Hard Luck

by Liv Morris

  “Please, Cali? I can’t think straight. Not to mention everyone is counting on me.” I sit taller in the chair, determined not to cave into his demands, no matter how desperate he sounds.

  “What do you want to do? Call me on the phone when you’re in bed with your next hookup?” Boom. Score one for Cali.

  “Would you mind?” Oh my God. I glance up at the ceiling, not believing what he said to me. What a pig.

  “You’re a spoiled, prima donna who only thinks of himself.”

  “What’s a prima donna?”

  “An asshole. Goodbye, Brady.” I slam the receiver down on its cradle and pump my fist in the air. I can’t believe his audacity. It’s downright humiliating, to be honest. I mean so little to him, he would consider using me in such a base way.

  Are all baseball players so egotistical and self-centered? Mitchell cheated on me and broke my heart. Brady wants to use me so he can get hard. Do they even consider me as a real, caring person? Or do they just care about themselves and their game?

  Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to have anything more to do with Brady or baseball—ever again. I think I need to switch to hockey. The Blackhawks have been on a winning streak, too.

  I pick up the phone and ring the front desk. “Alice, if Brad Luciano calls to make an appointment, could you please tell him we don’t have any appointments on the days he’d like to come in.”

  “We’re refusing him?” Alice asks.

  “Just not giving him an appointment for now.”

  “He was that hot guy, right? Why can’t he come back?” She sounds like I took away her puppy.

  Oh brother, does she care to know what deplorable behavior lies under all that hotness? Probably not. That’s how he’s scored two-hundred times in two years. Girls just want his dick and don’t care if he is one. I am ashamed for womankind.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cali

  I leave the office at five-thirty and head to my favorite coffee shop for a chai tea. Nothing too strong to keep me up all night, but I need a pick me up after today. The Brady incident left me rattled and the patient charts took me an extra hour to complete. Dr. Richards’ absence has upped my workload, but it’s only temporary, so I’ll deal. Brady Luck, on the other hand…I hope I don’t have to deal with his crazy anymore.

  I place my order and pull out my wallet to pay the kind person giving me caffeine, when someone from behind me says, “I’ll pay for this.” A male someone with a voice I recognize. Brady.

  Angry, I spin around to face him, finding his trademark cocky grin plastered across his gorgeous face. I sigh, forgetting how pissed I am for a few seconds as I stare up at him in a daze. Then he moves his lips—the ones I’m focused on.

  “Keep the change,” he says. I swear, if a voice could wink, his would. Swagger is his middle name, dammit.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in a weak voice that matches the state of my knees.

  “Just in the neighborhood.” There’s a teasing gleam in his eye, convincing me his appearance here is on purpose.

  “Right,” I huff. “Do I have the word ‘fool’ written across my forehead?” I move over to the “pick up order” area.

  “Nope, but sexy is written all over every inch of you.” He’s incorrigible. I don’t know whether to slap or hump him. Considering it’s a public place, I should do neither.

  “Nice line,” I spit out, though, deep down, I truly hope he does think I’m sexy. I must have a loose screw, because I shouldn’t care what he thinks about me. What is it about this cocky guy? It’s like he’s clit crack and I have no control over myself.

  I glance around the busy coffee shop and see everyone staring at us…or him, more likely. He’s the all-star manwhore. I’m the five foot nothing nobody.

  A few people take photos with their phones and I bring my long hair closer to my face for a curtain. I sure as hell don’t want to be seen with him. He’s my patient—or Brad is—but it’s still the same thing. He’s off limits.

  “Chai tea,” the worker calls out. Saved. I grab it in a flurry.

  Without a glance in his direction, I force myself to leave his sexual pull. It’s powerful and hard, but I turn on my heels and head to the door.

  “Hey, wait up,” Brady calls after me. I push the door open to exit the coffee shop and see camera flashes firing around me.

  Great, just great. Once outside, a warm summer wind greets me and my hair goes flying in all directions. I probably look like Medusa.

