Dirty Play:Sports Romance(6)

"Give me some HGH. I know you've got something that will speed up the recovery process."

"I don't. I have pain meds to help you get through the first week, and I  have an excellent physical therapist if the team isn't able to handle  your recovery. But that's it. There's no magic cure. No special  injection that's going to work. You have to heal."         

     



 

I chuckled. Of course there was. We all knew about the recovery drugs  players used to get back on the field. I wasn't going to be any  different. I'd find a way to get my hands on some. The Super Bowl was on  the line. The Wranglers would be behind me one hundred percent.

"When am I getting out of here?" The quicker the hospital released me,  the quicker I could talk to the trainers about super meds. Eight weeks  to recover was not an option.

"You need to be fitted for a brace and a sling." She looked down at her  watch. "We could have you out of here in a few hours. I'll get started  on the paperwork."

It was instinct. I reached out to touch her wrist, but my right hand was  still bound to the mold. I winced at the reminder of my injury.

"Thanks."

She tucked a pen into her pocket. "You're welcome, Mr. Blakefield."

"You know you can call me Wes."

She had thrown up a professional wall so high I didn't know if I was  strong enough to break it down, but I sure as hell was going to try. I  was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted this woman.

"I don't think that's necessary." Her blue eyes softened. "I'll see you back here in two weeks to check on your progress."

I could have argued and said the trainers would take care of me. The  team doctors would oversee the rest of my recovery and wouldn't want any  interference with the treatment, but I didn't disagree.

"I'll see you in two weeks, Doc." I grinned as she closed the door.





Six





Lennon





I handed Wes Blakefield's chart to the nurse to input into the system. I  walked away from the station, ready to check on my next patient. I  didn't want to think about whether it was intentional that I had checked  on him first. I tried to tell myself it was so I could escape if I  needed to. I would have an excuse if those smoldering eyes of his got  under my skin again. I pulled my shoulders back, knowing I kept things  professional in there. I didn't cross any doctor-patient lines.

But I had heard his heart beat. I heard it pick up as I moved across his  body. My fingers lingered on his skin, tracing the lines on the tattoo  running up his forearm. He might be a notorious playboy, but I had made  his heart race. I smiled before walking into Ms. Parish's room.

"Good morning. And how is that elbow today?" My seventy-five year old  patient needed all my attention, and I had to stop thinking about the  Wranglers' quarterback.







"Dr. Ashworth?"

I was packing up my bag for the day in front of my locker. The shift had  gone well. Two smooth surgeries and my patient recovery rate was  stellar this week.

I turned to look at the nurse in the doorway. "There's a delivery here for you at the nurses' station."

"Oh?" I wasn't expecting anything, and the sales reps usually scheduled appointments with me.

The nurse looked excited. "I think I know who it's from."

"All right. I guess I'll pick it up on my way out. I'm almost done."

But she stood in the doorway, waiting for me to walk with her. God, I  wish I could remember her name. She was the one who always wore the  brightest scrubs. The happy kind with rainbows and kittens. Oh right,  she was Sonny.

I followed her through the corridor to where the nurses were huddled  together. All I could see were tufts of cellophane through the circle.  The whispers stopped as soon as I appeared.

"She's here." They giggled. "Looks like you have an admirer, Dr. Ashworth."

They stepped back, and I took a look at the contents through the clear wrapping. "What is this?"

Sonny piped up. "It's from Wes Blakefield. He sent you every possible  Wranglers memorabilia there is." She tapped at the basket. "Cups,  koozies, a signed football, and it looks like that's his jersey number."

"You've got to be kidding." I hovered over the monstrosity of football crap.

"Read the card. Read it," they urged.

This wasn't how I wanted to receive a gift. Not with everyone gawking  around me. And not from a current patient. This was wrong on so many  levels.

Sonny shoved the envelope into my hands. Cautiously, I pulled the card from inside.



Thanks, Doc

WB



That was all it said. I pushed the note back inside. I wasn't going to read it aloud.

"You all can get back to work now." I tried to shoo them from the basket as I wrestled it into my arms.

"It is from him." There was a chance half of them were going to faint  right there. "Oh my God. Wes Blakefield sent you a gift. You know what  that means, right?"         

     



 

I looked at them blankly. "It doesn't mean anything. He's a patient. Of course I'm going to donate everything in the basket."

They looked shocked.

I scrambled for an explanation. "It's against hospital policy. You all  know that." I held the basket tighter to my chest, wondering what in the  hell had urged that man to send this to me.

"Good night." I marched out of the hospital, knowing how ridiculous I  looked, trying to keep the cellophane from blowing back into my face.

The next day wasn't any better. As I was leaving for my shift, another  delivery arrived. This time, the quarterback land-slided me with every  type of chocolate on the planet. And these weren't ordinary chocolates.  They were imported from France, Switzerland, and Germany. Had I  mentioned in conversation at some point that I was a chocoholic? I  couldn't think of a single personal thing I had revealed to him. I was  professional toward him, even if he was a flirt and a player. I never  encouraged him to send gifts or pursue me, did I?

I scowled at the fancy boxes tied with exotic silk ribbons. There was  another card attached. I read it in the silence of the doctors' lounge. I  crumpled it in my hand. Who was this guy? He thought he could send  presents and chocolate and I'd what? Just fall into his arms and beg to  get in his bed?

I knew his type. I'd met them all over D.C. Funny thing was, once they  found out I was a surgical resident, I suddenly seemed less attractive.  That was until I met Ben.

Ben was another resident in my program, and after studying and working  together, it seemed to make sense to be roommates. Roommates turned to  sex when we were both in the apartment together. Somehow that felt like  enough of a relationship to me. After a year, I knew we were a good  match. He was handsome and smart and not intimidated by my work. We had  everything in common. He was the perfect guy on paper. I could go  through a list and check off all the things I wanted in a partner.  Except one. The most important one.

But all of it changed the day I found out my roommate was fucking another woman.

I couldn't help it. I ripped into the chocolates and started eating one  of the pretty pink ones. By the time I looked down, I had eaten six. I  crammed the lid on top and lifted the boxes in my arms. I needed to get  home. Thinking about Ben pissed me off. It reminded me why I was here  alone. Why I had left D.C. Why I didn't bother to split things in the  apartment and had driven to Texas with only a car full of clothes.

I wiped an angry tear from my cheek and raced past the nurses. I didn't  want to hear about my admirer. I wasn't up for girl talk. They didn't  know what I was going through. Broken by one asshole, just to be pursued  by another.







The next day, I slammed the cabinet to my locker, eager to get out of  the hospital so I could make it home and take a shower. I had been in  surgery for six hours putting a twenty-year-old's leg back together  after it was smashed in a car accident. The concentration and focus it  took had wiped me out, but the surgery was a complete success. With  rehab and physical therapy, he'd be able to walk again, and we were able  to give him hope for more than that.

Sharing the news with his parents after the surgery was a relief. Their  faces lit with joy, and I knew I could leave the hospital knowing I had  kicked ass today.

I stood to leave the doctors' lounge and stopped when I saw Sonny. She was holding a long white box.

"Oh no. Not again." This was the third day in a row.

"These just came for you." She approached me, her eyes giddy.

I took the box from her arms and placed it on the bench next to me. There was a card on top, but I was afraid to read it.

"Thanks." I dismissed her with a frown.

I could tell she wanted to stay and see what was inside and who it was  from, but I needed the lounge to myself. We both knew the Wranglers'  quarterback had sent the surprise.

I pulled the lid from the box. I stared at the dozens of orchids spilling from the tissue-lined center.

"Oh my God." I covered my mouth. They were delicate and gorgeous. And expensive.