Chapter Seven
Chuck drove me to PT on Monday. The athletic department had its own team but kept them off campus and near the hospital. It was a state-of-the-art facility with everything a gym monkey and health nut could want. Plus, the therapists. Coach Hummel gave me an idea of what to expect—it wasn’t going to be pretty. He even offered to go with me, but I knew he had a million other things to do, so I declined. Chuck told me he’d hold my hand during the torture, which was enough to know he’d make sure the entire team had a play-by-play of how I wussed out. He stayed in the lobby.
I didn’t want anyone to see me suffer at the hands of the therapist. At least she was hot. Her long tan legs were the stuff songwriters wrote about. She smiled when I limped in, and there was a bit of cruelty to it, which made her even sexier. Unfortunately, I learned too quickly how truly cruel she was. It didn’t help that a few guys from the basketball team watched. We worked through a series of strength training exercises, each one hurting worse than the last. Before the incident, I’d done two-fifty on the leg lift without a problem. When Angela told me to press back against the pressure of her hands, I could barely bend my knee. At least the swelling had gone down.
“You aren’t trying, Aaron. Push!” she ordered.
Sweat covered my forehead, dripping into my eyes, as I strained against her hands. I grunted as if I were in labor. This was fucking embarrassing.
Angela sat back on her heels with a smile. “Good job. We’re done for today. Don’t forget to do the exercises I showed you.”
I nodded, too out of breath to speak.
“Great. I’ll see you at the same time Wednesday.” Angela rocked on her heels and stood. She grinned as she offered me her hand.
I let her help me to my feet, the ache pulsating in my knee.
Angela walked me to the lobby where Chuck sat reading some Hollywood gossip magazine. “The pain will fade in time, Aaron. You can’t rush this, okay?”
“Yeah, I know.” I tried not to let her see exactly how much it hurt. The last thing I wanted was another round of surgery. I’d miss the season for sure. As it was, I’d probably miss the first half, but there was hope. That was all it took to keep me going.
Chuck stood when he saw me limping his way. “Man, you okay? You’re walking like you just got out of prison.”
“Fuck you.” I pushed open the door, grateful for the cooler air.
Chuck’s laugh rumbled behind me. “Guess PT is a lot harder than I thought. You wanna grab a burger before we head back to campus?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Shit. Mallory. “What time is it?”
“Ten till five, why?”
“I’m supposed to meet up with Mallory.” I pulled out my cell and confirmed the time. It would take twenty minutes to get back to campus. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected therapy to go over by fifteen minutes. I was going to be late. And I hated being late anywhere. My coach in high school made us run ten laps for every minute we were late for practice. It hammered being on time into my head.
“Dude, why the freak-out?” Chuck asked, checking my phone as I composed the text. “And who’s Mallory?”
“Remember how Dr. Monroe threatened to put me on academic probation because I missed almost three weeks of class?”
“Yeah. That guy’s a massive dick without a hard-on.” Chuck hit the remote to unlock The Lemon and strode around to the driver’s side. “What’s that got to do with some chick?”
I hadn’t told anyone I needed a tutor. Apparently, that was going to change. “I hired a tutor so I wouldn’t fail the class and not be able to play this spring.”
Once we were both in the car, he started the engine and pulled onto the street. “I thought you were redshirting it anyway.”
“Maybe. If I can avoid it, I will. And there’s a small chance I could be ready in time. It just depends on how therapy goes. Besides, I don’t want to drop in the draft. Or miss it completely.” My phone dinged a text and I read it fast.
Mallory: Okay. Running behind myself. Sophomore meltdown this time. You aren’t driving, are you?
Me: No. Got a ride. Can’t drive yet.
Chuck leaned over to glance at my phone. “That her?”
Mallory: Good. See you in a bit.
“Yeah, why?”
“The shit-eating grin on your face was a tell, man.” He smirked when he glanced over at me. “She hot?”
“She’s my tutor. What do you think?”
“She’s hot.” He laughed and turned up the radio, singing some country song about lost love.
I stared out the passenger window. Sure, Mallory was gorgeous, but that didn’t change anything. She was my tutor. Nothing more. So why did I have a shit-eating grin? I didn’t. Chuck just had a good imagination.
Mallory sat at our table in the library with her laptop open and a huge grin on her face.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, sliding into the chair beside her.
She held up her finger. “Grandma, I need to go. He’s here.”
“Okay, dear,” an older voice said through the small speaker. “I’m sorry about Thanksgiving. Chrissy’s not doing well. I can’t leave her.”
“It’s okay. Really.” Mallory smiled at the screen. “I’ll be working all weekend anyway. Thanksgiving is our busiest time. Great Aunt Chrissy needs you there.”
“I know, but I hate leaving you alone over the holidays.”
“I won’t be alone.” Mallory waved at the screen. “I’ll call you later. Give her a kiss for me.”
“I will, dear.”
