Dahlia
Being on the sidelines of that Cowboys scrimmage was like standing against the wall of an emergency room; one when there was an explosion at a nearby hall, and you’re the only hospital accepting patients. There was activity everywhere. Those men shot past me, their massive bodies, heavy. Their thick muscles draped in a million different pieces of gear and jostling with every single, power-filled movement.
I uncrossed my legs and leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh. I readjusted my baseball cap. At 97 degrees, this was more heat I had dealt with in my entire life. My thighs were starting to chafe, my shirt growing lighter and lighter with each new coat of sweat. I made a mental note to research stronger deodorants when I got home. This August atmosphere was more than I felt like I could handle. I pouted at the sensation of my white gold necklace clinging to the damp skin on my neck. I huffed at each new baby hair plastered to my forehead and the back of my neck.
I peered across the field at the other sports doctor on duty for the Chicago Bears. He sat leaning forward, his eyes darting back and forth with his players.
I took a cue from him and tried to mimic his posture. I decided I schould look less than completely out of my element, but couldn’t tell if I was succeeding or not. I grabbed a bottle of water out of my ice bucket and took a generous swig, readjusting my sunglasses. I started to watch the players more closely, realizing that sitting here, waiting for an injury to happen, was more lot like being at Iowa State General than I would have thought. Something would happen, and I would be the first person on sight.
Very cool.
I heaved another breath of the hot, dry air, and started to notice something about the players. They seemed to grow more and more fatigued. This was an obvious thing. But once we got to the third quarter, I realized that they were fatiguing faster. They were making the smallest mistakes, tripping over a foot here or there. Their necks got weaker, their heads bobbing back and forth.
I lifted my baseball cap just enough that I could wipe off the sweat forming on my forehead, then let it sit again and took another swig of my water bottle.
The coach, Russell Belmont, blew his whistle, the shrill sound of it cutting through the hot air.
When they huddled, I watched their chests rise and fall.
My heart started pounding as I anxiously watched them take their first positions. There was one player in particular, Milburn, that worried me. When the play began, he jogged to his position, but he could barely hold himself up straight.
I stood up, wandering towards him, but staying on the sidelines. He held his hands up as the ball came charging at him.
My eyes widened when he caught it and turned around to sprint towards the end zone.
But he was having way too much. The weakness in his ankles told me he wasn’t going to make it.
I turned back, my eyes landing on the coach. Russ was not someone I knew particularly well, or someone who even cared that we knew each other well. When we did the weigh-ins just last week, he gave me the cold shoulder. I figured as the doctor, I was his natural enemy, putting stop signs in every aspect of his practice.
But now was not the time to be nice, or to give a shit about what he thought about me. Now was the time to do my job. “Russ, call it!”
He ducked his head in agitation, his blind side-bang swiping into his face.
But before I could explain myself, Milburn fell out. His six and a half foot body came crashing to the ground, a player from the other team who had been in hot pursuit falling right on top of him.
I wasted no time. This was my jurisdiction. I ran out into the field with a fresh bottle of water in one hand and my kit in the other.
I felt like an ant next to these guys, but I didn’t care. “Let me get in there!” I said, breathlessly. I put my kit down and gave a little shove to the guy on top of mine.
He got up slowly, an incredulous look on his face.
I glanced up at Russ, who peered at me closely, his hands on his hips.
“Milburn.” I took off his helmet and shook his shoulder. “Milburn.” One hand on his forehead told me he was hot as hell. Heat exhaustion. I took off the jersey, then the pads. I reached in my kit for a pair of scissors and sliced through his top.
I leaned over his sweaty, fit body, listening for his breath.
Strong.
I poured some of my ice water onto a towel and started dabbing his face with it. Before I got too far with it, I heard someone call my name. I looked up to see three medics jogging onto the field. I supervised them as they put him on the stretcher. “It’s just heat exhaustion. Give him a cold compress and get him inside.”
They nodded and heaved him off the field.
