The Sport of Romance: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Cari Quinn

  She none-too-carefully pressed the screen of her Android then lifted it to her ear again. “Hey, Chris.”

  Xavier tried to keep his eyes open, tried to prove he didn’t need her help. Yes, he was a total badass. The thought crossed his mind just as his lids closed. His brain did a shut down, too, but he managed to make out her one-sided convo. Would he remember it, though? He seriously doubted it.

  “No, I don’t need you to come stay with me. I’ll be fine.” She laughed. “You’re such a dork! Of course you can trust me. Just bring me a couple changes of clothes. My overnight bag is already packed with what I’ll need. No, I don’t need condoms, smartass!”

  Xavier smiled. Or did on the inside, since his body wasn’t listening to his mental commands.

  Frankie rattled off the address. “You’ll need to call when you get here and I’ll buzz you through the gate. Uh-huh. Okay, thanks. See you in a few.”

  Xavier heard another set of beeps, then a gentle, “Hi, Mom. You okay? I’m not gonna be around for a couple days.” She went on a whole diatribe with regards to Xavier’s stupidity, his lack of planning, and her responsibility to rehabilitate him. “Chris’ll be coming to stay with you. I know. Just in case. I’d feel better if—” She sighed. “Well, I’ve already made the call, so you can take it up with—” Deep breath in. Breath out in a gust. “Mom, please. Thank you. I love you.”

  Xavier hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. And through the fuzzy brain syndrome, he wasn’t sure what had jerked him out of the unconscious bliss. Until he heard Frankie’s voice from downstairs.

  “Hey.”

  A male voice answered. She laughed. Xavier seethed.

  Must be the drugs.

  She was his doctor. Not even his doctor, per se. She was a doctor. The team’s doctor. The entire team. She was nothing to Xavier.

  He hadn’t realized how good the acoustics were in his stairwell. It was like a funnel from the entryway to his bedroom.

  “I really appreciate you bringing this stuff by.”

  “I don’t like this, Frank.”

  “Live with it. It’s my job.”

  The answering huff echoed from wall to wall, bouncing its way right into Xavier’s bedroom. “I’m not gonna change your mind, am I?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, well, call me if you need anything.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Chris.”

  “Love you, Frank.”

  The door closed. The near slam was amplified, too. Xavier wondered what sex would sound like on the stairway. He would have made a mental note if he thought there was any chance of remembering it.

  He heard the shuffle of footsteps and managed to crack his eyelids to see Frankie standing in the doorway. She smiled at his attempt at awake.

  “How you feelin’?”

  “Fine.” He sounded like a frog. Ribbet!

  “That’s good.” She held up a black duffle bag. “I’m moving into your guest room.”

  His lids flew open. Somewhere amongst the cobwebs and cottonballs in his brain he thought he’d heard something about that.

  “What?”

  She dropped the duffle and walked into the room, parking her hip on the edge of his bed. “X, you can’t take care of yourself. I know you think you can, but you’ll change your mind. And then it’ll be too late. I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

  “It’s all about you, huh?” He felt the scowl pulling at his lips and the deep frown between his brows. “Don’t I need a nurse or somethin’? Ya know, one of them that specialize in home care.”

  Wow, he’d spewed a lot of coherent sentences. He was kinda impressed with himself.

  Her eyes squinted. Her lips pursed. Her nostrils flared a bit with an exaggerated exhale. “Let me try to piece together what you’re asking.”

  What? He’d been very specific with his questions.

  “I’m going to make sure you get the best care possible until you can do it on your own. I’m licensed in Home Health Care, so that’s not an issue. My mom—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter in this conversation.”

  He wanted to know more about her mom and made another mental note he probably wouldn’t remember when he needed to. Whatever. There were more important questions.

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know exactly. A week. Two. Maybe three.” She laughed and pressed her fingertips to his forehead. “You shouldn’t scowl so much, Xavier. You’ll end up with wrinkles.”

