by Cari Quinn
“You just takin’ a rest or you done for tonight?”
“I’m done.”
“Good deal.” Grayson grabbed a towel off one of the weight benches and scrubbed his face. Folding it around his neck, he held an end in each fist. “I’m gonna hit the showers and take off.”
There was no doubt where Grayson would go after his shower. Home. The photo adorning the definition of family man in the dictionary belonged to Grayson Pierce.
Xavier waited until the door closed before rubbing at the deep ache in his shoulder.
Yeah, this sucked.
He straddled the weight bench and considered his options. If he mentioned the injury to one of the trainers or the PT crew or, even worse, Doc, he’d be replaced until he healed. Not out of spite, just reality. Cold, hard, unforgiving reality. Santiago would step into left field and Xavier knew he might never evict the guy.
He also knew if he didn’t say something, he’d face another sleepless night.
He stood. Decision made. Who needed sleep? He’d sleep when he was dead.
As long as he didn’t move his arm, he was fine. So he tucked it against his side and headed for the locker room. When only the echo of dripping water answered the call of his footsteps, he smiled. Alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his shoulder. Alone with his pain.
He ducked into the shower, using the cold tiled wall as a support to keep his shoulder elevated. He scrubbed his hair and washed his face. Given his status as an athlete, he really should have been more coordinated. But using his left hand to do things made him feel like an idiot. Like a child. Like a freakin’ invalid!
“Xavier?”
“Shit!” He cupped himself and turned off the water. The quick motion of his arm brought back the rat-a-tat-tat of the drum cadence.
“I’m sorry to … um …” The blush on Doc’s face made her almost adorable. Almost. She whirled around and he addressed her back.
“What the hell are you doing, bursting in here? Wasn’t the shower a dead giveaway I’d be naked?”
The short blond ponytail at the base of her neck wagged back and forth. “Sorry, X.”
He took the towel from the bar and rubbed at his hair and face. Left-handed. He was damned relieved she couldn’t see his struggle as he tried to secure it around his waist. After he’d tucked the edge against his hip, he stepped toward her.
“You can turn around, Doc, I’m decent.”
Her cheeks still sported a tinge of pink as she faced him, but her expression translated into all business. “A little bird mentioned you might need to talk to me.”
“Did this damn big stool pigeon look anything like Pierce?”
She rolled her eyes. “He only mentioned your shoulder might be bothering you. Is it?”
“I’m fine.”
Again with the eye roll. “I didn’t ask about your overall wellbeing, X. I asked about your shoulder.”
She reached out and stepped toward him. He stepped back, his eyes narrowing and his lips tightening into a scowl. “I said. I’m. Fine.”
Instead of looking threatened or offended, the annoying woman had the audacity to smile. She actually smiled … and laughed. He had the sudden urge to shake her. Didn’t she know he was a force to be reckoned with when he got good and pissed off?
She slowly dropped her hand and slipped it into the pocket of her navy blue scrubs. She shook her head and murmured, “I can’t fix stupid.”
He was about ready to tell her where she could stick her attitude when she sighed.
“I am here to help you, Xavier. If you have an issue with your shoulder, you know as well as I do it needs to be addressed. But if you’re too stupid to admit it, then I guess there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.”
“You’ll let me know when you’re not fine?” Her tenderness and gentle tone pissed him off. Not because she patronized him. Doc didn’t patronize. She was completely genuine. The damned woman cared about him. Or about his physical wellbeing, rather. But only because she got paid big bucks to care.
Still … the way she cared, the way she checked on him, made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. Feeling anything around Doc—around any woman—didn’t work for him. Especially when said woman made every guy on the team feel like the most important man in her life while she worked her magic.
Wrapping an elbow or ankle, massaging a quad, or administering the physical therapy to put them back in the game, Doc was there, front and center, for all of them. More than one guy had faked a groin injury or extended an invite to join him in the whirlpool for a soak.
Doc took their suggestive comments in stride. Although Xavier prided himself on making inappropriate innuendos to women, Doc was different. Maybe he did have scruples. Hell, maybe he respected her. Imagine that.
“Doc, if I’m not fine, you’ll be the first to know.” Even as he made the statement, he knew damned well, she’d be the last to know.
* * *
Frankie didn’t believe Xavier. No doubt he wasn’t aware how he held his right arm cradled to his abdomen. Nor did he realize she’d witnessed the way he’d used the wall of the shower to support his shoulder. The guy was in pain.
She’d been able to watch him without an ounce of admiration. Until he’d turned around. The way his enormous hand covered his private parts made her blush from tresses to toenails. Even now, sitting alone in her office, she felt the heat blaze in her cheeks.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was a doctor for hell’s sake. She’d seen men naked before. A lot of men. More men than she could count.
Good grief. That made her sound like some kind of slut. She wasn’t a slut. She shook her head and clarified herself to … herself.
She’d lost it. Seriously, lost it.
First, she’d blushed over a naked man holding his junk in a shower she barged into and now … yeah. Well, now, she was defending her non-slut status to herself.
