PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3)

by Daphne Loveling

  But everything that happened after that was almost more of a shock.

  I think back to how Knox came to my rescue and got the bat out of my room.

  I think about how he sat on my couch with me afterwards to help me calm down.

  I think about how his bare chest made me want to reach out and touch it, and shiver a little.

  And most of all, I think about how I completely lost control of myself and came writhing against him as he held me.

  God. How could I do that? Remembering it now as I lie in the dark with my comforter over me, I’m absolutely mortified. A wave of embarrassment washes over me, so strong I feel like throwing up. I can’t believe I let that happen. How am I ever going to be able to face Knox now?

  When I do finally manage to fall asleep, even that doesn’t let me escape my humiliation. I dream that I’m chasing after Knox, and he’s disgusted by me, doing everything he can to avoid me. I wake up the next morning feeling even worse, exhausted and full of regret. Even though my dream was pretty over the top — by the end of it I was following Knox in a high-speed chase in my car through the streets of Springville — I still dread the thought of seeing him again after last night. When I take Zeus out for his morning walk, I make sure to check before leaving the house that there’s no sign of Knox, and take the back streets behind the condo complex instead of walking along the main road like I usually do. I’m on edge the whole time we’re out, but I manage to make it back and get us inside the house without running into him, much to my relief.

  After I’m back from walking Zeus, I eat a piece of toast and peanut butter for breakfast, then start some coffee and go grab a shower. I have to go to the Spinal Cord Research Center at Springville University this morning. Since it’s summer, I’m not taking classes, but I have an appointment with my adviser and research mentor, Dr. Roza Pataky. She wants me to start narrowing down the subject of my thesis, and plan out the next couple of years of my coursework and research.

  Dr. Pataky is one of the leading academic research scientists on spinal cord injuries in the country. Her work is known not just in the United States but internationally, as some of the most cutting-edge and outside-the-box work in the field. She was born in Hungary, and though she and her family moved to the U.S. when she was a teenager, she still has an old-world formality that makes her kind of scary to deal with sometimes. At least to me. I’m absolutely intimidated by her — but like I said, she’s the best in her field, so I feel incredibly lucky to be able to work with her.

  I make sure to show up five minutes early to our appointment, because Dr. Pataky doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting. I had emailed her the literature review she wanted me to do a couple of days ago, and when she calls me into her office, I see the document is up on her computer screen.

  “Take a seat, Ivy. Can I offer you water or a coffee?” Even though it’s summer, Dr. Pataky is dressed impeccably as usual, in a perfectly-tailored pantsuit and sensible flats. Her dark brown hair is cut into a sleek bob, with not a hair out of place. It’s almost impossible to tell her age. She could be anywhere from forty-five to sixty-five. As always when I’m around her, I feel vaguely schlubby and unkempt.

  I try to be as professional-sounding as I can, though. “No, thank you.” I take a seat, smoothing my knee-length skirt under me as I do. Then I force myself to just be quiet and wait, because I’ve noticed that when I’m nervous I try to fill the air with words and sound like an idiot.

  Dr. Pataky is scanning the literature review as I sit in silence. “This is good work,” she finally says, her tone devoid of expression. I swear, she could be talking about her cat dying or about winning the lottery and she’d probably sound exactly the same either way. “I will make some suggestions for revision and send them to you, but in general, you’ve done well.”

  “Thank you,” I say, trying not to glow with pride. It’s funny how someone who almost never gives a compliment can make you feel like a rock star with the slightest word of praise. The conversation shifts then to the subject of my master’s thesis. I have a general subject, which I explained to Knox last night, but I haven’t yet figured out the particular angle I want to explore in my thesis.

  “Now, Ivy,” she continues, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her. “Based on our past conversations, I’ve been thinking of an area of research that I’d like you to consider moving into, connected with the work that we’re doing at the Center. It’s a particular aspect of cervical cord neuropraxia that I believe hasn’t quite been explored fully yet in terms of the research that we’ve been conducting on nerve regrowth and recovery.”

