"Just one last question Derrick!" He turned his head towards the cute brunette who was waving her hand wildly in the air, the lone woman in a sea of testosterone. He shot her a smile and pointed towards her.
"Last one pretty lady, go ahead."
She flashed him a smile with pink lips and bright blue eyes that made Derrick's heart race. The cute ones always did. "Are there any truth to the rumors you're getting traded?"
Derrick shook his head. "No way. New York's been my home since I was fifteen. I'm twenty-eight now. I'm not going anywhere."
Kristen ran her hand over Burt Young's knee. He twiddled his thumbs and refused to watch while she worked. Kristen didn't need to be telepathic, like her parents claimed to be, to know what he was feeling. His body shook with nervous energy and his eyes were wet.
"It's okay," she assured him. "Just an isolated sprain of the medial collateral ligament." Burt stared at her blankly. "That means you didn't tear it." She smiled as his shoulders relaxed.
"Thank God." He blew a steady stream of air from his lungs and hunched over, his head in his hands. "How long? Tell it to me straight."
"I don't think the sprain is very bad." Kristen put one hand behind his neck and gave it a little squeeze. "Stay off it for a few days and you'll be back in the next game."
She thought he might cry for a second—sometimes football players did when they thought they were out for the season—but then his head whipped up with confused happiness. "The next game...? The next game...?" It took a minute for it all to sink it, and Kristin gave him that minute. She was used to this—at least this time the news was good. Not all players were so lucky. Football was the toughest of all sports on a person's body.
"Woohoo!" Burt jumped off the exam table, balanced himself on one leg, and grabbed Kristen around the waist. He picked her up and spun her around the room before setting her back down.
"Thanks Doc! You're the best damn doctor we ever had here."
Kristen blushed. The red in her cheeks almost matched her hair. It was nice knowing that even though she'd never be a football player herself, at least she was still contributing to the game. Her phone buzzed in her pocket but she didn't pull it out.
"Remember what I said," she told Burt. "Off of it for at least three days. I'll get you some crutches from the back. Use them."
"Anything you say Doc."
His smile was so wide she thought it might spread off his face, like an overdrawn cartoon character. It made her think of Derrick... the wide smile he used to give her when he'd pick her hand off the sand before holding it to his face. They were inseparable from the time they were five and had moved in next door to each other, until the time they were fifteen and they'd been ripped apart. That was thirteen years ago. She was twenty-eight. He was famous. And a millionaire. Any chance they'd had together ended long ago with the mysterious falling out of their parents.
Kristin had cried, screamed, pouted and begged her mom and dad for some sort of explanation till she was blue in the face. All her mom would say was, "Sometimes things just happen." As if that explained the sudden departure of Derrick's family not just from Los Angeles, but from their lives. From her life. Eventually, Kristen had given up asking.
She was sure Derrick didn't even remember her now. She saw the tabloids in the grocery stores like everyone else. And lately it seemed like every time she turned on her computer a new photo was splashed across the screen with a picture of Derrick and his latest squeeze toy. Kristin's round curves and voluptuous body wouldn't even fit on the cover of a magazine, but she didn't care. She’d never wanted to be rail-thin like a stick figure—like the girls she saw Derrick with. She was satisfied with her full breasts and thick curves.
"Be right back," she told Burt when she realized she was still standing there.
When Kristin was alone she took her phone from her pocket and unlocked her screen. A new message icon displayed across the LED.
She scrolled through the email. It took forever for the general manager to get to his point... Think you'd fit into the team nicely. Welcome aboard!
Kristin almost ran back to Burt without the crutches and picked him up as he'd done to her. She couldn't believe it. Finally! The Peregrines! When she stepped back into the room her grin was even wider than Burt's.
