“Something came up. I’m really sorry, Teddy. I promise to be there next game. Knock ‘em dead, champ.”
I press play and listen to her bullshit message again for the third time. She is fucking lying. Her voice cracks at the end of “something,” which means she’s nervous. If there is one person I know, it’s McCallister. I know the girl like the back of my hand and I know a lie when it spews from that beautiful, plump mouth of hers. Although the lie sounds sweet, it irritates me like an itch under my jockstrap.
I play it one more time for good measure. What the fuck is she up to?
She acted strange last week when I called, too.
Thinking she missed me, I secured her airline tickets to come hang out with me for the weekend and watch a couple games. She hesitated at first, but ultimately agreed when I pushed her for an answer.
Now, something came up? I call bullshit.
I sling my phone into my locker, so pissed that I don’t give a shit if it breaks. I yank my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair and start to pace. Pacing grooves in the floor always helps me think. And keeps me calm.
Is she fucking dating someone? Is that it?
No way. It can’t be. Anniston believes all the guys in our Podunk town are imbeciles. But… she has been distant lately. She wanted to return home instead of joining me for spring training.
Dread takes root in my stomach. It can’t be. She can’t just back out of this. Not now, not after seven years.
The stress ratchets up my ADHD. I need to run, but I just finished a game. I need to clear my head, and feeling like I want to hop on a plane and camp outside Anniston’s front door isn’t helping matters.
I jog down the corridor to our weight room. The sweat smell lingers even after it’s been wiped down with antiseptic. It doesn’t bother me. After seven years in this business, I’ve grown nearly immune to the smell.
The room is empty, as everyone is showering and headed home after we got spanked by the opposing team.
Good. I need the silence.
I step on the treadmill, set the speed to nine and fucking run. I run every bit of nerves out until I feel the endorphins start to kick in. Sweat begins to pour down my chest as my legs quiver on each impact.
My favorite part about cardio is the jellylike feeling that creeps up and relaxes you when you feel like you can’t possibly do any more. Your lungs burn, your heart pounds, and then… bliss. Pure silence takes up every bit of space in your head. It’s that calmness that relaxes my hypersensitivity.
I always knew I could focus better when I played ball, but I never understood why until Anniston figured it out. I went to the doctor after her revelation, decided against medicine unless absolutely necessary. It was essential when I was in college studying for a test, but now that I can control my symptoms with physical activity, I haven’t had to take it for the past several years.
I slow to a walk, having chased away the nerves. Anniston and I don’t label what we have. Granted, that was my fuck-up years ago. I was bastard enough to take her virginity. I knew she wanted to take our relationship to the next level and I did too, in a way. But once I slid into her, those whimpers she made as I tore through her barrier… fuck, I was scared. I didn’t want to fuck up my friendship with the only person who ever cared about me. I didn’t want to let her down, but I did. I made a terrible decision in the heat of the moment.
One that I have tried to remedy over the years, but Ans… nope, keeps my ass in the friend zone. Friend zone isn’t quite accurate, either. More like friends with benefits but with stipulations.
After the night I took her virginity, we didn’t speak much. I went off to AAA ball, and she went on to med school, like planned. We stayed in contact via text. Our relationship was strained, to say the least.
I decided that I wasn’t going to lose my oldest friend just because of one night that shouldn’t have happened. I should have told her no. I wasn’t thinking clearly because, well…it was Anniston. And I have wanted her for as long as I can remember.
I flew back home during the off-season her freshman year of med school. Surprising her at school had seemed like the best idea ever.
I missed her with all the traveling I had been doing as of late. The Major Leagues have been quite a change from AAA ball. Let’s just say, I have seen more of my bed in the past few weeks than I did all throughout college. And not in a good way. I’ve been getting my ass kicked in practice, Coach running me like I’m some kind of Olympian. After, all I can manage is to crawl into the hard-ass hotel bed for a few hours of terrible sleep. You would think this would be good for an ADHD person like me, and I guess it is. But what kind of life have I gotten myself into? I sleep when I’m told. I eat when I’m told. Hell, I even get up when I’m told.