  “What specifically?” I ask, leaning forward unconsciously. As intimidated as I always am by Dr. Pataky, I’m fascinated by this stuff, and luckily that overrides my nervousness.

  “As you know, spinal or cervical cord neuropraxia is the clinical manifestation of neuropraxia of the spinal cord due to hyperextension, hyperflexion or axial loading,” she replies. “Generally, we’ve studied this in terms of a single catastrophic event. However, our current research has focused less on something else we know: that stenosis of the spinal canal, whether congenital or acquired, is thought to predispose a person to neuropraxia.”

  Spinal stenosis means a narrowing of the bone channel occupied by the spinal nerves or the spinal cord. What Dr. Pataky is saying is that the more narrow the channel is, the more likely a person is to have severe spinal cord damage in the event of an injury.

  “Yes,” I say, considering. “So, you’re interested in looking into whether the presence of stenosis might affect the ability to repair spinal cord damage?

  “Exactly,” she nods. “It seems important to consider the previous degenerative damage from stenosis and whether that would hinder any regenerative efforts. Particularly, I’m thinking of acquired stenosis, rather than the congenital form. The stenosis often experienced by athletes in contact sports.”

  Dr. Pataky goes on to tell me that if I’m willing, she’d like me to spend the remainder of the summer looking into the research that’s been done on stenosis in athletes who have experienced a spinal or cervical cord injury that resulted in paralysis. As she talks, for some reason my mind goes to Knox, who I just found out is a professional football player for the Rockets. What did he say his position was? Wide receiver, or something? I wonder if that’s a position that gets tackled a lot. Of course, it’s football, I remind myself. Probably everyone gets tackled a lot.

  By the end of our meeting close to an hour later, we’ve agreed on a schedule and a date for me to come back and talk to her about my preliminary findings. As I leave her office, I realize that this discussion with Dr. Pataky might be setting me on a course that will determine the direction of my research for years to come. I’m excited for the challenge. But strangely, part of me is feeling just a little bit uneasy, and I can’t quite put my finger on why.

  After the meeting, I run into two of the other neuroscience grad students in the hall leading to the main lab. One is Robin, a short-haired brunette and first-year doctoral student, who is also working with Dr. Pataky. The other is Alan. He’s beginning the second year of his master’s degree, like me. He’s also a teaching assistant, and this summer he’s earning extra money by teaching a beginning section of biology for summer school.

  “Ivy! What’s up with you?” Alan asks, hugging me. He’s tall and lanky, and his elbows dig into my back.

  “I just met with Dr. Pataky,” I tell them. “She wants me to learn more about spinal stenosis in athletes and neuropraxia. She thinks it will help me define and narrow my research.”

  One of the things I love about being in grad school is that people don’t look at me like I have two heads when I say stuff like this. Robin nods sagely. “That’s a good idea,” she says. “I think she’s getting you ready to do more work in the lab with us this fall, too, from what she said to me the other day.”

  My stomach flips with excitement. Only the best grad students get to wo
rk in Dr. Pataky’s research group. I’d give my eye teeth to be included. “Gosh, I hope so,” I breathe. “Let me know if you hear anything more about that.”

  “I will,” Robin replies with a twinkle in her eye. “And I’ll put in a good word for you if I can. It would be fun to have you.”

  “Thanks!” I smile. I’m about to ask her more about the research the team is doing this summer, but my stomach gives a loud rumble that stops me. “Wow,” I laugh, and pull out my phone to check the time. “I guess I need to eat something. Are you two up for some lunch?”

  “I can’t,” Alan says, pushing up his wire-rim glasses. “I have to teach in half an hour. Sorry.”

  “I brought my lunch to eat in the lab,” Robin shrugs. “Rain check?”

  “Sure. No problem,” I say easily. I’m used to this. Graduate students are notoriously busy, even in the summer.

