Dirty Play:Sports Romance(4)

The immediate gut-wrenching feeling I had when I woke up started to  evaporate as I convinced myself this wouldn't be a setback. I might miss  one game. Only one. And then the Wranglers would have me back after the  bye week. That gave me two weeks to recover enough to play.         

     



 

I flipped through the channels, landing on Sports Now. I read the  ticker, expecting to see my name on the scroll as one of the headlines.  Maybe since the injury had occurred at practice, the Wranglers had  managed to keep it away from the press. None of us wanted this getting  out.

I listened to the talking heads discuss the playoff possibilities. We  were one of the teams on the cusp of breaking in. I rolled my eyes at  the discussion. The Wranglers were going. I didn't need to hear these  idiots debate how good my team was.

"Knock, knock. Mr. Blakefield, how are you feeling?"

I looked over from the TV. Suddenly, I felt a whole let better. There  was a gorgeous woman circling the bed, walking toward my injured hand.  She had long blond hair pulled back, but tiny wisps floated around her  face. Her blue eyes were striking.

"I'm Dr. Ashworth." She smiled, showing off luscious pink lips.

I knew what this was. This was the guys' way of trying to cheer me up.  They knew how much I liked the nurse getup last night. They probably  heard it through the suite door. It wasn't like I held anything back  when I fucked a woman. They had sent me an upgraded version to cheer me  up after my surgery.

"Doc, is it?" I teased.

"Mmmhmm. I performed the surgery on your hand. I'm sorry we didn't get  to meet ahead of time. You were already prepped by the time I got to the  OR."

Most strippers wore more revealing clothes, but maybe in the hospital,  she had to cover up a bit more. Maybe underneath that white coat, she  was one gorgeous naked woman. I was limited to what I could do, but that  didn't mean she couldn't do a little something to make me feel better.

"How's the pain?" she asked.

I played along with her charade. "It could be better."

She twisted those full lips together. "I can probably help you with that."

I smiled. It was exactly what I was thinking. The perfect distraction to  get my mind off my damn hand. I could already feel myself getting hard.  She was beautiful. High cheekbones and the cutest damn nose I had seen  on a woman. My dick stiffened as I pictured her lowering herself on me. I  didn't realize I'd had a fantasy of getting sucked off in a hospital  until she walked in.

"Are you going to lock the door?" I asked.

"It's not going to take long. I don't think anyone will interrupt the exam."

"If you say so." I grinned. God, this was going to be one hell of a  story to tell the guys-how I got off right after surgery to a sex kitten  in a doctor's costume.

She made a note on the clipboard she was carrying, then placed it on the table next to the bed. "I think I'll take a look."

"What if I help you out?" I pulled back the sheet and gown, showing her how hard and ready I was for her mouth.

She jumped back. "What are you doing?"

"I know the guys got you for me. And I have to say, they've stepped up their game. You're fucking sexy as hell."

She blinked in horror. "You think I'm a hooker?" Her eyes hardened in a  straight line, and I thought the cobalt shade might have fired amber a  few times.

"Aren't you?" I looked her up and down again. She was drop-dead  gorgeous, and as hard as my dick was, she must have realized I thought  so.

She glared at me. "No. I'm your surgeon." Her hands were on her hips.

"So no blow job?"

"Oh my God! No, no blow job."

I covered myself back up, but my current situation pitched a tent under the sheet.

"That's a shame. Those pretty little lips would-"

She put her hand up. "Stop. Stop right there. I am your doctor, not a rent-a-whore."

I chuckled. "Don't see why you couldn't be both."

She inhaled slowly, and I could see the color deepen in her cheeks. I  had pissed her off royally. "I can put you in the hands of one of our  other doctors." She picked up the clipboard. "I am a trained surgeon. I  don't have to put up with shit like this, even if you do play for some  team." She turned for the door.

"Some team?"

"Yeah, apparently, I'm the only one in this hospital who doesn't know  who you are or what it is you do for a living that involves playing with  a ball. Although after that stunt, I'm starting to get a better picture  of what kind of man you are."

