by Fields, MJ
Katie, Shannon, Brenda, and Brittany—I can’t thank you guys enough for reading and rereading and helping me with this book. Hope y’all are ready for more because you’re stuck with me now! :)
To Sarah, for always believing in me and patiently giving me encouragement when I need to hear it most. Thank you.
Jessie, I swear our texts and conversations sometimes are the only things that keep me sane in the madness of writing and publishing.
Thank you, Autumn, at Wordsmith Publicity, for everything you do, big and small.
Jenny, I don’t want to know how this book would’ve turned out without your help. Thank you!
To all the wonderful book bloggers and bookstagrammers—you guys are incredible, and y’all are the reason the book community is as strong and awesome as it is. For everything you guys do to get your favorite authors’ books out into the world—thank you!
Last, but definitely not least, to the readers—thank you for taking a chance on my books when I know there are a million options out there. I’m so grateful to each and every one of you.
About the Author
Caitlin is a Texas native who writes contemporary romance novels with plenty of drama and humor, and just enough heat to ignite e-readers and paperbacks everywhere. She can almost always be found attached to her laptop with coffee nearby and her two trusty canine sidekicks by her side. When she’s not writing or plotting, she enjoys going to concerts with her sweet husband, dragging him along to see rom-coms at any theater that serves booze, checking off the next destination on her ever-growing travel bucket list, and trying new recipes.
Her passion for writing stems from her lifelong love of reading, and she often binge-reads entire books in a day. She’s an unapologetic book hoarder, and her paperback collection is rivaled only by her massive shoe collection.
For more information about her and her upcoming releases, visit www.crellisauthor.com.
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Hard Blow
By Stella Lang
Hard Blow
He’s hot, cocky, and a professional football player.
I’m a physical therapist ordered to help him recoup after a hard blow.
I should stay away from him, because he’s a player. But I’m willing to take one for the team.
He’s hot, cocky, and good with his mouth.
Now I find myself wanting to give him a hard blow.
Remember, tomorrow is promised to no one.
Walter Payton, Hall of Fame Running Back, Chicago Bears (1975–1987)
One
Roman
Standing in the stadium tunnel for the Orlando Suns, I listened as the announcer called each player’s name one by one. I glanced around wondering if she was here, my mystery woman who had been watching me the last week.
“Are you paying attention, Gallagher?” Coach hollered.
“Yes, sir.” I returned my focus to the announcer and listened, my name should be called any moment. As a first-round draft pick, I would be called just before the all-stars.
“Number twenty-two, Roman Gallagher.”
I raced onto the field amidst cheerleaders, confetti, and firecrackers. Fans were out of their seats, their feet stomping to the beat of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” The rising crescendo belted through the stadium’s sound system and I stood in awe of the mayhem and the fans’ thunderous roar.
The Suns were a new expansion team and this was their first warm-up game against the Portland Lumberjacks, another expansion team.
As a running back I was the one who received the most severe impacts, maybe that’s because it was my job to get the ball and carry it down the field. I was ready for anything…that’s what I kept telling myself as the game went on.
Even when the attention of sixty-eight thousand fans stayed zeroed in on Connor Armstrong, an NFL veteran, and all-star who had already rushed for more than two hundred yards today and I had yet to rush for fifty.
Play after play, first quarter gone, half-time, three quarters down, it seemed to all cruise by in slow motion as though the game would never end. Maybe that was because I was watching most of it, running as a decoy and not as a player.
But something changed the moment we hit the fourth quarter. Time sped up, the team came alive with one thing on their mind, victory. We fought to the very end, it was fourth down and seven. Three seconds left in the game.
Coach George signaled for a time-out and we hustled for the sideline. Sweaty and battered players like me huddled around George. “Last play of the game, all or nothing, Roman, time to see what you’ve got. Ninety-four, Ruby, Ice,” he said before he sent us back onto the field. “Roman.” I stopped and turned back to face Coach. “Whatever you do, don’t fuck it up.” Coach shoved me hard for the field.
Sawyer, our quarterback, lined up behind the center and surveyed the coverage. With both Connor and me set behind him, the linebackers prepared themselves for a run by closing ranks in the middle. They had already seen this formation several times today and each time Connor had thundered through the center’s right side. But the difference this time was Ice, a basic fake-out.
“Ninety-four Ruby, Ninety-four Ruby,” Sawyer called to each side of the line. He tapped his right foot to the ground twice to signal Connor to shift.
Our faint was working. Time slowed and my senses went into overdrive. My eyes caught every movement of the defense, every head-nod, every glance. My skin crawled with waves of heat that rose from the turf beneath my feet. The heavy padding under my uniform was doing nothing to help in the Florida August oppressive humidity.
The roar of the crowd seemed to fade.
“Hut, hut,” Sawyer commanded.