  I say goodbye to both of them and leave the building. Since I don’t have a lunch date, I opt to just go grab a bagel and cream cheese, which I eat sitting outside on a bench overlooking the main quad. When I’m done, I decide to get a jump on my research at the university library. I spend the next few hours poring over journals and reading studies. By the end of the afternoon, I’m starting to get a headache, so I pack up my book bag and head to my car to go home. My mind is filled with all sorts of details from research studies, and I’m still processing it all so I’ve sort of forgotten to think about watching for Knox.

  Which is why it comes to a complete surprise to see him walking down the sidewalk about half a block from the condo, with Zeus ambling companionably next to him.

  My confusion momentarily stops me from remembering how mortified I should be to see him after last night. I roll down my passenger side window and slow to a stop at the curb.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in amazement. “Why —“

  “Zeus decided he needed a walk, I guess,” Knox gives me that lopsided grin that makes my stomach do flip flops. “I was just hanging out on the balcony, and he came out with the leash and let me know he needed to go out.”

  “But,” I interrupt, looking from him to the dog. “He’s not wearing a leash.”

  “Eh,” he shrugs, looking down at Zeus. “We don’t need no stinkin’ leash, am I right, boy?” Beside him, Zeus wags his enormous tail, which thwacks against Knox’s leg. “He’s fine,” Knox continues, his gaze returning at me. “He’s staying right by my side. He’s not gonna go anywhere.”

  I shake my head. Honestly, I don’t know what kind of a spell he’s put on that dog. “Okay,” I nod. “Great. Thanks for taking him out. There’s just one problem.”

  “What?” Knox asks.

  “Did you bring any plastic bags?”

  “Uh, no,” he admits.

  “You better hope your luck holds, then,” I smirk as I roll up the window. “Because Zeus takes industrial size.”

  Back at the condo, I let myself in and force down the wave of panic that’s threatening to rise up inside me. Since Knox has Zeus, that means he’ll be coming back here when he’s done walking him. Which means I’m going to have to talk to him. Which means I’m going to have to act normal-ish. Which is not going to be easy after last night. What do you say to a near-stranger after you’ve dry-humped him in a moment of weakness? I’ve had a few relationships, most of them not very memorable, but I’m definitely not a casual sex type of person. Acting all “hey, we hooked up, no big deal” is definitely not in my nature. In a moment of cowardice, I’m even contemplating hopping back in my car and going to the movies or something so I can avoid this. But before I can give in to my pathetic impulse, though, there’s a knock on my door.

  “Hey, it’s the first time I’ve ever actually come to your front door,” Knox remarks when I open it.

  “Yeah, it’s almost civilized,” I reply dryly. I’m trying to hide my hammering nerves with sarcasm. I don’t know if it’s working.

  “Did Zeus poop?” I ask next, and cringe, because did I seriously just choose poop as a conversational opener?

  “Nah, he let me off the hook,” Knox laughs. “I’ll remember the bags next time.” He looks down at the dog. “Thanks for cutting me some slack, dude,” he says, and I’ll be damned if Zeus doesn’t wink at him. I feel just a little bit like I’m losing my mind.

  “Well,” Knox says then, “Guess I’ll leave you to it.” And before I can say anything, he’s stepped next door and gone inside. Zeus looks over at the door as it closes, and lets out a soft whine of complaint.

  Weirdly, I almost do, too.

  I spend the evening feeling strangely out of sorts and just plain grumpy. After twisting myself into knots all day long worried about how awkward it would be to see Knox today, somehow it feels even worse that he didn’t seem to feel awkward at all. In fact, he acted like nothing had even happened last night. I should be relieved, I guess. But I’m really just kind of… mad.

  Without really meaning to, I start slamming stuff around in the kitchen as I make dinner. I almost break Zeus’s food bowl when I practically throw it on the ground with his evening ration of kibble. After eating and putting my dishes in the dishwasher, I’m too restless to sit down and watch TV. So instead, I busy myself by doing stuff I normally hate to do: laundry, vacuuming, even cleaning the tub.

  I’m just putting clean sheets on the bed, somewhat soothed by their crisp, clean smell, when Zeus barks twice in the living room.

  Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I go out to see what’s caught his attention. It’s Knox, standing on the other side of the French doors. I cross the room and open them.

  “You’re making a lot of noise over here,” he growls, pulling me toward him. “It’s distracting. You’re turning out to be a very distracting neighbor, Ivy Kincaide.”

  10

  Knox

  I was gonna wait a few days before taking things further with Ivy. Kind of build up the anticipation. But with her right next door — especially with her banging around the place all night so I couldn’t forget she was there — my resolve sort of evaporates into thin air.

  I push Ivy up against the wall just inside the doors, and cup her ass to pull her against my cock, which is already hard as fucking iron. Hell, I was hard before I even left my place, knowing what I was about to do. My mouth comes down on hers, hard, and she immediately opens to me, her tongue winding around mine. No fucking resistance at all. I kiss her harder, and she shifts a little on my cock, pressing her pussy into it just like she did last night. A little purr of pleasure comes from low in her throat. My cock gets even tighter at the sound of it, my balls starting to ache even though it’s only been a couple seconds.

  My mouth goes down to her throat, then, down to where the purr came from, and she arches her head back, shivering a little when my lips make contact with her skin. I press her harder into the wall, grinding against her, and I chuckle in satisfaction when she lets out a deep moan that tells me how ready she already is for me. Her arms go around my neck as she tries to get closer, writhing against my throbbing cock. Fuck. I pull her away from the wall and carry her into her bedroom, kicking a basket of laundry on the floor out of the way.

  When I get there I drop her on the bed and pin her down, my hands locking her arms above her head. Her eyes were closed before, but now they open to stare at me. The lids are heavy, her expression a mixture of shyness and raw, naked desire. Ivy’s mouth parts slightly, and I cover her with my body and kiss her, pressing one knee between her legs so my thigh is hard against her pussy. She moves against it, whimpering. Goddamn, she needs this as much as I do. After restraining myself last night, it’s all I can do to stop myself from just ripping these shorts right off her and plunging inside, fucking her hard, fast, and taking what I need until I’m spent inside her. But I force myself to go slower. I grab the hem of her shirt and lift it up, growling with satisfaction to see she’s not wearing a bra. I kiss her deeper and reach up to flick one taut nipple with my thumb. Ivy cries out into my mouth, shuddering. Leaning do
wn, I take the other taut bud into my mouth, and suckle it as I flick with my tongue. A desperate mewl rips from her throat. One hand reaches up and weaves through my hair. She’s panting, her chest heaving as I continue to lick and suck at the sensitive areolas. Her other hand reaches down between us, tentatively at first, and slides her hand over my jeans to my cock. Fuck, it feels good. I groan loudly.

  “I’m not gonna last long if you do that,” I say, my voice thick. Her eyes open wide and she stares at me, her breathing shallow and fast. “That’s right. You’ve got me so fucking close I’m gonna come in my pants if you do that.” I jerk her hand away and pin them both to her sides. Then I let go and grab her cotton shorts, yanking them down. Her pussy, her beautiful pussy, is right there, waiting for me. My mouth waters in anticipation.

  “Jesus fuck, cupcake,” I growl. “I’ve been waiting for this for days.”

  I rear up and pull my shirt and my jeans off, then move between her legs, thrusting her creamy thighs wide apart. Her pussy is glistening, swollen, the nub of her clit already hardening for me. The muscles in her thighs tense for a moment, and she draws in a sharp breath. I think she’s not used to having a man give her pleasure this way. I bend down and graze a finger softly up the inside of her thigh, suppressing a chuckle as she shivers slightly. My lips come close to her pussy, but I don’t touch her — not yet. Instead, I let her feel the heat of my breath, let her know I’m less than an inch away. At first, the only indication I have that she knows this is that her breathing hitches in her throat. She freezes, waiting, and when I don’t do anything she slowly, so slowly arches her hips up just the slightest bit. I move back a little, and her hips arch further, seeking my mouth. I tease her with my hot breath, and her thighs spread wider. I’m driving her crazy. I can feel it. I can see it.