This was a first. "You don't know who I am? You've never heard of Wes Blakefield? You expect me to believe that?"

"Seeing you on the operating table was the first time I'd laid eyes on  you, Mr. Blakefield. And this is the last time." Her hand was on the  door.         

     



 

"Wait, Doc. Wait." I don't know what made me do it. Hell, I could have  let her walk out pissed and fired up. But I didn't want to. She hadn't  even looked at my hand. And she was the most fucking beautiful woman I'd  seen.

She breathed heavily. "What?"

"Aren't you even going to look at my hand before you leave? If you're  the one who performed the surgery, I'd like you to take a look. They  told me you were the best."

I could see her debating whether it was worth it to give me another chance. She paused in front of the door.

"I'll check it this once, and then I'm handing you off to Dr. Evans. And  you should know he's very old and has a really huge mustache," she  huffed.

I laughed. "That's fair."

She rolled her eyes. "And he has bad breath." As if that jab would put me in my place.

I watched as she gently pulled back the bandage and looked at my hand.  It was set in a foam mold so that my fingers were aligned an equal  distance apart. She tilted her head from side to side, examining each  finger. A curl of hair slipped from behind her ear.

"I think for a post-surgery hand, it looks exactly like it should." She stood back, holding the clipboard tightly to her chest.

"That's good news."

"It is. I'll let Dr. Evans know what to look for during your recovery. And I understand your team trainers want to be involved."

"They always are."

I didn't want her to hand me over to some old, decaying bastard. I  wanted her to be my doctor. I wanted her leaning over my body. Her  inspecting my skin. Her advice on how to recover.

"Look, Doc, I'm sorry about earlier. That was out of line. I shouldn't have assumed you were a stripper."

Her lips twitched. "It was a first. Most people come out of surgery groggy and just think I'm their mom or something."

I shook my head. "Can we chalk it up to me still being under the influence of whatever drugs you gave me?"

"You seem pretty alert, Mr. Blakefield."

"Come on, give me another chance. I'll be a model patient. I'll even  pretend I didn't look down your dress." I flashed a wicked smile.

She blushed, pulling her white coat closer to her chest, knocking her  stethoscope to the side. I liked that I was affecting her somehow. It  was a distraction from the beeping and the lines running into my arm.  She was the sexiest distraction I could have wished for.

"I'll check in on you in the morning." She walked toward the door, looking over her shoulder. "Have a good night."

"Hey, Doc, before you leave … "

"Yes?"

"Do you have a first name?"

She paused. "It's Lennon. But my patients call me Dr. Ashworth."

"So does that mean I should call you Dr. Ashworth or Lennon?" I taunted.  I liked her name. I'd never heard it before. It seemed to fit  her-strong and beautiful. She wore brains and sex appeal well.

I grinned as I watched her leave. I should have been feeling a whole lot  worse than I was, but something about Dr. Ashworth was like a dose of  good medicine.





Four





Lennon





I held on to the counter at the nurses' station, knowing my knees were  knocking together and my legs were barely holding me up. I was furious.  Livid. I'd never been so insulted in my professional life in such a  degrading way. What was more messed up was that I was so turned on by  that asshole, I could barely hold myself together. He had managed to  insult me and flirt with me at the same time. He was infuriating.

I hadn't bothered to look at his face during surgery. Most of it had  been covered with a cap, and I was so rushed to get in and repair his  hand quickly that I never thought to see what he looked like.

Most of my patients came out of surgery looking pale and listless. They  didn't react well to the anesthesia. Some could barely talk, let alone  string together coherent sentences. But not this man.

Wes Blakefield was the definition of perfection. His jaw was set in  straight, solid lines. His skin was tan, and he had the greenest eyes  this side of Ireland. Not to mention he was well over six feet tall and  had broad shoulders and arms to match. On top of that, he had one hell  of a dick. I covered my mouth. I wasn't supposed to look at him like  that. He was a patient. Not a demi-god. Not a male model that could melt  the panties off every nurse in this hospital. No, he was a patient. My  patient.