  “Please, Cali,” Brady pleads.

  “Leave me alone, Brady,” I tell him over my shoulder as I continue down the sidewalk.

  I have a baby gift to buy at Nordstrom and I’ll be damned if I have time to talk about his beautiful cock and its issues. Is there such thing as a hate crush? I think I have one with Brady. I kind of hate him, but I might be talked into going out with him, if he paid. But I don’t want to be number two-hundred and one…do the failed attempts from this week count?

  Isn’t it ironic, as the song states. A week ago, I would’ve given anything to talk to him. Maybe even slept with him the night we met at The Wit. Now, the curtain has parted and I see the true Brady—an arrogant mess of a man. The thought makes me want to give him a comforting hug with my thighs. I close my eyes in hopes of regrouping to a less hormonal state, if possible.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Did you even hear what I said?” He’s likely never had a woman tell him to bug off Bridget Jones style. I hide a smile knowing he’s chasing me, or at least trailing my tail like I can bring his dick back to life. Men and their cocks. Their world revolves around them. I stop in my tracks, because it hits me, sadly and squarely like a ten-ton truck.

  I turn around to face Brady. My face scrunched up in anger and eyes blazing. It must scare him because he jumps back when he sees my scowl.

  “The only reason you’re talking to me is because you think I can solve your erectile dysfunction issue,” I shout, poking him in the chest with my index finger—or is it a wall of steel? It sure as hell feels like it.

  When laughter breaks out next to me, I glance to my right. Two women have their phones out and are snapping away. If I’m identified while talking to Brady about ED, I might be in trouble with my job, even if Brady’s known as Brad.

  “Okay, you might be right,” Brady confesses, and I nod back at him in victory.

  The player admits to being as shallow as a baby pool. Score another one for Cali. Then he brushes my possessed wind-blown hair out of my eyes. His touch is so gentle and sweet, alarms go off inside my head and panties. I need to get away from him pronto. All I want to do is grab his linen shirt, pull him down to my lips, and molest his mouth—and that can’t happen.

  “I have nothing more to say to you.” I face the direction of Nordstrom and set foot toward it like my life depends on it. I know for sure the state of my panties and dignity do.

  “I like you, Cali Jones,” Brady says from right behind me. He’s stuck to me like a fleck of glitter.

  I glance over my shoulder, and boy is it a stupid mistake. I catch him staring at my ass with a big, I-want-a-piece-of-that smile. As if.

  I put a little more sway in my shake as I walk-run down the sidewalk. I shouldn’t egg him on, but I can’t help the shameless flirting. It’s not every day a dreamy guy like Brady stares at my assets.

  Seeing the tall glass front of Nordstrom a few feet ahead of me, I pray he doesn’t follow me inside the department store. I find him walking behind me, instead of moving to my side, which is unsettling too. It’s not like my stride is longer than his. I’ve seen his legs and those long, sturdy thighs. He has to be lagging behind me on purpose.

  I grab a hold of the front door handle and Brady’s large hand overtakes mine. “My mother would shoot me if I didn’t open the door for you.”

  “What would she say about the doors you’ve shut on your two-hundred hookups?”

  The Luck brothers are known in Chicago for trea
ting their mother like she’s a queen, so maybe this will make him think beyond himself. But I’m not going to bet on it.

  True to his self-centered track record, Brady throws his head back and laughs while we’re standing together in front of the open door. I stare at his Adam’s apple, which looks lickable from this view.

  Well, fuck him and all his fuckableness. He never answers my “gotcha” comments or questions, typical for a narcissist. Plus, I’ve never mentally used the word fuck so many times. He’s dangerous to my virtue and career in so many ways.

  “You’re one sassy chick. I dig that.”

  “You’re probably not used to anyone calling you out, except the umps.” Brady’s entire disposition darkens and I wish I could take it back. He may be a total ass, but I am not one to hit a person when they’re down, and his game is in the cellar.

  “Sorry, Brady.” I apologize with a heavy sigh. It’s like I can feel my third grade teacher, Sister Mary, giving me the evil eye if I don’t. “You just frustrate me to no end.”