One thing is for certain. This career of mine sucks ass.
It still doesn’t suck as much as working for my father in the insurance business, but some days, I might be convinced to give it a shot.
UGA is bustling with overachievers just like Ans, sporting stupid smiles as they clutch their Starbucks, talking animatedly with the highly educated person next to them. Couldn’t Anniston have picked somewhere else a little less pretentious? Like, anywhere in Washington? Shit, she could have picked an uppity school there and I would have liked it better than this.
Okay, so maybe I’m a little jealous. Adulting has not been kind to me. Getting up, working my ass off for a home I never see much guts me a little bit more every day. But I have no fallback. My measly business degree will do nothing for me at this point.
I take that back. It will. I could live a mediocre life working in some big corporation with that degree but I’ve grown accustomed to the finer things in life and now…it just won’t do.
Pocketing my keys, I casually weave through the mass of giggly girls, catching side-looks and disguised whispers. I doubt the girls know who I am but the guys…maybe. I’ve never been shy with fans, so signing a few autographs won’t be a big deal, but this is a football town. They probably think baseball players are beneath them.
I round the corner, headed toward the School of Medicine, when a girly squeal pulls me to a halt. I know that squeal. That squeal is only unleashed when I squeeze her thighs, tickling them to open for me when she plays hard to get. I wait like a stalker as she comes into view, batting away a surfer-looking dude.
“Gage!” That girly squeal sounds again, as “Gage” swipes at her, managing to hook his arm around her waist, pulling her into him.
“Gotcha!” Gage is obviously excited to have his huge-ass hands touching my girl.
My vision blurs as pure jealousy consumes me more with every step she takes with his arm around her.
That is my fucking girl.
Mine.
I’m on the move, my legs eating up the distance.
“Ans,” I yell, my voice laced with hate and venom.
“Theo?”
It takes three seconds. Three seconds for her to register that I’m here. Three seconds to toss her bag to the ground and run into my waiting arms.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in LA?”
I completely ignore her question, squeezing her tight against me, smelling the sweet coconut scent in her hair.
She hugs me back, rubbing up and down my back soothingly. “Are you, okay?”
I nod into her shoulder. “I’m fine. I missed you and had a couple days off. Thought I would come down for a visit.”
Anniston pulls away, studying my face for any deception.
“Do you not believe me?”
She smiles, placing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I missed you, too, Teddy. Come on, you’re just in time to buy me lunch.”
“Go get your shit, Greedy. And tell Gage—” I scrunch up my face in disgust, “—next time.” But I don’t mean it. There won’t be a next time because I am going to lock Anniston McCallister down one way or another. Fuck this friends shit.
We go back to her place after lunch and surprise, surprise, end up in the bed. Naked. Again. Not a wise move, but I was desperate to feel her, to plunge deep into her core and extract the very essence from her. I was ravenous to stake claim after seeing her with Gage. Never again. There will never be another Gage in her life.
Cradled in my arms, I stroke the soft skin of her arm. “Anniston.”
Her groggy voice is muffled in my side. “Hmm…”
Instinctively, I pull her closer as if I almost expect she is going to pull away at my next words. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Okay.”
Deep breath. She’ll go for it. She’s sated. She said she missed you. You can charm a girl, Theo.
“I was thinking that maybe we should try dating.” I let the words hang in the air to see if she will jump at the chance.
Anniston scoffs, pulling her face out of my side to laugh at me head-on, patting my arm like I just told the best joke ever. “We’re just friends, Theo. We always have been, just friends.”
Friends. That fucking word became my demise. My fucking end. I watched as she pranced around on every douche’s arm that year. I was enraged. I was jealous. I was in fucking love with her. She knew it. I knew it. And she made sure she gutted me every day by rubbing in my face what could have been.