Mallory stared at the screen a moment longer before turning her attention toward me. She smiled, but it was guarded. “We can adjust our meetings by half an hour if we need to. You’re my last of the day anyway, and my schedule at the store is flexible.”
“You’re the best.” I groaned as I stretched my knee. It took everything in my power not to ask about her grandmother and aunt. Like everything else with Mallory, I reminded myself it wasn’t any of my business. I was just curious about her life.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
I stared into her wide hazel eyes as I answered. “It wasn’t what I expected. I mean, I knew I’d do certain exercises, but I didn’t know my therapist would be a sadist.”
Mallory rolled her eyes, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt like hell,” I added. My knee still throbbed. I pulled a chair closer and rested my leg across it. Maybe an hour of hurting my brain with useless history would help the agony of my lower limb.
Her hand brushed over my forearm, and my skin flared. Chemical reaction. That’s what I chalked it up to. Nothing but pheromones.
“You’ll be fine,” she said without realizing the effect her touch had on my libido. “Give it two weeks, and you’ll be moving up to more difficult exercises. Before you know it, you’ll be back to full strength.”
“You’ve got some experience in this?” I asked.
Mallory’s face tightened. “Something like that.”
I put my hand over hers. A small gasp escaped her lips and she slowly pulled her fingers free. “Thanks, Mallory. So Great Aunt Chrissy?”
She swallowed, closing herself off before pinching her nose. “She’s got Alzheimer’s. Grandma takes care of her.”
“Where do they live?” I prodded.
“Arizona.” She closed her laptop and pulled a book toward her. “Now where were we?”
“Oh, the usual. You tell me I’m a moron in an hour because I can’t remember anything.” I shrugged. The idiot factor doubled when it came to this shit.
“You’re not a moron, and it’s not that bad.” She smiled before ducking back into her book.
“Yes, it is. And you know it.” I leaned against the table, curiosity getting the best of me. “Let me ask you something. Why tutor?”
“Well, I’m a history major, so this is natural. But I’m also majoring in secondary education.” The hair fell around her face as she dropped her gaze to the book. A worn black bookmark held her place. Her shoulders relaxed and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “Teaching in high school will get me some experience as I work toward my doctorate. I really want to teach at a collegiate level. Maybe write some books eventually.”
“So you want to become Dr. Monroe?”
Mallory raised her head and cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe not as…mean.”
“Monroe’s mean? No.” Sarcasm dripped from my lips.
“Well, you claim he is.” She grinned. “He treated me like a queen.”
“As you should be.”
Her freckles disappeared into a blush. “Um…we should probably get to work.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” I bowed my head, causing her to smirk.
An hour later, my brain felt worse than my knee. Whipped. Sadly, the brain pain didn’t distract me enough. Instead both ends of my body were miserable. My stomach growled, adding just another bit of agony to my life. I hadn’t eaten much lunch, and dinner called my name.
“Since I made you stay late, how about I make it up with dinner?” I asked without looking at her.
“Oh,” she breathed.
What? It’s just food. And maybe a little conversation. Not a date.
“I…I’m sorry, but I have plans.”
I just nodded. Shit. She thinks I’m asking her out.
“Maybe next time,” she offered.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, knowing a blow-off line when I heard one. My stomach churned. Whether it was from hunger or the fact Mallory shot my not-date request down was beyond me. My cell dinged a text, giving me a way out of the room without even looking at her.
Chuck: Get over here now. That hot chick from the party is looking for you.
Me: On my way.
I gathered my books and hustled toward the elevator. My foot caught on a slip of rug, twisting my bad leg in a way it shouldn’t be twisted. At the rate I was going, I’d have to redshirt my junior and senior year. Ignoring the sharp knife julienning my tendons, I slammed my finger into the call button, punishing it for taking too damn long.
Mallory had caught up. We waited in silence for the doors to open. When they finally did, I realized I’d have to ride down the world’s slowest elevator with a girl who just rejected me. Even if I wasn’t asking her out, a rejection’s a rejection no matter which way you spin it. Great, just fucking great.
“I really do have plans tonight,” she said as soon as the doors closed.
“No big deal.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a quiver of hurt in my voice that I couldn’t hide. It didn’t help that my knee throbbed and my stomach growled, making me doubly irritable. “Really.”
“Dinner plans,” she emphasized. She put her hand on my forearm. “It’s a history department thing. I can’t back out—”
“Stop it, okay? It’s not a big deal.” Finally I turned to face her. She stared up at me with those perfect hazel eyes. Damn it, why did she have to think I was asking her out? That was the last thing on my mind. “You don’t want to have dinner with me. Just come right out and say it. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”
“Aaron—”
“What?” I snapped. “I said it’s not a big deal, and it’s not a big deal. It’s not like I was asking you out, Mallory. It was a simple gesture of me trying to be nice.”
Thankfully the doors opened on the first floor before she could say anything. I limped out of the elevator as fast as my throbbing knee would take me. Once I was sure Mallory wasn’t anywhere near me, I slowed my pace and headed toward the student union.