What next?
“Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
Oh, hell! Now she was talking to the damned voices in her head.
She eyed the framed degree on her wall, the one from University of Nevada Las Vegas proclaiming Frances Maureen Holden to be a Doctor of Physical Therapy. Would the Powers-That-Be have been comfortable giving her that fancy piece of paper, if they’d known about these little conversations she conducted?
Probably.
She hoped so.
Surely she wasn’t the only one who held complicated dialog all by their lonesome.
“Doc?”
She jumped and a deep, amused rumble soothed—and irritated her.
Xavier leaned against the door jamb. That he leaned against his left shoulder didn’t escape her notice. He really was a good-looking guy with his dark hair still damp from the shower and the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw line, offsetting his dark pink lips.
She shifted in her seat and blinked away the lustful thoughts, staring him right in the eye. “You ready to admit you’re not fine?”
Laugh lines appeared next to his hazel eyes moments before his chuckle sounded. “I’m good, Doc. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She raised a brow. “Will you let me look at it?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t come here to show off an injury that doesn’t exist.”
“Then why did you darken my door, Xavier? I’m a busy girl.”
His gaze roamed over her, scorching her from head to Crocs. “I’m sure you’re a very busy girl.”
Her throat tightened, her skin tingled, but she managed a believable scoff. “Oh, please. Don’t try that crap on me. I’ve seen how women fall for your lines.” She huffed and stood. Pressing her hands against the top of her desk, she leaned forward. “I’m worried you’re stupid enough to ignore an injury until it’s not easily fixed.”
“So you only care because you’re bein’ paid to.”
“Yep.”
“That’s exact
ly what I thought.”
“Don’t get all butt hurt, X. I’m not your kinda woman anyway.”
At least he had the courtesy to look offended. “And what kinda woman would that be?”
She clutched her breasts through her scrubs and his eyes followed posthaste. “These are real.”
When the words flew out of her mouth, she was as surprised as he was by her outburst. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he just stared at her, and she realized she’d thrown down a gauntlet. Or had she?
His laugh was a bit sardonic. He nodded. “You’re probably right, Doc. You’re not my kinda woman.”
As he turned on his heel and walked out of her office, she should have been relieved he hadn’t pushed the issue. Yeah, should have in one hand, shit in the other. His refusal to at least soothe her with pretty words stung.
It wasn’t like she was attracted to Xavier. That wasn’t to say the guy wasn’t attractive. He was. Too attractive for his own good. He could have any woman he wanted, and he knew it. His bedroom probably had a revolving door on it.
She’d never thought twice about him until the moment in the shower. His vulnerability had called to her. The rock hard planes of his body had been nice to look at, ’cause duh!, she had estrogen. It was the way he sucked breath in through his teeth anytime he moved his shoulder that made her cringe. The way he attempted to wash his body in uncoordinated motions with his left hand that broke her heart.
Dammit. He was really going to screw something up if she didn’t examine him. Stupid, stubborn man!
Tomorrow was Opening Day, the first game of the season. She’d give him one game. One inning of one game then she would turn him in.
Chapter Two
Damn him.
She’d actually lost sleep over Xavier last night. Her eyes moved over the file she had on the desk in front of her, but didn’t register a single word. Even now, she worried about him.
Frankie forced herself to read the lab results then signed her name across the bottom. A knock surprised her and the signature did a little hop, skip and jump at the end as she looked up. She bit her lip to keep the four-letter word from leaping off her tongue.
“Xavier. Hi.” She stood and walked around the desk, leaning her backside against the front. “What can I do to help you?”
He took off his Rockets hat and wrung it in his hands. He dropped his head and stepped into her office. She never would have dreamed confident, arrogant Matthias Xavier III taking on the persona of a troublemaking child entering the principal’s office. Surprise, surprise.
He closed the door and met her gaze. “Can I trust you?”
Unsure where this question would take them, she tipped her head to the side and cautiously answered, “Yes?”
He unbuttoned the front of his jersey and panic stuttered through her bloodstream.
“Um … what do you think you’re doing?”
“I was a dumb shit last night, Doc.” Two more buttons opened, revealing the top of his six-pack. And she’d be damned if she didn’t look.
“When are you not?” She’d been going for trite, pithy even, but sounded breathy and needy.
He smiled tightly and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Last night was the worst.” She raised a brow as he yanked his jersey out of his pants. “You were right about my shoulder.”
“Oh.” She peeled her eyes off his chest and realization slapped her upside the head. “Oh!”
Everything else left the room. She didn’t care she’d sounded pathetically disappointed his striptease had been strictly professional. The only thing that mattered was he’d come to her.
She ushered him further into her office, yanking the blinds closed. “Before I touch you, I want to know what hurts. Where’s the pain? What happened last night to change your mind?”
He swallowed and breathed out in a gush. “So after I left here, I went home. I tried to watch some TV and fell asleep. I shifted and bumped it. My shoulder, I mean. The pain was so bad, Doc. An ice pick to the eyeball would’ve hurt less.”