2
Derrick stepped into the locker room of the Peregrines still livid at the trade. They'd done it behind his back. And fast too. Yesterday, New York and hot dogs, today Washington state and rain. It hadn't even broken in the papers yet. How the teams kept this a secret was beyond him. The Peregrine’s got him, his old New York team—the one he'd been with since starting in pro-football—had gotten three of the Peregrine's best. Three players for one Derrick. He should've felt honored, but all he felt was betrayed.
He wondered if this was how Randy Wolfe felt when the Peregrines traded him to the Broncos last year. Randy had been with this team since starting pro himself. He knew Randy still had a house around here somewhere. Maybe it was for sale.
The guys in the locker room introduced themselves as he came in, slapping his hand and pointing out his locker. Derrick opened it and five gallons of strawberry Jell-O fell onto his shoes and rolled over the floor. Derrick smiled. If this was how the guys were gonna treat him on the first day, they were probably alright.
One of the guys, Tate Edwards, waved a newspaper high in the air and started reading in a high pitched sing-song voice:
"Derrick Wellborn, arguably the best running back in NFL history, has just become the eighth member of the NFL's 2,000 Yard Club after surpassing 2,000 rushing yards this season. Randy Wolfe had this to say..." Here Tate changed his voice to a deep growl. "'He might be good, but he's not the best. He can try and beat me all he wants, but he'll always be trailing behind eating dust.'"
Tate looked up and shouted, "Well fellas, we've got a bona fide superstar in our midst."
Derrick yelled back, "And I'm glad to be here. Strawberry Jell-O is my all-time favorite!"
The crew busted up laughing and Derrick joined in. A little friendly ribbing on the new guy was pretty standard. Especially with a high profile guy like Derrick.
The coach walked in, his bald head shining under the locker room lights and his face red with sun. He saw the Jell-O all over the floor, still creeping towards the showers, and shook his head. Then he broke into a smile and called out to the room. "All right, you had your fun, but tell me this... Who in the hell is gonna clean up this mess?"
Tate tossed a rag at Derrick and it hit him in the face. Derrick grinned and dabbed it in some Jell-O before whipping it back to Tate. The team roared but the coach just shook his head.
"Tell you what," Coach said, "the two of you can clean it up together. Tate, Wellborn," he pointed towards the floor. "There's a bucket a rags in the back."
"Aw, Coach," Tate whined.
"Stuff it Tate. We got a new doctor comin' in today, and I don't want her thinkin' we're a bunch of animals."
Several players jumped up at the mention of a new doctor.
"Did you say her?"
"A woman?"
"A girl doc?"
"That's right," Coach yelled. "Female, and the best in sports medicine."
Bolero called out, "You don't mean the one who saved Crick O'Malley's busted hamstring last season." The others looked at him. "Kept him in the game and got him picked up by Denver."
"That's exactly who I mean," Coach said. "We're lucky to get her, so be nice."
The others nodded. "Don't worry Coach," Tate said. He gave Derrick a wink. "We'll be on our best behavior."
Practice went well, and Derrick was surprised to find how quickly he felt at home. Back in the locker room they were showering and getting ready to take Derrick out—a proper welcome to the team they said, which would undoubtedly include a night of drinking and women—when Coach came in and said the doctor was here.
"Remember," Coach yelled. Coach always seemed to yell, Derrick supposed most did. "Best behavior."
He opened the door and called, "Okay, Doc, we're ready for ya. Guys, meet Doctor Walker."
Kristin stepped into the room with her head high and her face set like stone. Inside, she was bursting with excitement. Washington had been her number one pick since she'd been in med school. They'd told her she was too young for Washington then. Apparently a few years later and the new general manager thought reputation and know-how were more important than age. Besides, she was a damned good doctor. She'd always exceled at school, and when she'd gone to medical school she'd breezed through it and gotten fast tracked to her degree. Only a handful of people had their degrees before thirty. She was proud of her accomplishments, and the Peregrines were lucky to have her.
She reminded herself of this as she faced the locker room of jocks.