I let her behavior go on for a whole year before I stepped in. I proposed another deal, of sorts. Made it out like I didn’t have time for clingy chicks with my ball schedule and the douche-canoes she was dating were no better. I’d like to think she wanted me as bad as I wanted her, and that she was tired of punishing me for that night. But, more than likely she was just being a realist, as usual. It makes sense to have a piece on the side that you can trust. That you can call whenever, with no expectations. And that’s how McCallister’s Monday and Theo’s Thursday were started. I was at her mercy on Monday (her only free day from class) and she was at mine on Thursday (my off day in the pitching rotation). We could not date or sleep with anyone else on those particular days. It was fucked up, but it kept her mine.
Eventually, she came to Washington with me, the friendship picking up where we left off. We never talked about that year again. Mondays and Thursdays inevitably turned into every day of the week that we could manage with our hectic schedules.
Now, we pretend it’s no different, but we both know otherwise. This year, she took a step back from my training to spend more time in Madison, claiming it was time to “spread her wings and find herself.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but it makes me a little queasy because I’m thinking it may translate to laying down some roots with someone. Someone other than me.
So here I am, biting my nails to the quick, walking on the goddamn treadmill like a worried mother hen. Our Mondays and Thursdays have turned into: whenever we see each other. But the more I am away from her, the more fear settles in that she will meet someone. So, her “something came up” bothers me immensely.
“Von Bremen! Get your ass in the shower!” Coach Bellamy screams at me from the doorway, breaking through my mental meltdown.
“You played like shit today! Go get laid and get your fucking head together, boy!”
What the fuck ever. I did not play like shit today. I might not have played up to par, but not like shit. Coach Bellamy is an asshole of the highest degree. He makes the whole pitching staff miserable on a daily basis. It’s almost like he hates his job, much like me.
I’m done with this shit for today. My shoulder is sore from lobbing balls at Brody with sorry technique, and now my legs ache, all because Ans blew me off. Coach is right, I do need to get my head on straight. I need to see her. Yeah. That’s it.
Before I can change my mind, I yell, catching Coach right before his back disappears out the door, “Coach!” I make it sound whiney. “My shoulder hurts. I need to see my trainer.”
His head, very slowly, appears back in the doorframe, his eyes squinted to slits. He’s pissed but too late to take it back now. He moves toward me, meaning to intimidate me, but it won’t work. I know I’m the biggest pain in his ass. The problem is, I am the best he has, so he’s stuck with my outrageous requests. He barrels toward the treadmill, his angry, labored steps have him reaching me in seconds, his chest rising and falling in a dramatic flair. I don’t so much as flinch.
Bellamy does not scare me. The thing is, I don’t care if I get fined or suspended. Hell, they can fire me for all I give a fuck. Thad invested my money and if I never work another day, I will be fine. The only reason I even play professional ball is because: (A) I’m great at it. (B) It scores me pussy. (Okay, so I don’t really get that much use out of that one but I could if I wanted to.) And (C) I didn’t want to take over my father’s insurance empire. That boring shit is not for a person like me who can’t sit still in a movie theater. No, I couldn’t do insurance every day.
Coach Bellamy’s beady eyes stare daggers at me and I give him my trademark smile, but they don’t waver. Hard ass.
I take a long breath and rub my shoulder, faking a little wince to make the story believable. “It hurt earlier, Coach. That’s why I played like shit.”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate before barking, “See our trainer here. No reason you have to fly home to see your personal trainer.” He spits that last part, obviously disgusted that my contract is ironclad, enforcing that I use my own trainer (at my own expense).
I shrug like I can’t help that my shoulder hurts and I have to fly hundreds of miles to get it looked at by my hot little blonde. He’s onto my bullshit but his hands are tied. Thank you, Thad, for negotiating that contract like a mofo. I need to give him a raise.
Bellamy is still giving me the stink eye like he’s plotting my death.
