's ready. And I'm really happy he gets a Monday night start."

I rolled my eyes. I knew none of that was true. Wes was pissed the other  guy was on the field instead of him, but at the same time, I was amazed  at how convincing he could be. Becky sure seemed to believe him.

"Thanks for taking a minute for me, Wes."

"Anything for you, Becky." He tapped her on the back before turning toward his team's bench.

I knew I was shooting daggers at my television screen, and I didn't  care. Professional flirt didn't even begin to cover what he was. I  settled onto the couch to watch the game. The first quarter was about to  start.





Thirteen





Wes





That damn Becky Haley had to ask about my hand. I hoped without the  sling it would look normal. As if the team had intentionally started  Cosech to rest me up for the bigger, more important games coming up  after the bye week. At least she didn't ask for details on the sprain.

I grabbed a set of headphones and listened in to the plays coming in  from the offensive coordinator in the booth at the top of the stadium. I  couldn't see Ross from down here, but I knew he had eagle eyes on the  field. He was plotting the Warriors' defense before they were.

I heard the play call and groaned. They had to change things to match  Cosech's abilities. He didn't have the arm I had, but running every damn  play wasn't going to work. I watched as the quarterback handed the ball  off to Persons and watched the running back get tackled before he even  crossed the line of scrimmage. Fuck.         

     



 

There were enough Warriors fans in the stadium to jeer at us. I looked  up at the booth, knowing Ross was scrambling for another play. He called  in another run, this time to the right.

Again, the Warriors read the call and Persons barely made it two yards.  It was third down and I could feel it. We were going nowhere on this  drive. But I kept my mouth shut. Cameras were on me. Fans were watching  me. I had to act as if this was all part of our offensive plan to upend  the Warriors' defense. I tried to relax my shoulders and flatten the  furrow on my brow, but I was fucking pissed. We blew the last play and  had to punt.

Cosech ran off the field and over to where I was standing.

"That sucked," he breathed.

"Yeah, they read your every play."

"What do you think I should do?" he asked.

The guy was a second year quarterback. No one every expected him to  play. He barely got a touch on the ball in practice. This week was his  first foray into our routes, our plays, our calls. I felt sorry for the  kid.

"Look," I slung an arm around his shoulder. "They can read your eyes.  You're not looking downfield like you're going to pass it. You look  right at Persons the whole time." I sighed. "You've got to keep your  eyes moving constantly. Keep them guessing. They won't know if you're  going to throw short, long, or hand it off."

He nodded. "I'll try it."

I knocked him on the back. "Don't try it. Fucking do it," I snapped at him.

I couldn't believe this. Our entire season I had won games. We had won,  and now this moron was on the field. We had to get through tonight and  in two weeks, I'd be back.

I looked at my right hand. It hurt, and I knew it wasn't anywhere near  capable of throwing a pass, let alone picking up a football. I was going  to have to have help.







I sat on the table, waiting for Dr. Jones. I knew that wasn't his real  name. He'd never tell me, or anyone, what it actually was. And I wasn't  going to ask. That was how this worked.

A nurse came in with a tray of syringes and placed them on a table next to me.

"The doctor will be in any minute." She smiled, then left.

I wasn't the kind of man to hesitate or second guess my decisions. This  had to be done. It was the only way. The point in life was to win. It  was to be stronger and better than everyone else.

My dad beat that philosophy into me. I had every trophy to prove it. Every title. Every recognition, except the Super Bowl.

I waited for Dr. Jones. The man who entered the room had a pointy nose and gray hair just above his ears.

"Eric?"

I nodded. "That's right." We all used aliases when it came to this kind  of medicine. But we both knew he would recognize me from a hundred feet  away. I was the most recognizable quarterback in the country.

But there would be no paper trail for Wes Blakefield. I'd signed  everything as Eric Hawkins. Eric Hawkins was the man getting gel  injections to fuse his bones together. Eric Hawkins was getting as many  doses of HGH as a man his size could tolerate.