  “I get frustration. Believe me, it’s been my best friend lately.”

  “I know, but it’s just a phase.” I reach out and rub his arms to let him know I care. They feel just like his chest—solid steel. With a herculean effort, I pull my hands back to my side.

  “I hope so.” He sounds so defeated, and it breaks my Chicago baseball loving heart.

  “Hey, look who it is!” someone says. I scan around us and notice a crowd has gathered, taking shot after shot on their phones. Brady doesn’t seem fazed in the least. In fact, he’s got his dazzling smile on full blast. Me? I’m freaking out.

  “Brady, will you sign these?” a blonde woman about my age asks, stepping between Brady and me, her cleavage on full display.

  Batting her obviously fake eyelashes, she points to her boobs. She’d probably let him do more if he asked. Oh my God, she’s likely going to be his next conquest tonight. No wonder he’s fucked his way through Chicago.

  Big Boobs hands him a Sharpie and pulls the top of her shirt wider, displaying the top of her breasts almost to her nipples. I roll my eyes at her lack of shame out in public.

  Lost in the sea of fans, I blend into the crowd and turn to walk away, using this as my chance to make an escape. I’ve had my fill of Boobs and her Sharpie. Finally, I walk through the entrance door and fist pump the air, thinking I’m home free.

  “Cali, wait,” Brady calls out before the door closes. Spinning around, I find him looking at me over the head of the blonde seductress and give him a dazed stare. It’s shocking that he took his eyes off her boobs long enough to even notice I left him on the sidewalk.

  I hesitate for a moment. Should I turn and go—leave him to the blonde and her happy-to-screw-him eyes? I take a deep sigh type of breath and shake my head.

  “Yes?” I ask in an annoyed tone. Everyone turns their heads toward me, and the blonde gives me dagger eyes. I smile mockingly back at her, raising one shoulder and a brow. She returns my smile with a murderous glare. Whatever.

  “I’ll meet you inside after I sign. Okay?” The blonde smiles in victory, pressing her boobs closer to Brady. My stomach roils at the thought of him touching her.

  “Don’t bother,” I fume, letting the entrance door fully close behind me. Once inside the store, the fan noise disappears. I should feel happy to be away from him and his heartbreaking hotness—elated, in fact—but I’m not. Devastatingly hot guys who swing bats are my innate weakness. I stop at the shoe department first, since shoes are my other weakness.

  I buy a pair of red sandals with a stiletto heel that are on sale for seventy percent off, which are perfect for the new summer dress I bought at a thrift store last week. Taylor wants to go to the Drum Bar tomorrow night and these shoes make my outfit complete.

  “Where’s the baby department?” I ask the associate who helped me with my shoe purchase.

  “Upstairs next to lingerie,” she says.

  “Thanks.” In full Nordstrom style, she comes around the counter and directly hands me the bag with my shoes in it.

  I scan the main level before riding the escalator to the second floor. Brady Luck is nowhere to be seen, and he’s hard to miss at six-foot-three. Surely he’s finished up with the fans out front and left by now. I exhale and progress toward the pink and blue department.

  All the newborn clothes resemble something that would fit a baby doll. I find an adorable pink dress with a lacy overlay and white bows sewn on the front around the empire waist. Charlotte will look like a pink princess. I can’t wait to meet her tomorrow.

  “I love this dress. It just came in yesterday,” says the associate as she rings up my total. “That, that—” she stutters before going silent.

  I quit digging in my purse for my wallet and glance up at her. Her mouth gapes open, her eyes wide in shock, and I close mine. The saleslady’s face and the feel of heat behind me add up to one thing: Brady Luck. It’s like my body knows when he’s in my atmosphere.

  “Found you,” Brady whispers, and I keep my eyes closed to savor his closeness. When his lips graze my ear lobe, chills run the length of my body and my nipples harden into cutting glass mode.