“That’s not going to be a problem, is it, Coach?” I lay on that southern charm with a half-ass smile.
He growls. Literally growls at me. Removing his hat, he runs his hands over his scruffy hair. “Fucking prick,” he mutters before turning back toward the door.
I chuckle, unable to help it and not offended in the least. I am a prick. I would hate to coach some punk with God-given talent who pisses it away when the mood strikes.
I have no drive to play. I do it because I am supposed to be a responsible adult. I don’t love it—I’m good at it. That’s all. It’s just a job for me. A way to make money. I can play hooky just like anyone else. And I plan on playing it all the way back home to Georgia to see my girl.
“Fine,” he answers me coldly, pivoting back around to meet my eyes. “I want a conference with Dr. McCallister after you are examined. Today.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
I nod, knowing she’ll do it. She’ll make me suffer for it no doubt, but she’ll do it. For me.
My flight was a total mood killer. After listening to the couple behind me argue the whole fucking flight, I’m as pissed off as the dude getting bitched at. His girlfriend was a complete twat. One second more, I think I would have turned around and told him as much.
Irritation consumes me as I bob and weave through the airport with stealth, keeping my head low in an effort to go unnoticed. A douchey move, I know. The fans are what makes the world go round but I’m not in the mood to plaster on a fake smile and sign a bunch of shit. It would only piss me off further and at this point—one comment away from an assault charge—I don’t think that’s a smart idea.
A car waits for me outside and like the ninja I am, I hop in, completely unnoticed. Score one for Von Bremen! I instruct the driver to Ans’, barely acknowledging his professional smile, my mood already looking up.
Anniston’s house is about an hour away from the airport. It’s been two days since I had more than four hours of solid rest. My anxiety and ADHD have been off the charts today, worrying about Anniston’s cool brush off. That kind of bullshit hasn’t happened to me in months. Usually, I can sleep for at least six hours with all the exertion I exhibit out on the field. Not this time, though. This time, I have been up pacing every couple of hours, thinking up crazy scenarios as to why her calls have become less and less. It has to stop. Seeing Anniston will be good. I’ll get my answers. I need answers.
Using the opportunity to catch up on some much-needed sleep, I recline back as much as possible in the back seat, and shove one hand down my pants. What? It’s comfortable. My eyes flutter closed as I will sleep to take me.
It doesn’t. One annoying hour later, the car pulls up to the plantation. I’m hungry, tired, and now a little hostile. The plantation hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. Its worn white paint is weathered, the porch a little shoddy, but it’s home to me. More so than my own Atlanta penthouse.
After paying the driver, I bound up the stairs, intent on barreling into the house and giving Miss-I-Can’t-Come-To-Your-Game a lesson in friendship that ends with her bent over my knees, and run right into a locked door. That’s odd. Anniston never locks the door. Yes, she is a complete idiot with no regards for her own safety. But she’s hot, so I bitch at her, and let it go.
I fish around for my keys, but pause when I hear footsteps. “Ans! Open the door!” I shout, hoping to be saved from setting my bag down to figure out which key it is. I haven’t used it in… well, forever.
Silence. What the fuck is she doing in there? I bang on the door. “What the fuck, Ans! Open the damn door!” Footsteps again. Okay, she’s really starting to piss me off now.
“Anniston!” I shout as I give a couple more bangs to the antique door.
The door opens abruptly just as I throw down my bag, preparing to get out my keys.
“Theo?” My kryptonite stands wedged in the crack of the door looking oddly nervous. “What are you doing here?”
Who the fuck was she expecting? I smile, all the while looking her over, checking for any signs of disarray. Her little spandex shorts ride high on her thighs, milking the muscles there, while her loose tank has slid off her petite shoulder, just dying for someone to remove it. Rest assured little tank top, Daddy is here. She looks perfect.
“Hello, beautiful.” My voice is almost a damn purr.