She'd dealt with the opening scene of locker rooms before, and the introduction was always—interesting. The players stood before her with towels wrapped around their waists. Someone tapped three times on a locker and two dozen towels dropped to the floor simultaneously. Kristin smiled. Flashing women in the locker room was a long held tradition. The guys wanted to see if you'd look.
Coach dropped his head into his hands, embarrassed. "I’m a doctor, boys," Kristin said, making an obvious show of looking around the room at all the players, “I’ve seen teeny-weenies before. No need to be self-conscious. You can’t all be well-endowed.”
The guys busted up like they'd done earlier with the Jell-O stunt. Kristin walked around the room and shook each player's hand with their towels still pooled at their feet. She didn't bat an eye. She was down to the last row of players when one of them frantically grabbed at their towel and pulled it up. She blinked, not believing her own eyes.
"Derrick Wellborn?" she couldn't stop the shock from registering in her voice. He didn't belong in Washington, he was a New Yorker.
He looked even better than she remembered. Even better than in the papers. His dark hair was the color of the night sky. His eyes as blue as the sea beyond the sand. He smiled at her with moist, pink lips and the muscles in his arms twitched, emphasizing the biceps that had only been starting to develop when she'd last seen him. Her lungs began to burn before she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.
The team was watching them.
"Hey," Derrick snapped his fingers in the air several times like he was summoning a waiter. "Uh... Kristy... Christine... no, Theresa, right?" He pulled the towel tight around him.
"Kristin." She bit her lip.
"Kristin. Right. Nice to see you. It's been, like, a while."
The initial excitement Kristin felt at seeing Derrick fell apart. It's been, like, a while? Was he serious?
"Yeah," she said. "Thirteen years. Or so." She didn't want him to think she'd been counting.
"You look... nice. I guess. Welcome to the team. I'm gonna finish showering if we're all through here." Then Derrick breezed out of the locker room like seeing her was no big deal.
Derrick got around the corner and leaned his back against the wall, taking deep breaths. He knew he was acting like a jerk, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was freaking out. Kristin had never been far from his mind, but he'd never dreamt he'd see her again. His heart pounded in his chest.
Athletes did not let girls get to them like this. It was bad news for winning streaks if you fell for one too hard. He wouldn't even have sex before a big game, let alone entertain some sort of school age crush. He still had to finish taking out Randy Wolfe's record—that was the number one priority in his life right now. There was no room for anything more than a casual fling, which meant lots of women, not one woman. He couldn't risk getting close to Kristin. Not now. There weren't that many more games left in the season. January inched closer every day.
But man she looked good. Her skin was still as creamy as he remembered, and her hair fell around her in soft red waves that reminded him of the ocean they used to sit and watch at sunrise. Her breasts were already pretty full when they were fifteen, now, at twenty-eight, they were round and firm and the cleavage they made, even in her medical uniform, was enough to drive a man crazy. Her hips and waist had rounded out too, adding curves where most women didn't have them, but definitely could use them. Voluptuous. Sexy. Those were the first words he'd thought of when he saw her.
He peeked around the corner from where he hid and watched as she left the room. Introductions were over.
3
Kristin's mother was not as excited as she'd hoped.
"Derrick Wellborn?" She heard the skepticism in her mom's voice and it bugged her.
"Yes Mom, Derrick Wellborn."
She didn't know what she'd expected her mom to say. Her family hadn't spoken to Derrick's in over a decade. But Kristin had never forgotten him. Now that they were both on the Peregrines, it would be impossible not to see each other. Derrick had acted like he hadn't remembered her, but she wasn't convinced. He'd pulled his towel up awfully fast when she came near him.
"Well, if you have to see him for work, I guess you can't help that. But I don't think it's a good idea for you to see him socially."
Kristin sighed. "Mom, why don't you just tell me what it was that happened? It was so long ago now, what can it possibly matter?” She could hear her mom breathing on the other end. “There must be a reason you hate Derrick’s family so much. But why? I mean, it's not like his dad hit on you or something." She paused, considering, "Did he?" Kristin's own good looks had come from somewhere, and it certainly wasn't her father's side.
