Lady and the Champ(15)

“Tell me.” I reach over and touch her calf. “I’ll listen. I promise.” I really do want to hear what’s up with her. I actually do care. More than I thought I did, in fact, now that I’m hearing her talk about it, hearing the strain in her voice. That little twinge of guilt hits me again.

“Believe it or not, you’re a choice assignment.” I chuckle, and she smiles a little. “If I fuck this up, I could lose my job.”

“Why would you fuck it up?”

“Because you’re making everything super difficult, and if I finally crack and punch you in the face, I’ll probably get fired.”

I shrug, keeping it light. “Maybe I like getting punched in the face.”

It’s nice, seeing her laugh even though I know she’s trying not to. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

I stroke the back of her calf, trying to make it seem more friendly than sexy. It’s hard, because touching her gets me going, but it’s nice to think maybe I’m comforting her.

“If I have my way about it, you won’t get fired. I promise.”

“Even if I drown you in this tub or break your nose?”

“Even if you drown me in this tub or break my nose.” I pause, considering. “Although if you drown me, that might be problematic.”

Another laugh. God, this is nice. I’ve never felt like this with a woman before—relaxed. Comfortable. Even though she appeals to me on a carnal level, I also just like being around her. There’s a vibe there. Like maybe we fit.

She takes a long breath and lets her eyes fall closed again. “I’m the only woman in the group, and I’ve been passed over for a lot of assignments because of it. I need things to work out here. It’s hard, never knowing if they counted you out of the running because you’re actually not good at your job, or just because you’re female.”

I get where she’s coming from. “Well, I can guarantee you’re as good as any male PT I’ve ever worked with. Better, even.”

“That’s good to hear.” Her voice is quiet, and I’m not convinced she believes me.

I settle into the water. It’s one of those times when I feel safe somehow. She brings that out in me.

“I feel like that sometimes,” I tell her.

She blinks her eyes open and stares at me, obviously surprised. “Why? You’re at the top of your game. Everybody thinks you’re great.”

I shake my head, opening my eyes to look at her. “Not about football. About Emma.”

Her eyes widen a little as that sinks in. “Oh,” she says quietly. “What do you mean?”

“How do I know if I’m a good dad? I’m not with her all the time. I can’t even talk about her to anybody. I get on some online parenting forums to get ideas, but it’s not the same as talking to people in person.”

“Can you talk to your mom? Sisters?”

I realize she’s fishing, because I don’t talk much about my family. If I thought she knew anything at all about my mother, the comment would hurt. But I know she doesn’t, so I let it go.

“Sometimes,” I concede. “And she has a nanny who seems to know what she’s doing, so I ask her about things. But still. There’s no way to know. Not really.”

“Well, based on what I’ve seen, you’re doing a good job. She seemed happy when I met her.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

Slowly, I slide out of the water and make my way up to the edge of the tub, sitting next to her. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes ease open and she looks at me like she’s taking in my face, memorizing it. Her gaze falls to my mouth, and I can’t help myself.

I lean forward and kiss her gently. She lets me, and that surprises me, too.

I suspected all along that she’s not immune to me. If she were, she wouldn’t be so prickly. The reason she gets so mad at me is because she’s fighting the same kind of attraction I’m…well, not fighting. The way she responds to my kiss confirms it. Her mouth opens under mine, and I let my tongue slip past her lips, tasting her.

I’ve never wanted a woman so much in my life. The fact that she’s technically forbidden makes it that much more acute. I want her. I want to strip her bare and sink down into the tub with her and fuck her underwater while the jets tease her ass. My hand drifts to the collar of her button-down shirt and teases a button free.

For a second, she lets me. I start to work on the second button, though, and she grasps my hand. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t.”

I lean into her, pressing my lips against her ear. “I want you, Chloe. I want you naked in this tub while I fuck you blind. You want that too, don’t you?”

She swallows, her eyes closing, and I can tell she’s giving it serious thought. Unfortunately, it’s the kind of serious thought that eventually makes her push my hand away.

“No. I can’t. Really. This is my career we’re talking about, Austin. That’s more important to me than a hookup with you.”

“Who said anything about a hookup?”

“Stop it, Austin.” This time she sets my hand down on the edge of the tub and scoots back a few inches. “I’ve already come way too close to letting my career implode because of somebody like you. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

Well. There’s a story. I have a feeling she’s not going to tell it to me, though. At least now I know there’s a reason why she keeps pushing me away. I knew it couldn’t be that she didn’t like me.

I smirk a little at that thought. She frowns at me. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She scoots around to look me right in the eye. “Make me a promise, Austin.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t pursue this. I know there’s kind of a…” She waves her hand back and forth between us, then finally rolls her eyes and says, “Fine. There’s an attraction. But promise me you’ll lay off while I’m treating you. Don’t keep pushing me. It can’t happen. It won’t happen.”

“Okay.”

She seems surprised. “Okay?”

I give her a firm nod. “Okay.”

Then, with a smile, I slide back down into the tub and close my eyes. I’ll keep that promise. Because she said to lay off while she’s treating me. She didn’t say anything at all about the rest of the week.

Someday, she’ll learn not to leave out the fine print.



“Hi Austin!”

The receptionist at the front desk is perky and pretty and flirts like she’s on the U.S. Olympic flirting team. She leans across the desk, arranging herself so her tits bulge out the buttoned neck of her white shirt.

Emma’s looking at them with undisguised interest. She probably thinks if she plays her cards right, she could get lunch. The polished gold name tag pinned next to them says KRISSY.

“Nice to see you again.”

Tonight I have no interest in her tits. If they were Chloe’s, sure, I’d get as big an eyeful as I could get away with.

That’s definitely new. I know damn well I can call anybody and have a hot, willing woman under me in bed in a hot second. That’s not what I’m after right now, though. I’m after Chloe. Just Chloe. In fact, all I really want to do when I see Krissy’s tits is check my phone—again—to see if Chloe’s gotten back to my latest series of texts.

“How’s Mom?” I ask Krissy.

She eases back, taking her weight off the counter, which makes her breasts much less prominent. Maybe she’s giving up.

“She’s good today. Does she know you’re coming?”

“No. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

She nods. “I’ll let her know you’re on the way.” She gives Emma a wave and a smile before she keys the intercom to speak to my mother.

I wait until Krissy’s done on the intercom and then make my way down the hall to Mom’s room. I knock quietly and hear her say, “Come on in, Austin.”

There’s a nurse by her bed, checking her chart. “Hi, Mr. Sherwood,” she says. She’s a few years older than I am, but there’s still a good amount of flirt in her attitude. I grin.

“Hi. I s’pose you’re taking good care of my momma?”

“Of course I am.” She gives me a wink. “Just let me jot down a couple more numbers and I’ll be out of here.”

I make myself comfortable in a chair next to Mom’s bed. She smiles. Emma makes “Ga ga” noises that sound almost like Grandma.

“It’s good to see you, Austin. You’ve been coming by quite a bit.” She waggles her fingers at Emma, who busts out into giggles.

The comment twists my stomach. I spent a long time ignoring my family, ashamed of them, not wanting the press to get a hold of them. I tried to convince myself it was to protect them from the paparazzi and all the nasty things that come as a side effect of my fame. Truth is, though, I just didn’t want people finding out I come from a family of Deep South rednecks.

Then Mom got sick, and I started to realize there are more important things than my image.

“Can’t stay away from my momma,” I tell her. I can hear the way my voice has changed since I walked in the door. I can’t help it—Mom brings out the Southern boy in me. Speaking in a more broadcast-standard accent in front of her feels almost like dropping F-bombs on her. It’s just wrong.