She arches a brow. She knows something is up. Well, tit for tat, Ans. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
I clear the purr from my throat. “My shoulder hurts. I need you to look at it and call Bellamy.” I crowd her and begin to push through the doorway. Her solid mass doesn’t move. What the hell?
She narrows her eyes, totally not believing my story. “Really? Your shoulder hurts and you didn’t call me immediately?”
After the long-ass day I’ve had, I am in no mood for twenty questions. I snap, unable to control my anger, “Yes! Is that a problem, Dr. McCallister? I believe I pay you to be on call. Has that changed?” It’s an asshole thing to say, but I’m at my limit.
She’s silent and pissed, her heavy glare practically burning through my face.
“Can I come in, or are you going to examine me out here?”
The side of her cheek indents. Usually, that indicates she’s biting down to keep from speaking. I’m prepared for the onslaught of verbal sparring, as I stand tall and meet her glare in a challenge. She leans against the doorway for the longest fucking minute ever. Finally, she takes a deep breath and opens the door.
I don’t miss the reluctance etched on her face. Damn. What is her deal? “Gah. Finally. You are acting so weird today.”
I push through the small opening between her body and the door. I don’t dare ask if she is PMSing because last time I did, it did not go well for me. She punched me so hard it left a bruise for a week.
Inside, the house smells like buttery, sugary heaven. Oh, fuck me, is she making pancakes for dinner? My mouth starts to water just thinking about the buttermilk goodness. “Please tell me you are making pancakes and it’s not one of those damn candles that smell like it.”
She snorts. “Pancakes. You hungry?”
I’m always hungry and she knows it. She makes her way toward the kitchen, glancing down the hall every now and again. Why is she acting so nervous? It’s making me nervous. Agitated, I launch my heavy duffle bag toward the hall bench, its heavy weight rocking the whole piece. Oops. I check to see if Anniston caught it but she’s busy flipping the pancakes.
Hot damn! Motherfucking pancakes! I feel better already. I saunter over, enveloping her tight little body in my arms and place a chaste kiss on her neck. A quiet little moan escapes her.
“What have you been up to, beautiful?” I question softly, nibbling her earlobe. “I’ve been getting radio silence.”
She turns, wrapping her hands around my neck as I turn my head and plant soft kisses on her lips. She’s tense and not responding. I press another kiss to her forehead. “Anything wrong?”
She shakes her head and lets out a resigned sigh. “I need to tell you something.”
Uh oh. That pit of dread bubbles back up to the surface. I force a smile. “What is it?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “I, uh, I’ve been helping out a friend.”
Thank heavens! A friend. I can live with helping a friend. “No problem,” I respond cheerily.
She shakes her head with a small grimace. “He’s been down on his luck and needed my help.”
The anxiety is back. I know all of her friends, especially the guys. And I know for a fact she doesn’t have another guy friend, apart from me. She has associates, but not friends, and none of her associates have seen hard times. I have Facebook—just because I’m a pro ball player doesn’t mean I don’t stalk the fuck out of her Facebook page. I have downtime.
“A dude,” I confirm.
She nods and I’m at a loss as to what to say. I let go of her and rake my hands through my hair. I’m just going to ask her. I’m not going to be a pussy about it.
“Ans. Are you seeing someone? Is that what this is?” There. See? All balls, no pussy here.
She shakes her head quickly. “No. Absolutely not. It’s just a friend. I swear. He needed my help and I couldn’t not help.” Her voice cracks at the last part.
Her and her damn bleeding heart. The tension in my shoulders is unmistakable. I roll them for something to do so she doesn’t see how much she’s upset me. “Okay. So why haven’t you told me?” I know she’s still hiding something from me. It’s not like her to be nervous.
Her gaze drifts to my shoes. “You won’t like it.”
I already don’t like it. Her behavior is out of character and is freaking me the fuck out. Whoever this “friend” is, I’m sure to hate him. And she fucking knows it.