“And you know that firsthand?”
That made him smile. His right eyelid dropped into a wink. “Absolutely.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. However her humor was short lived.
He lifted his left hand up to rub at his shoulder. The motion seemed subconscious, verified by the wistful look in his eyes. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He cleared his throat. “So anyway, I had some Vicodin. It barely took the edge off, Doc.”
At his wince, she grimaced. “You’re self-medicating? Please tell me you didn’t add alcohol to the mix.”
“I may be a dumb ass, but I’m not stupid.”
“That’s good.” She nodded. “The Vicodin didn’t do much?”
“Nope.”
“How much is not much?”
He sighed and concentrated a little too hard on the toe of his cleat digging into the carpet. “I was in tears, Doc. Is that a good enough description? Does it make you happy to know I was in so much pain I couldn’t keep from crying?”
She smothered a gasp with her fist and approached him. He flinched when she laid her hand against his forearm, the cords of muscles jumping in protest. “Xavier, look at me.”
It took a few heartbeats until he lifted his eyes just enough to let their gazes meet.
“Yes, it is a good enough description. No, it most certainly does not make me happy to know you were in so much pain.” She slid her hand up his forearm to his bicep, slipping it over the tricep to the deltoid. The muscle in his jaw jumped and she could hear his teeth grinding together. “I’ll put together the paperwork for an MRI and let Coach know you’re out—”
“No.” He all but jumped away from her.
“What do you mean no?”
“I’m not backing out of today’s game, Doc. After the game, I’ll come clean with Coach, with the whole damn world, but only after the game.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” She shook her head at the pure, inexcusable idiocy. Athletes! “And how the hell do you expect to make it even one inning?”
“People are depending on me. I know I should’ve confessed earlier, but I … well, I didn’t want to let anyone down.”
“Or admit you were injured.”
“That, too. Will you help me?”
Instead of helping him, she wanted to slap him or shake him or drug him into a stupor before hog tying him and shoving him into the broom closet. At least then she might be able to protect him against himself.
She popped a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want a Cortisone shot.”
“That’s not going to fix—”
“Please, Doc. I’ll beg. I’ll get down on my knees and everything.”
“I’m going to have to note our conversation and the injection in your file. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but by the time anybody finds out about it, the game’ll be over and I’ll have come clean.”
She shook her head, a knot forming in her gut. “I don’t feel good about this.”
“But you’ll do it?” His tone was so hopeful, his expression so pleading, she knew she was about to become the biggest, stupid idiot of them all.
She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. On two conditions.”
“Name them.”
“I want that shoulder examined. If it’s too injured, the deal’s off.”
His shrug looked more like a flinch than an actual shrug. “Fine. Whatever. What else?”
“As soon as the game’s over—”
“Yeah, no pro—”
“Let me finish, X.” She waited for his nod. “As soon as the game’s over, you go to Coach and come clean. I’m not even going to give you ten minutes. If he gets wind that I knew you were playing injured he could have my job. You want me to lose my job?”
“No! Hell, no.”
“Good to know.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
<
br /> He took her palm, but instead of shaking it, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. She pretended the flutters in her stomach were a touch of indigestion.
“Deal, sweet thang. Get your needle.”
She managed to keep the shiver to herself. “Examination first.”
His smile turned sultry. “Examine me, Doc.”
“Knock that off.” She stuck her head out the door and called for Jeff.
The trainer came into the office, looked from Frankie to Xavier and shrugged. “What’s up?”
“He wants a Cortisone shot. I want him examined first.”
“Uh, okay.” Jeff knew, as did everybody else in the room she could do the eval herself, but she really needed the little CYA buffer Jeff’s opinion would give her. “I guess we’ll have him sit on the edge of your desk, so I can reach him.”
Xavier moved without glancing her way. Yeah, she’d pulled a fast one, and she wouldn’t feel sorry for it. If her tactic meant he got the help he needed, so be it. Jeff stepped up next to Xavier and put the shoulder through its paces. Xavier stared straight ahead, jaw locked, completely emotionless.
Jeff stepped back. “Anything?”
“Nope.” Xavier shook his head.
Jeff looked at Frankie like she’d lost her mind then sauntered out of the room. When the door clicked closed, Xavier reached for his shoulder, bent at the waist, and gritted out a long, drawn-out string of curse words.
“What the hell, Doc? Are you trying to kill me?” When his eyes met hers, tears twinkled in the hazel depths along with a bone-penetrating hatred that had her taking a step backward.
“No, I’m trying to protect you.”
“How about protecting me a little less next time?” His eyes became slits. “Can I have the damned shot now?”
* * *
Prayers did come true apparently. Xavier stood in left field, praying the ball wouldn’t come his way. Top of the ninth and the thing had avoided him like he had the plague or some shit. Even better, there was an out. Two more and he could be done acting like he was a-okay.
The runner on third led off.
The crack of the bat made X’s blood curdle. The bastard runner tagged up on third and headed home.