  He managed an eyeroll. At least he thought he did. Her laugh made him wonder.

  “You get some more sleep. I’ll make myself at home.”

  Before he could tell her yet again he didn’t need her, she’d picked up her duffle, sashayed out the door, and disappeared into his house.

  Chapter Four

  It’d been a long, boring day. Frankie had told Xavier she would make herself at home, but she wasn’t comfortable in his house. She’d imposed herself into his personal space.

  Out of necessity, she told herself, to which she vehemently agreed.

  Xavier needed somebody to take care of him. Lucky her.

  She considered changing out of her scrubs, getting comfortable in her tank and panties, but if Xavier needed her in the middle of the night, she couldn’t very well go running in there half naked.

  She slid between the sheets. The very soft sheets. Pleasure engulfed her. She rubbed a hand over the mattress. The thread count had to be off the charts. Nice. Very nice.

  She could get used to this kind of comfort. When she got home, she’d have to get herself a set just like these.

  A curse and crash had her out of bed and on her feet in a flash. She raced barefoot down the hall, the raging expletives guiding her.

  She skidded to a stop just inside his door.

  Tears dripped off Xavier’s chin. His eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in agony. Using his left hand, he cradled his right arm, rocking back and forth. He gritted his teeth, twisting each curse word into a violent hiss.

  “Xavier?”

  His eyes flipped open so fast they reminded her of the flipping blinds in old Tom & Jerry cartoons. He sniffed and wiped at his nose and cheeks with the back of his good hand. His jaw jumped and he narrowed his eyes, hatred crackling in the air between them.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to take care of you. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t remember shit, Doc.” He tried to settle himself only to grunt and not get much accomplished. “Will you leave so I can suffer alone?” When she didn’t move, he tacked on a “Please,” that broke her heart.

  Instead of doing as he asked, she walked right up to the bed. She’d dealt with pissed off athletes before. Xavier wouldn’t be any different.

  “What’s your problem?” he snapped, waving a hand as if she were a bug that needed shooing. “I don’t need an audience.”

  She notched her chin a bit higher and took a steadying breath. “No, but you need a doctor. And I’m the best you’ve got. So suck it up. Neither of us want me to be here.”

  “You’re not a nurse, Doc.” Now he was going to try reasoning with her? “Playing nurse-maid is way below your qualifications.”

  “Actually—” She didn’t want to broach this topic again. Especially since he might remember it this time. “—I have a license to offer Home Health Care.”

  Instead of questioning her, he rolled his eyes. “How frickin’ perfect.”

  “Yes, it is since you didn’t think to make arrangements for anyone to—” She halted her tirade when he hissed. “Let’s get you some meds.”

  “That’s not what I need.” He struggled to get out of the bed.

  “What are you doing?” She hurried over to help him.

  “I need to piss. Really bad. You willing to help me with that?”

  “If needs be.”

  He smiled tightly. “Get me to the bathroom and I can take care of things.”

  Her rel
ief must have been plastered all over her face because he took one look at her expression and laughed. Then grabbed at his shoulder.

  “Everything makes it hurt.”

  She helped him out of the bed, got him upright, and wedged herself under his armpit. At the bathroom door, she paused. “If you need any help, just holler. I’ll come right in.”

  He burst out in a harsh, mocking bark of a laugh. “Like having you rush in to find me sprawled on the tile is my idea of fun.”

  “Maybe we should leave the door open.”

  “No.” No argument in that shut down. “If I need you, I’ll holler.” The determination in his eyes said otherwise.

  She considered challenging him, but didn’t really feel like cleaning urine off the floor. He was stubborn enough to piss down both legs rather than leave the door open.

  He held onto the jamb and waited for her to retreat. She backed up to the bed and plopped down, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll be right here if—”

  “I won’t need you, Doc. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Xavier wasn’t fine. He was as far from fine as a guy could possibly get. Truth be told, he was a complete frickin’ mess.