“I’m sure I won’t, but why don’t you go ahead and rip off the Band-Aid? The suspense is grating on my nerves.”
She nods. “You’re right, let’s just get it over with.”
Holy shit. This must be huge. With my hands secured in my pockets, I meet her eyes.
You’re fine, Theo. Whatever she says, you will be fine. There are other girls out there. So what? You fucked up. Lesson learned.
Fuck, that’s not helping.
“He’s a veteran. I found him last week, hypothermic, in a ditch. I think he’s homeless. And I’m helping him get back on his feet.”
I choke. Literally, choke. Homeless? Has she lost her fucking mind? “Ans! Are you crazy?”
I am seething. Did she seriously bring a homeless guy in here to play house? “You could have been killed!”
She’s shaking her head in disagreement, but it doesn’t deter my yelling. “Or robbed. Or worse than that, raped!” I start to pace. It’s hard to focus on anything when my head gets jumbled up like this. Holy shit! A homeless guy!
Warm hands wrap around my waist. “I’m okay, Teddy.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
She’s trying to calm the raging inferno inside my head. It’s not working. I try to get free of her embrace but she holds tight.
“Don’t do this,” she demands, her voice firm. “I am an adult. I’m fine.”
Fine! She could have been lying in a pool of her own blood for an entire month. No one would have known she was harboring a stranger! “This is the stupidest thing I think you have ever done!” I yell.
Snatching free of her grip, I barrel past her, set on finding this asshole who would take advantage of my incredibly dumbass girl. Body tense, I search through the living room, throwing blankets and magazines as I go just to be an asshole.
“Where is he?” I shout, slinging one of the gloves I left on the table the last time I was here. It misses the TV by inches. “Tell me where he is, Ans!”
I’m unhinged, stomping through the hall like a beast when she steps in front me, a barrier between me and the guest bath.
“What are you doing?” I sneer as I stalk toward her. Her bottom lip starts to quiver. I’m scaring her. Good. She should be scared. I’m barely containing my fury right now. She lunges for the bathroom door when she sees my eyes track to the light coming from underneath.
“Is he in there?” I rush her, attempting to get my hand on the handle first. Before either of us can lay claim, the door wrenches open.
Steam billows out through the entryway as a dark-haired man, clad only in a white towel, crowds the opening. “Everything okay, Commander?”
Commander? What the fuck kind of kinky games are they playing? My jaw starts to tick. I need to text Thad and warn him that I’m about to go to jail and lose my position in the MLB.
“Commander?” I scoff, glaring at this new man in Anniston’s life.
The “vet” returns my glare and steps out of the bathroom with a fierceness in his eyes. With powerful strides, he reaches me in seconds, but before he can lay a hand on me, Anniston wedges her body between us.
“I’m fine, Cade. This is Theo,” she explains with a hand on his chest. “He’s just a little surprised is all. He wouldn’t hurt me.” She looks back to me. “Would you, Theo?”
Fuck yeah, I would. I feel like whooping her ass just for being a dumbass. But survival sets in as I meet the giant’s eyes. His chest is heavily marred by scars as he takes slow and steady breaths, his hands balled at his sides, prepared for a fight. This man has seen battle. I don’t doubt this man has killed.
Knowing when to retreat, I raise my hands in surrender. “Never,” I answer her question with confidence. “I would never hurt you.”
She smiles and turns back to the beast. “See? I’m okay.” She gives his chest a little shove. “Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll all sit down for dinner.”
He doesn’t move or acknowledge her request. His eyes are locked on my face, threatening. I lift my eyebrow as if to suggest he is a pussy for taking orders from Ans, and he takes a menacing step toward me.
Anniston gives him another shove. “Go get dressed, Cade. I’ve got it.”
He tears his eyes away from me and gives Anniston a once-over. Verifying she is uninjured? She caresses his face and gives him “my smile.” My fucking smile! He nods in silent agreement and retreats to the guest room.