I sprang into action and when Sawyer back-peddled into the pocket and faked a pitch to Connor, a hole opened in front of me. I burst through and broke on a sprint for the far left corner of the end zone. To my right, a defensive safety panicked when he saw I was all alone and uncovered, the chase was on.
Head down, I ran. No movements were wasted and I resisted the urge to turn and look for the ball. I had to beat that safety to the corner. As I crossed the goal line I snapped a look over my right shoulder and found both the ball and the safety on top of me.
Launching skyward, I spun my body and reached through the gap of the safety’s hands which now covered my face. The ball fell into my hands. The safety tore at my grip to strip the ball from me.
Determined to maintain possession, I twisted my body and yanked the ball cradling it against me.
I crashed to the ground with a jarring impact from the weight of the safety, the whoosh of breath expelling from my lungs as I landed in the end zone. But my forward motion didn’t stop there, the momentum sent the safety ass-over-helmet crossing the end line. I glanced down at the ball that I held tightly against my chest. I started to rise, face the fans but fell back to the ground when a stabbing pain coursed through my back.
The stands reverberated with a deafening roar when they realized that I had made a touchdown. Their onslaught of excitement caused even the ground I lay on to shake.
My teammates stampeded to me and awarded me with my first professional dog-pile. My already vacant lungs that screamed for air were further denied relief by a couple thousand pounds of celebrating linemen who piled on top.
Finally, the pile lightened, Connor pulled the last man off, he dropped down to me so I could hear him over a stadium gone berserk, the fans oblivious to my plight.
“Don’t move, Roman. You landed bad. Catch your breath and take stock of things.” Connor sat up and waved to our medic bench to signal I needed help before he turned back to me. “You hurt?” I nodded. “That’s good, no pain no gain.”
I punched Connor’s knee to get his attention. “Thanks, man. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
His eyes darted to me and then back to
the medical team who, led by George, threaded their way through the crowd of fans that spilled onto the field over to me. “Yeah, you could."
A ring of Orlando Suns players formed around me and their moods grew somber. I laid still and worked to force air into my chest and brace against a mounting wall of pain in my back. The bodies parted and George landed at my side, giving me a relieved once-over head-to-toe appraisal before he grabbed at the ball I still clutched to my chest.
Though I hurt like hell, it would be a cold August day in Orlando before I let someone take my first game ball. He pulled hard and I pulled back even harder, which sent a fresh lightning bolt of agony straight through my back. The look on George’s face rang of confusion but Connor burst out laughing. “Calm down, stud. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
Reluctant to release my grip, I finally yielded and Connor placed the ball beside his knee.
George shook his head. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve got someone here to look you over. Tell her what’s wrong.”
I glanced over to Connor and leveled him with another look. “Don’t let me become the top story on ESPN, please.” Connor stood and pushed the onlookers back.
“Okay, everyone, if you don’t need to be on the field, get the hell off.” Connor kept shoving people back.
A medical bag plopped to the ground and I turned my head to find a shadow peering down at me, not a hulking one but a curvy one, one that I knew very well, it had filled my dreams for several nights now.
My heart stilled. In fact, the whole stadium went silent. Waves rippled through my head and sent shivers down my spine. Then a rightness washed over me, a feeling of finding home after being lost. It was her, the one who had been watching us, the team, me. Our eyes had locked on numerous occasions, we made a connection, I felt it.
I trailed my eyes up her perfectly toned body over her plump breasts to the orange name embroidered on her team polo, Avery.
Avery, I rolled her name around my tongue but it didn’t sound right. Nope, the name I already had given my mystery woman sounded much more fitting, One.
She stepped out of the shadow and smiled her perfectly painted lips. “What’s your name, cowboy?” Her voice was kind and carried a hint of a southern lilt. A warm glow cast upon her soft features.
I tried to sit up, there was no way I was going to meet her lying down.
“Hey, no, I need you to lie still until I get a better assessment of your injury.” Her hands were warm as she ran them under my chin and unsnapped my helmet to feel around my neck. “So, you going to tell me your name or am I going to have to make one up for you?”
I was so lost in her and the fact that she was touching me that it took a moment before I realized I had only answered her in my head. “Roman, Roman Gallagher.”
She held a flashlight in front of my eyes and swished it back and forth. I blinked several times as I tried to clear away the bright lights that were still dancing behind my lids.
“Nice to meet you, Roman, Roman Gallagher. Can you tell me, do you know where you are?”
“The bad news is I’m on my back. The good news is I’m in the end zone.”
“Very good, at least your priorities are straight.” She pushed back several strands of red hair that had worked their way loose from the clip she had holding it back. “Can you tell me what day it is?”
“The day I met my One.”
“Excuse me?” Confusion laced her forehead.
“One, as in my one future, my one love, my one passion, my one thought, my one reason, my one hope—you’re my One."
Her eyes twinkled with amusement and she continued her assessment. “Need to get a CT of your head, it’s okay, delusions aren’t uncommon.”
“Not delusional, doc.” She was my One. Of that I was certain. Like the oxygen in the air, my very life depended on her, being with her.
“Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not a doc, I’m an orthopedic physicians assistant.”
I took her hand again and pulled her to me so I could see her. “Doesn’t matter to me what or who you are as long as you’re with me,” I whispered with every ounce of sincerity I possessed. Her eyes darkened and I was drawn into their rich depths—their color like an impressionist’s rendering of greens and golds spattered across a canvas.
Then she turned to the others on the triage team who hovered on the perimeter. “I need a backboard and the medical cart in here now. We’re going to run him up to the hospital for an MRI.”
Hospital? What the fuck?
Two
Avery
You know that look a man gives you and instantly your body rises a few degrees? Or that half-smile that isn’t quite a smile but still conveys so much? Well, since the first moment I’d set my eyes on Roman Gallagher he had been looking at me just like that and I knew he wanted me, maybe as much as I wanted him.
“Okay, Roman, I need you to lie perfectly still. We will have you in and out of this MRI as soon as we can.” I waited in the open door as the radiology tech gave Roman instructions and strapped him on the sliding table of the imaging machine. “I will talk to you during the test, listen to my words. If you need me, press this button.” She handed him a small remote.
“The man is too good-looking for his own good,” team physician Dr. Violet Hanover whispered.
“Tell me about it,” I agreed. His chiseled jaw, his rugged good looks were all things that would make any woman drool.
“I’m going to go wait with the radiologist, you wait here until he’s done, okay?”
“Sure.”
The door to the radiology room closed, and I was left staring through the tiny peek-a-boo window. Roman was so large for the narrow table and that sheet, god, that sheet. He was in nothing but a hospital gown and a thin white sheet, which didn’t leave much up to my torrid imagination.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been watching him, imagining his well-honed body but the radiology tech’s voice brought me back to the here and now. “Okay, Mr. Gallagher. You can relax now. I’ll be right in to help you out of there.”
The door opened and she moved to Roman, every fiber of my being told me to do it but I held back, it wasn’t my job. He was delusional, that’s all. One?
“The radiologist will give a more extensive look but on first review I can’t see anything permanent to worry about. However, he does have a contusion on his spine,” Violet said.
“On the bright side at least there’s no broken bones and no significant soft tissue damage,” I said.
“Yeah, at least that. But, he’s going to be upset about the other because he needs at least three weeks to heal.”
“Three weeks?” I shot back, pissed on Roman’s behalf. “But preseason starts in two weeks. He’s got to be ready or they may drop him from the team.”
“Avery, you’re a professional, you know as well as I do that these things need time to heal. Get dropped or keep getting injured? I’m going to recommend they move him to the Injured Reserved list. In three weeks we’ll have another look.”
“If you put him on the IR list that means he can’t come back until after week six…at best. Violet, please, hold off your report for now and trust me to do the job I do. I understand what to look for, numbness, tingling, even a burning feeling. We’ll get him on a baby aspirin for the first week because of the compression. But, I can help him, please give me the two weeks to work with him before you recommend IR. The team doesn’t set their roster until after then anyway. After two weeks, if I’ve failed and he’s not up to task, then fine, do what you must. Until then, recommend to the coach that I personally manage his therapy.”
Violet’s face held no sign of whether I’d gotten through to her, she studied me. “How long have you two been together?”
Violet’s question caught me off guard and my eyes snapped back to her to find a sly grin stretching across her lips. “He’s one hell of a hunk, Avery. I have to admit I am envious as hell.”
I swallowed hard and averted my eyes
. “We’re not together.” Okay, we weren’t, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t want to be.
“Sure, you’re not. Your mind may be saying no but your body is screaming yes, yes, yes. I agree with your body. That is one fine looking man, gobble him up and treat him right, he’s one of the good ones.”
One, there was that word again. I could feel my cheeks heating up. “Am I that transparent?”
“Oh, honey. And then some. My god, Avery, you were ready to fight a bull to save that man his job. I admire that.” Violet shook her head. “Remember, I think he needs three weeks, so whatever you two do in your spare time, take it easy on his body, maybe you should be on top.”
I’m positive that I looked like a guppie or maybe a wide mouth bass at that moment because I was shocked that the team doctor just told me to ride a player.
Violet held onto Roman’s paperwork. “In all seriousness, Avery, I like you, I really do. You’re the best therapist I have ever worked with.”
“Thank you?” Okay, it came out as a question because I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“You got your two weeks, kid. I don’t know if you will be successful but I gotta say you’re probably going to have some fun trying.” Violet strolled off leaving my mind whirling with all the ways I was going to have fun.
I moved to the waiting area and started mentally making Roman’s treatment regimen. A scuttle of noise caught my attention and I had to go see what had nurses and techs turning their heads.
Gingerly I walked back toward the MRI room and came face-to-face with ass, it was a sexy ass. It was, I could bounce a quarter off that ass kind of ass, but it was still a bare ass being flashed to everyone.
