Playing The Field (The Toronto Tigers #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Anastasia

T he frigid night air brushes against my clammy skin as I make my way to the parking deck of the hospital for the last time. It’s been three weeks since I received that life-changing call from the Tigers, and I’ve been counting down every second since. I turned in my notice the very next morning, with only a small amount of professional guilt for leaving the nursing staff another doctor short.

While there were some lows during my last few shifts, I also got to experience a few final rewarding moments. Like watching Mrs. Jenkins wheel her husband through those double glass sliding doors, both of them wearing matching smiles because he beat the odds and is going home.

I climb into my car and grip the steering wheel with both gloves hands, squeezing tightly as I let the emotions of the last week surge through me. It’s an odd mix of elation, guilt, excitement, and fear. I start my car, trying to dispel the jittery nerves as I head toward my apartment, hoping that Veronica is home.

I need my drinking buddy tonight.

Because tomorrow I head to the Tigers’ facility to meet with the team and sign the rest of my contract.

The drive through the city is quiet, and I don’t realize until after I’m parked that I never turned the radio on. I was too caught up in my thoughts to even notice. The silence is short-lived though, because as soon as I open the apartment door Veronica ambushes me.

“Happy last day!” She shouts and throws a streamer at me and holds up two glasses of white wine.

I bat the streamer away with a shriek and then take one of the glasses from her. “It was bittersweet,” I say quietly and sink down into the plush cushions of our sofa. “I’m nervous,” I admit after a few sips from my glass.

“It’s a big change,” she responds with a small nod toward the television, where a highlight reel is playing.

I watch the snippets flash across the screen, my leg bouncing rapidly. “What if they aren’t anything like I imagined? What if I hate the medicine? What if…” I let my voice trail off as the fear churns in my stomach.

What if I can’t handle it?

“Uh uh, none of that. We do not let doubt and self-pity live in this apartment and you know it!” Veronica finishes her glass and sets it on the table. “You need to get some of this nervous energy out. You’re too keyed up. What you need…” her voice trails off and I already know what she’s about to suggest.

I hold up my hand to stop her. “I don’t need to get laid,” I quip and set my empty glass down beside hers. “I don’t need another one-night stand. The last one was enough.”

“Was it though?” Vee asks doubtfully, her eyebrows quirked. “Because you haven’t had sex or even gone out with a man since you got back from your Cape Town adventure.”

The memories that I’ve been trying so hard to tamp down resurface with a vengeance. It was only one night. How could it leave such a lasting impression on me? Despite my efforts, I can’t forget the man I so boldly propositioned on my last night in South Africa.

Graham.

His lips as they pull up into that devilish smirk. The way his eyes smoldered in the dim light of the restaurant when I seated myself at his table. His fingers as they explored every part of me. Then there was his tongue…

“Earth to Ana!” Vee snaps her fingers at me and the thought abruptly stops. “You were thinking about him again, weren’t you?”

“It was hard to avoid because you brought him up!” I argue and hug a pillow to my chest, trying to recover from the shock of pain in my heart.

“Sorry,” she mutters and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “But you’re the idiot who didn’t get his last name.”

She’s right, though. We agreed to maintain a level of mystery and only exchanged first names.

“I don’t need that in my life right now anyway,” I respond distantly, my mind already straying back to the memory of his lips on my skin. If only I could put my money where my mouth is. My stomach flutters and need floods through me so viscerally that I have to clench my thighs together. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, Ana,” she calls after me as I slink down the hall and close the door behind me.

I groan and drop face down onto my bed, a mixture of heartache and left loathing twisting my insides because I can’t shake the memories of that night in Cape Town. It’s been a few weeks since I last found myself in this position, but the need pulsing between my thighs is too strong to ignore. I have no choice but to surrender if I want to get any sleep tonight, so I grab the vibrating wand from my nightstand and shimmy out of my leggings.

My eyes squeeze shut as I imagine his fingers skimming along my skin, tracing a scorching path down my stomach and between my legs. I can almost hear his ragged panting and his deep baritone in my ear.

“Spread your legs for me, Doc, let me see how wet that needy cunt is for me.”

I turn it on and lightly press it against my throbbing clit. My legs jerk as my knees fall open and white hot desire engulfs me. The thought of him sitting at the edge of the bed watching me chase an orgasm makes my stomach quiver in the most delicious way. I trace the wand in slow circles along my clit, my hips jerking erratically.

“Look at how you squirm for me.”

A gasp tears from my lips as I press the wand down harder against my sensitive flesh, my hips undulating slowly as the pleasure builds. It coils tightly in my lower abdomen, sending little shockwaves through my system as I get closer to release.

“Does that poor pussy need to be filled, Ana? Does it need my cock to stretch it out?”

I let out a desperate whimper as my body grows hot and my muscles tense, my back arching off the mattress as I increase the speed of the wand. My inner walls clench around nothing as my clit pulsates against the vibration.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you’re on the brink of an orgasm. Be a good girl and come for me.”

The speed increases again and my body reacts viscerally to the words playing in my mind. My pussy quivers as pleasure erupts from my throbbing clit and white dots dance across the backs of my eyelids. The ecstasy coursing through my veins is mind-numbing. My muscles unlock as I pull my knees together and lay panting on top of my blankets.

In my post-orgasmic haze, I manage to get up to get some water before changing into pajamas and wrapping myself into a cocoon of blankets. My mind drifts lazily as I think about tomorrow. Maybe I’ll meet a nice rugby player and I’ll fall in love.