  I turn toward him with my hand on my hip. There is a red lipstick mark on his cheek. I think back to Boobs with the Sharpie, certain the color matches her red lips.

  “I’m surprised you’re here instead of with Boobs,” I quip in disgust. “She left her mark on your cheek.”

  “Boobs?” He knits his brow in confusion, but there’s no way to explain my comment without sounding like a jealous girlfriend. Maybe I am a little more jealous than I care to admit. I mean, if I were wearing a mood ring, it might be emerald green.

  “The blond sharpie girl.” Brady laughs at my description.

  “Oh, her.” I nod and purse my lips.

  “Yes, Twin Peaks.”

  “You’re funny, you know that?” Brady says with a smirk.

  I shake my head and squint my eyes at him. Honestly, I’m pissed about caring for him more than I should. I also want to take a tissue to his cheek and wipe her foul imprint off him.

  “Miss,” the associate says, “sorry to interrupt.” I turn toward her and she’s looking straight at Brady. I might as well be invisible.

  “No problem,” I respond. She glances at me, then returns her gaze to the big hunk of delicious man meat behind me. She appears to be starving…and my mother’s age. Forget charisma, Brady’s like a magnet pulling women to him and panties down.

  “How do you want to pay?” I blink a couple times and remember why I’m standing here.

  “Oh, the dress,” I exclaim.

  “I’ll take care of this.” Brady reaches over my shoulder and hands the smitten lady a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. Like hell he’ll buy this gift for Charlotte.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got this,” I huff, trying to push his hand away from the counter, but he’s stronger than me by about one-hundred pounds, so I lose this battle.

  “Done,” Brady states. The sale lady giggles at him and takes his money. As if she’s going to tell Brady no. Score one for Brady.

  In utter defeat, I lay my head down on my arm as it rests on the counter. How the hell am I supposed to deal with him buying this gift? I don’t want to owe him a thing. He may expect payment in other forms and that thought worries me.

  “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Brady.” I pop my head up and stare at the woman. Girlfriend?

  “I’m not his girlfriend. Promise.” I cross my fingers over my heart about ten times for good measure.

  “Sure could’ve fooled me.” She gives me a knowing smile as she wraps the dress and settles it inside a small gift box.

  “What makes you think we’re together?” I ask, needing details so I can avoid looking like we’re a thing. He’s my patient and I don’t want to get in trouble with the licensing board. I just got the official you’re-a-PA certificate two months ago and one Brady Luck will not screw that up for me.

 
; I grab my stomach. It’s been either queasy or fluttering since Brady came to our practice. Right now it’s kind of a queasy flutter.

  “You fight like you’ve been together a long time.” She nods her head at us and Brady moves next to me, placing his hand on the small of my back. And damn, I like it. He’s also been as quiet as a mouse since the woman labeled me as his girlfriend. I look up and search his face to find him smiling, like her words are totally fine with him. Hmmm…

  “Please just give me the present,” I beg. The lady looks at me with startled eyes and hands me the gift. No walking around the counter for this exchange. “Thanks,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Gotta run.” I move away from Brady’s touch and head to the right, but he’s quicker than me and stands in front of my path.

  “What’s up? Not even a thank you?” he asks with a crestfallen sadness.

  “Thank you?” I tilt my head to the side, because I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “The gift,” he replies.

  I knew it. He’s pressing this because there are strings attached and they are likely correlated with the area between my legs. But how rude was it of me not to even say thanks? Very rude. Especially since I’m an over-thanker at heart. Thank you, Sister Mary.

  “Okay, thanks, but I am not happy you paid for the gift. I should’ve protested more, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I hardly know you.”

  “You get me hard, baby,” he says, and it sounds like a purr of some sort.

  “Oh my God,” I huff, trying to walk around him.

  “I knew you two were together,” the sales lady pipes in, and I throw my head back in complete frustration.

  “We aren’t,” I say in a non-inside voice while the lady nods with a knowing smile. I give up and turn to Brady.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t melt when you stepped into the baby department.” He chuckles at my remark and grins.