  He couldn’t believe he’d cried—actually shed tears—in front of Frankie. Good hell, he wasn’t a girl! He was a man!

  And men did not cry. Ever.

  Yet another fact drilled into his head by his father. He’d called the bastard a sonofabitch until he realized the title reflected badly on his beloved grandmother.

  Xavier shook his head and everything around him spun. Reaching out, he gripped the counter and closed his eyes. One breath. Two. And his thoughts cleared enough to enable him to make the two foot journey to the commode. A yank of the waistband on his boxer-briefs sent the cotton to the floor. He let go of the counter to position himself and swayed. A hurried, spin and an uncoordinated squat brought his ass in contact with the cool seat.

  Maybe he was turning into a girl after all. First, tears. Now, taking a piss sitting down. Add to that his bum arm and the fact he couldn’t throw a ball. Yeah, his father was probably laughing his ass off in hell.

  A soft knock preceded the whispered, “Xavier, you okay?”

  “Fine.” The muttered curse through gritted teeth offered the surge in testosterone needed to get himself upright. Well, mostly upright.

  His hip slammed into the corner of the counter, sending pain shooting up the left side of his body. This time the curse crossing his lips was vile, four-lettered, drawn out, and had exactly nothing to do with the activity he was failing miserably at.

  The door burst open. Frankie’s face registered a whole lot of worry, but it was the pity in her blue eyes that made him want to chuck something at her.

  “Get out! Get the hell out!”

  With a swipe of his hand, he gripped the shower curtain and yanked the thing off its pole. Fancy black rings did the hula around the rod before finally ping-ping-pinging it into the bathtub.

  He wrapped the cold plastic around his hips and glared at his doctor. “I said I was fine.”

  “You say a lot of things.” Her blond brows pinched in the center, her eyes conveying just how much she didn’t care for his attitude.

  “Look Doc, I’m a big boy. I don’t need your help. I can—”

  “Do it yourself. I know. You’ve told me. Numerous times.” She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes then smoothed it back with her hand. “But here’s the deal, X. If you injure yourself because you’re just being stubborn, I’m going to be really pissed. There is no reason you can’t recover from this injury.”

  The plastic of the shower curtain clung to his hips and legs, and not in a good way. He’d never been into kinky Saran Wrap crap, and this wasn’t the time to start. He shifted stuff around.

  He felt like crap. “I need a shower.”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “And I want a shower.”

  A long sigh conveyed her exhaustion and frustration better than any snappy comeback. “You do realize you can’t get your stitches wet, right?”

  “A bath then,” he snapped. Damn, he was such an ass. And, check him out, he didn’t give a shit.

  She rubbed at her eyes, smoothing her fingers up and over her eyebrows then down her cheeks, followed by a deep, aggravated groan. “Get in bed.”

  “I want a bath.”

  The muscles in her jaw clenched with the grinding of her teeth. She pursed her lips. Bit into the bottom one. Closed her eyes, blew out a breath. In ten seconds or so, the blue of her eyes appeared again.

  “Get in the bed.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  And just like that, her final nerve snapped.

  “Then stop acting like one!” Her cheeks puffed with her carefully controlled exhale. “I’m sorry. Will you please get back into bed and I will see to your bath.”

  “And how exactly are you going to accomplish a bubble bath on my pillow top?”

  “I plan on giving you a sponge bath.”

  He opened his mouth to protest and she held up a hand. “Take it or leave it. You need to face the facts, X. You cannot have a shower. I’m too damned tired to be helping you in and out of the tub. If you wanna get clean tonight, it’s going to have to be my rubbing you with a washcloth.”

  It was his turn to close his eyes, but not out of frustration. The idea of Frankie rubbing him in any way, shape, or form caused every part of him to stand up and shout for attention. Dammit. Now he was sticking to the damned shower curtain.

  “I’m good.” He shifted the curtain again. “I can wait until morning for the soap and suds.”