“I am going to beat your ass,” I tell her as soon as the door closes.
She looks exhausted from this whole ordeal. “Come on, tell me about your shoulder,” she says, passing by me, apparently done with the confrontation.
Oh, hell no.
“We are not done talking about this,” I yell at her retreating back.
“Later,” is all she says.
I can live with later if I have to.
I’m silent at dinner for the most part. Anniston prattles on about my stats and career like an over-affectionate parent. She fills me in on how she and Cade met and about the amazing carpenter he is. Apparently, they—meaning, together—have been repairing the back deck of the house that desperately needed it. She’s taken off from her part-time job at the hospital to acclimate Cade.
My stomach sours each time she smiles his way. Cade and I have resorted to only nods and grunts when she tries to engage us in conversation. Otherwise, we are staring daggers at one another, plotting deaths and inconspicuous burial prospects. I finish my pancakes in record time, only eating two instead of the ten I planned on—thanks to Anniston’s revelations.
Cade helps her with the dishes while I can’t keep myself from scowling and pouting at the table. She’s never asked me to help with the dishes. Granted, we always had a housekeeper when we lived together but still, she can’t ask me?
“Theo, go change and meet me in my office.”
I give her a look that can only be interpreted as a firm negative. There is no way I am leaving her alone with this guy.
She rolls her eyes, drying her hands on the dish towel. “Cade. I need to check Theo over in the office. Do you think you could finish these up for me?”
He nods and gives her a smile.
I get to my feet, ready to pounce, when Anniston grabs my arm and drags me down the hall. I let her pull me into her office, which basically is a small exam room. Her true office is what she calls the library.
The exam room is outfitted with all the latest and up-to-date technology money can buy, thanks to yours truly. The decor is, of course, various trophies, pictures, jerseys, etc. from me playing ball over the years. My girl is proud, and that makes my stomach do all kinds of weird things.
“Strip, Von Bremen, and hop up.” She pats the table like I’m some kind of puppy that needs direction.
I give her the stink eye but remove my shirt nevertheless. She doesn’t mean for me to strip naked. Not yet, anyway.
“So, what’s going on?” she asks, washing her hands in the nearby sink.
I climb onto the table and shrug. “Nothing much. I threw a few sloppy pitches today, but I was distracted.” By you, is what I want to say.
“So, you’re saying your shoulder is fine, and you lied to Bellamy so you could come down here and spy on me?”
Yep. Pretty much.
I nod, giving her a little smile. “Kind of.”
She shakes those blonde tresses and chuckles. “Tell me what I need to tell Bellamy. How many days do you need?”
Fuck yeah! That’s my girl! “I think I need at least a few days, Doc, for PT.”
Exasperated, she picks up the phone and calls Bellamy and proceeds to give him a shit-ton of medical jargon that I don’t understand. I hear him yelling on the line after she drops the bomb that she’s keeping me for PT for a week, maybe more. It’s apparent he does not agree with her assessment. She mouths, “You owe me.”
I nod. I do.
She hangs up after another minute, cutting off whatever rude thing Bellamy was saying.
Have I mentioned how much I love this girl?
“Face the wall. I want to take a look at your shoulder since I just lied to your coach.”
Fine by me. I turn, facing the opposite direction, while her soft fingers walk up and down the lines of muscles in my shoulder. I flinch when she presses on one spot in particular.
“That hurt?”
“A little. Not bad. Probably just sore.”
She gives a little hum in response, raises my arm and presses again. This time it makes me jerk away.
“Okay, so that hurts a little more,” I admit.
“Hmm. Let’s stretch it some tomorrow and see what that does.”
I agree to stretching exercises as she rubs numbing cream on the sore areas.
“Alright. Let’s head upstairs. I’m tired.”
I quickly turn to face her, my energy renewed. “Hell yeah.”
She cuts me a look but I don’t let it bother me, because I am about to plow the shit out of this girl so little ole Cade can hear every last one of her screams.