When I looked at Russ again, I saw him talking to another man I hadn’t seen before. I started to jog towards him, but as I got closer and caught wind of his thick, auburn hair, his broad shoulders, his strong jaw, and his smoldering hazel eyes, I slowed down. My walking nearly reached a crawl as I adjusted and readjusted my top around my curved hips and the shorts that might have ridden up the inside of my thighs. I reached up to fix my ponytail, hoping that my makeup still looked the way it did when I put it on that morning.
“What’s the news, Dr. Waters?” Russ asked when I was within earshot.
I shrugged. “Heat exhaustion. He’ll be fine.”
Russ nodded, his worried expression transformed as he let out a chuckle. “I bet you don’t know nothin’ about that. Right, Iowa?”
I gave him a tight smile, doing my best to ignore the condescension, and turned my attention to the man standing next to him. Despite the impossible heat, he looked as comfortable as ever in his polo shirt and button down pants. The Jimmy Choo dress shoes told me he was someone important. “Chet Blackwood.” He held out his hand to me.
My eyes widened at the name. I cleared my throat. “Dr. Dahlia Waters.” I tried not to look starstruck.
“All right,” Russ clapped his hands. “I need to get back to the game.”
Chet slapped him on the back. “Start off the season with a bang.”
He nodded and jogged off.
Chet turned his attention to me, a smile stretching across his face that made his eyes twinkle. “Wow what a name.”
I loved the way he wrapped those words in that accent. It somehow made him even hotter. “I know. I remind you of one of the most notorious Hollywood murders of all time.” I said in a tired voice.
He nodded slowly. “Right. I s’pose you get that a lot.”
I watched him cross his arms as he turned to face the field, trying not to think about what they might feel like wrapped around me. I banished that thought from my mind as soon as it occurred. This was the owner of the whole damn team. And besides… I had a boyfriend. I followed his gaze.
“So, how do you like it?”
“The game? The weather? The job?”
He shrugged, an intoxicating chuckle coming out of his mouth before he said, “All three?”
“The game is pretty good.”
I felt him look at me, so I returned his gaze.
“You’re not particularly a football fan, are you?”
I glowered at him. “How would you know?”
He smirked. “The game is a snooze. We’re three touchdowns up, and it’s the end of the third quarter. An obvious win.”
“Is that not good?”
He shrugged. “I like to watch a struggle.”
There was something inadvertently sexy about those words. “I prefer a certainty.”
“You’re a doctor. I would hope so.”
I bent over to grab another water from my ice pack. One small, deviant part of me hoped he was getting an eyeful of my ass. “The weather is impossible. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna get used to this heat.” I took a generous swig of the water.
He lifted one of those perfect eyebrows at that. “Sure, well. You’ll get used to it. You’re gonna be out on hot fields a lot.” His gaze didn’t waver as he said that.
I cleared my throat. “W-will you be out here a lot, too?”
He smiled. “I love the games, love. But I’ll be right up there,” He pointed up at the box just above the top row of the section on top of the main entrance. It looked cool up there. I imagined a hearty draft of AC as people mulled around with their drinks in hand. What a place. “I can see everything from up there… even you.”
Had he been watching me? I was speechless in his gaze, paralyzed in the attention.
“And the job?”
I nodded. “Interesting.” My mind wrestled with a need to run far far away and an urge to take him into my arms. I expelled that thought too. This was so wrong. But I couldn’t deny the way my body was reacting to him. “I thought I’d be in some sort of medical Siberia out here. But it’s actually a lot like being in an ER.”
“Siberia? What, was this great team not your first choice?”
My skin turned beet red. “N-no. I actually thought I’d be a surgeon. So, uh, I’m perfectly capable of thinking on my feet.” I cleared my throat at the end, shutting that down. When I looked up at him again, he was checking his watch. His attention had gone. I knew it.
But when his gaze found me again, I saw that same, earnest intent. “Well, It’s about time I get back to my cage.”
But his eyes lingered on me, and when we shook hands again, he held mine long enough for me to start imagining his touch in other places.
As I watched him walk away, my body was charged with a desire for him I was sure would be impossible to satiate.