  She dipped her head in a relieved nod. “Okay. Let’s get you back in bed.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  “If you say that one more time, I’m going to scream.” A quick head shake. “Humor me, okay? I live to assist you.”

  His deep bark of laughter shocked both of them. He wasn’t sure why her obvious sarcasm struck him funny, but it had and as he continued to chuckle, she giggled then burst out laughing.

  “You are going to be the death of me, I swear it.”

  She stepped further into the bathroom and slipped under his left arm, propping her shoulder under his pit. She wrapped her arm around his waist. He tried to keep his weight off of her, but he swayed and nearly fell down, taking her with him.

  “Seriously?” Her arm tightened, tugging him closer into her. “Lean on me. It’ll be a helluva lot easier than trying to pick your stubborn ass up off the floor.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d leaned on anyone, physically or figuratively. But as he allowed Frankie to hold him tight and escort him back to the bed.

  A few shuffling steps later and the two of them stood next to the bed. She pulled the sheets back, then offered her back.

  “Let me know when you’re settled.”

  He stared at her, dressed Trapezius to Achilles in blue scrubs, and not the figure-hugging type television docs wore. She rolled her neck on her delicate shoulders then stretched her arms up over her head, bending them back. She moaned and started to turn around.

  “Wait.” Good hell, he was an idiot, standing around watching her stretch. He shook his head, totally disgusted with himself.

  He dropped the shower curtain and sat on the edge of the bed. He’d have to pull a scooch and slide to get himself positioned in the middle. And wasn’t that going to be a good frickin’ time?

  He frowned. Fresh baked bread had nothin’ on his mattress. Xavier was all about the soft and snuggly, but in this moment he’d rather have had a wooden plank. Splinters in his ass would mean he was moving instead of sinking.

  “You ready?”

  Frankie didn’t wait for an answer, just turned on her heel.

  Xavier whipped the sheets over his lap. He wasn’t sure if she’d gotten another glimpse of his goods or not, but as exhaustion seeped into him, he decided it didn’t really matter. His eyel
ids drooped and he wondered when his lashes had been dipped in lead.

  “Come on, big man. Let’s get you settled then you can get some sleep.”

  He felt his legs going up, up, up and the rest of him tilting back. Gentle hands caught his right side, easing him against the mattress.

  “How is your pain?”

  “None.”

  A snort. “Liar.”

  Soft. Oh, her hands were soft. They cupped his cheeks and tipped his head until his wayward vision caught hers.

  “Stay with me, X. Scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”

  He attempted a shrug. “Five. Totally bearable.”

  She smiled, and his heart thumped a little. “Is that your macho side talking? Or are you really okay?”

  “I’m okay. Just tired.”

  She tucked the sheets around him. “Rest. Tomorrow will be worse.”

  Wasn’t that just peachy?

  Chapter Five

  Claustrophobia hadn’t been an ailment Xavier suffered from in the past, yet right now, with his arm stuck to his side by the brace and his sluggish body condemned to the bed, panic rose. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pinching his eyes closed, he thought of wide open spaces; hiking the Rocky Mountains, sitting in a boat in the middle of Lake Mead, standing in left field at Rockets stadium.

  Great. Now he was depressed and anxious. Tears stung his eyes, making them burn and that pissed him off. Seriously, crying wasn’t going to fix his arm or get him back on the diamond or even drain the urine from his bladder. The way he saw it, he could lie there and blubber like a child or he could go to the bathroom and relieve himself—by himself.

  He struggled to get his body upright. He scooched one butt cheek then the other, shuffling himself over until he planted his feet on the floor.

  The room spun and his stomach pitched. He puffed out his cheeks and swallowed a breath passed the bile building in his throat.

  Everything hurt. Dammit, even his eyelashes throbbed. His bladder screamed for him to get up and take care of business, but he was too damned tired to even move. He’d just have to hold it. Or tie himself in a frickin’ knot!