That girl had a lot of what Grandma Eddie would call gumption. Just because a guy asked her to dinner, she decided it was more than two people hanging out. It pissed me off the more I thought about it. I had to shake it off or I’d let her assumption ruin my night.
The guys were in their usual spots by the flat-screen with a baseball recap show on. The World Series started in two days, and it was the matchup of the century. The St. Louis Cardinals were taking on the New York Yankees. No other teams had more World Series rings than these two, and both were coming off hundred-win seasons.
Rosenthal stood from the recliner and let me sit. ’Bout time the rookie did something right. The cheap pleather formed to my ass. The pity covering Mallory’s face filled my vision. The damn TV wasn’t enough to block her out.
“Hey, Seth, heard you used to play center.” One of the rookies leaned against the wall to my left. I closed my eyes. “Think you’ll get back out there this season now that Aaron’s out?”
Seth laughed. “Ironic, right? I lose my spot to him with an injury, he loses it back the same way.” He slapped my shoulder. “How was therapy?”
“I’m hurting more now than I did before I went in.”
“You think?” Seth smirked. “Did you get that hot chick? Man, she can hurt me whenever she wants.” He held out his fist for a bro bump and I complied. “You know I’d gladly ride the bench if it means winning Nationals. Means I get more tail.”
“And ride the bench you will, buddy.” I kicked back in the recliner as Seth laughed and walked toward four girls on the other side of the room.
The stats flashed on the TV screen, and I played manager. How would I match them up? Who would I shift the defense against? How many pitches allowed to the starter? Who would be out of the pen first against their lineup? So many possibilities. God I loved this game.
The brunette from the party sat on the arm of my chair.
“Hey, Aaron.” She leaned down so I had a clear shot of her cleavage, and what a beautiful shot it was.
“Hey,” I said, nodding approval. “Didn’t catch your name the other night.”
“Candy,” she said, sliding down so she sat half on me and half on the chair. I glanced up at her angular face, the kind plastered on billboards and magazine covers. Her sea-green eyes drifted down to my crotch before meeting my gaze.
I let my arm fall around her waist and pulled her completely onto my lap, careful to keep her away from the brace. She pressed her hand to my chest, splaying her fingers across my Westland Hawks shirt. I nipped at her ear, hoping it would elicit some kind of response from my bat. It didn’t. Maybe it was the physical reaction I’d had from Mallory touching my arm.
“I have a thing for baseball players, you know,” she whispered.
“Really? Do you prefer infielders or outfielders?” I could play the game. Maybe I’d just been on the bench too long.
“All of the above,” she answered. Her lips skimmed over my cheek.
The answer shouldn’t matter. She only wanted to get laid, and I didn’t think that was a bad idea. This wasn’t the type of girl who wanted happily ever after, she wanted happily for now. I tried happily ever after and failed. Big time.
I brought her lips to mine, slashing my tongue over hers. She tasted like a fucking ashtray. I pulled back as her tongue started probing my mouth. The least she could’ve done was suck on a mint before she came over.
“Who won the AL Cy Young in 1992?” I asked, hoping like hell she knew the answer. If she did, I could put up with ash mouth for twenty minutes.
Candy leaned away from me. “Are you serious? I have no idea.”
Nope, not happening. “Then you aren’t into baseball players.”
“Excuse me?” She shoved off my chest, bumping my knee. I pushed her away as gently as I could. She stood in complete shock that I was turning her down. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to give up all this because I don’t know some stupid baseball fact?”
“It’s not stupid to me,” I answered through gritted teeth. She’d barely touched my injured leg and pain shot through my muscles. “By the way, it was Dennis Eckersley, one of the greatest relievers of all time.”
Candy huffed, tugging her dress down as if it would give her back her dignity. I had a feeling she gave two shits about it, too. She stomped away, and a tiny gnat of guilt nibbled at my conscience. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, but she didn’t have girlfriend quality. God, I was pathetic. Guess I hadn’t given up on happily ever after. Such a dumbass.
Barry leaned over from the couch. “Dude, what the hell was that about?”
“She’s not my type,” I answered, taking a swig from the water bottle he offered. It was filled with straight vodka and went down smooth. This was the type of painkiller I needed tonight. Screw the meds and the rules.
“Do you care if I…” He motioned after Candy, wiggling his eyebrows.
“She’s all yours, just leave the bottle.”
Barry grinned. “Deal.”
I didn’t bother to watch him hit on Candy. There wasn’t any way she’d turn Barry down if he told her he played first base. Hell, Barry would probably hit a home run tonight. The pun made me laugh. I sipped the rest of the vodka and let the alcohol dull my senses, not really caring anymore. I thought about Trish and the ideal. The more I thought about her, the less it hurt. The less I missed her. But the ideal, that was a different story. I gulped a shot. Getting over Trish wasn’t hard, but giving up on what I wanted was. Fuck me. Fuck happily ever after. I was no fucking prince.
My phone dinged a new text message. I didn’t even glance at it.