"No! Of course not," her mom shouted. Kristin let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Then what is it?"
Even after all these years, Kristin still knew virtually nothing about the falling out their families had had. All she knew was that it had acted as the kick off to some sort of mid-life crisis for her parents. Derrick's family had moved to New York. Hers had stayed in L.A., but both her parents had quit their jobs as lawyers to become private detectives and suddenly decided they were psychic. They'd moved Kristin from their posh Beverly Hills home to an old, broken down house in the Mid-Wilshire district she'd later found out was supposed to be haunted. Suddenly, overnight it seemed, everything in their lives revolved around the supernatural. Her parents became obsessed with it.
Instead of their family picture over the fireplace, her parents had a portrait of Hans Holzer. Books on werewolves and ghosts lined every wall in their home. When Kristin turned 18 and moved into her dorm, her parents had insisted—much to her embarrassment and her roommate's amusement—on conducting a sage cleansing ritual before they'd allow her to move in. Her mom had attributed this sudden change to a documentary she and her father had watched on television late one night, but Kristin had always thought that sounded like a lame excuse.
"Kristin, honey." Her mom paused and was silent for so long Kristin thought she'd hung up. "Just be careful."
"Careful about wh—"
But Kristin's mom was already gone.
The team huddled together in the locker room. Coach had just finished his pep talk and it was actually one of the best Derrick had ever heard. The team was jazzed, ready to kick some ass against the Cowboys.
He tried not to notice Kristin in the corner, getting her bag of medical whatnot together for the impending injuries that were sure to occur. There was always something during a game like this. It had been a week since he and Kristin had joined the team, and he'd avoided her like the plague. Derrick had made the mistake of mentioning Kristin's sudden return into his life in an email to his parents, and they'd sent him back a frenzied reply telling him to stay away from her.
He knew Kristin's family had freaked out all those years ago when his parents had revealed to them that they were shifters, but that didn't explain the almost desperate plea from his mother and father not to have anything to do with her. They made it sound as if his life depended upon his staying away from her. It was ridiculous and exaggerated, of course, but he'd vowed to keep his distance anyway. He di
dn't want anything to distract him from beating Wolfe's record. Besides, if he needed female companionship for a night or two, he could take his pick. Something told him that with Kristin there'd be no one-nighters. No, she would be all or nothing. He didn't have time for all right now.
He looked up to realize the team was heading out to the field and hurried to catch up. The Cowboys were tough, but the Peregrines were better. At least, now that Derrick was on the team they were. And they were in Washington tonight—even better.
The game started well enough for them. The first quarter flew by. Half time hit, and some band Derrick had never heard of played while the Cowboy's cheerleaders did their thing. That was one thing he liked about Dallas—they sure had some first class girls on the team. He wondered what the chances were that one of them wanted to hook up with the enemy. He thought the chances might be pretty high.
It was third quarter where things went wrong. Tate tossed the ball to him and he caught it no problem, but some jerk on the Cowboys nailed him from behind before he'd even gotten his chance to run with the ball. He felt his knee crack and fell to the ground. The team signaled to Coach, and Kristin was hunched over him before he was even aware she'd stepped onto the field.
They took him off in a stretcher. He felt like a jerk. He wanted to get back out there. He was close to beating Wolfe's record, but that was never gonna happen if he was stuck in a locker room with a busted knee. Panther shifters could heal faster than most, he just needed a few minutes alone. He couldn't heal a broken knee in front of a crowded stadium.
"Just set him there," Kristin told the medical team that had helped carry him off the field. They put him on an exam table and Kristin started poking his knee. "Shit," she said. "It's broken."
"No," Derrick said, smiling, trying to play it off like it was nothing. "It's fine. I just need a minute. Got the wind knocked out of me, that's all."
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