I need something because I can’t spend the rest of my life with a wand and a memory.

I stand in front of the training facility and stare at the huge glass windows, gripping my coat tightly around my neck like that would hold in the panic. My heart is racing in my chest and my lungs burn with each breath, and it has nothing to do with the frigid air.

A man in a grey suit emerges from the sliding doors and hurries toward me, his breath misting in front of his lips as he pants. “Anastasia?” he asks hopefully and smiles when I give him a nod. “Great. I’m Brady. We spoke on the phone.” He shakes my hand and then promptly tucks his back into his pockets. “If you want to come with me, I’ve got everything set up in the conference room.”

“Okay.” I look around the entryway as we step through the sliding doors, my breath caught in my throat. The photos of this place just don’t do it justice. My heels click against the polished floor as Brady, the GM, leads me past the open gym doors. I can’t help but peek my head inside to see who I can catch a glimpse of, but the room is empty and the equipment is stacked neatly into rows against the far wall.

“The players won’t be here for another few hours,” Brady says from behind me, making me jump.

My cheeks heat and I step away from the gym. “Will I be able to get a tour after I sign away the rights to my soul?”

He chuckles softly. “You will get a tour, but you won’t be signing your soul to the team. This is a temporary position, just to cover for Dr. Logan until she’s able to come back.”

My heart drops to the floor. A temp position? I worry my lip between my teeth as we start back down the hallway. “How long is she going to be out?”

“She took 12 weeks,” Brady responds softly. “But between you and me, I’m not sure that she’s interested in coming back. With the new owner, everything is up in the air. But I don’t want you getting your hopes up, so it’s better to plan for this being a temporary spot.”

“Of course,” I mutter and follow him into the conference room. Despite his warning, I can’t keep the small kernel of hope from blooming in my chest. The table is littered with stacks of papers and files, some of which are open and spread across the surface like someone was pouring over them.

“Mr. Callahan was going to join us, but he got called away to deal with some…unsavory business,” Brady says with a slight scowl.

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with the most recent news article featuring the one and only Novak, would it?” I ask curiously, skimming my eyes along the paragraphs of the contract.

It’s no secret that the Tigers struggle to control Novak, and his image alone is dragging the team through the dirt. I saw the article last night as I was scrolling through the hashtags trying to find a mention of who the new owner is. Novak was arrested for yet another DUI after fleeing the scene of a bar fight. If he wasn’t the team’s only chance at winning games, I’d truly hate him.

As it stands, I was taught never to hate someone that I’ve never met, especially not someone who could be the only chance of a decent season for my team. I sit down and Brady slides a stack of papers toward me.

“That would be it,” Brady confirms with a chuckle. “News travels like wildfire, doesn’t it?” He sits down in a chair on the opposite side of the table and hands me a pen. “That’s the general contract. It includes the NDA, benefits we offer, and what we expect of our team doctors.”

I nod slowly as I read through the paragraphs. I have no idea what I’m actually looking at, and I’m regretting not getting my lawyer to look these over first, but it’s too late for that now. The stacks are detailed and slightly intimidating. “Do you have a coffee machine?” I ask sheepishly. “It looks like we might be here a while.”

“Of course!” Brady pulls out his cell phone and types out a quick message. “Betty will be right in. She’s Mr. Callahan’s assistant and is the main reason this place runs smoothly. She’ll be able to get you whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” I lean back in my chair and run my fingers through my hair, a few of the nerves dispelling at the thought of meeting the person who helps run the routine. Plus a coffee sounds great right about now since I slept like shit because my dreams were plagued with a pair of piercing dark blue eyes.

It took us almost four hours to get through all the nitty-gritty details of the contracts, but once we broke everything down into small increments it was easier to understand. I feel better about signing all those forms, but some of it was still too ‘lawyer-ish’ for me to understand. I can only hope that they aren’t going to screw me over at the end of my 12-week term.

I step into the locker room and reel in my inner fangirl. The open-faced lockers line the walls, and each one has a game-day jersey hanging neatly from a hook. Benches stretch out in front of the lockers and in the center of the room. The dark floor shines under the bright fluorescent lights.

A few players are bent over a phone screen, heads pulled together as they chuckle and point at the phone, but they’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying. Two more players brush past us as they head over to their lockers, and I have to physically bite my tongue to keep the squeal contained. Both centers look over their shoulders and eye me suspiciously.

Brady clears his throat. “Boys, this is the new team doctor, Dr. Bellows. She’s filling in for Dr. Logan while she’s out.”

I want the floor to open up and swallow me as all the players turn their attention to me. I give them an awkward wave. “Hi, I’m Anastasia.”

“Did we get a discount at the school of medicine for getting a trainee?” A condescending voice cuts through the silence.

I turn and see Novak towel-drying his wet hair, glaring in our direction. “Did the cops give you a discount for your frequent flyer miles?” I snap back, unable to hold my tongue.

Several players erupt into laughter and Novak deepens his scowl as he straightens and throws the towel in a hamper in the corner. “When are you due to graduate?”

My nostrils flare and anger boils my blood. The retorts burn on my tongue, but I swallow them back. I don’t want to make this impression on my first day meeting the players. Instead, I take a deep breath and turn back to the other players, hellbent on ignoring Novak completely. “I’ve been working at St. Helena’s hospital in both the ICU and CCU departments. I look forward to working with you all this season. I’ve been a huge fan for years.”

Novak scoffs. “I doubt that. I bet you haven’t even watched a full game.”

I hate him.

I’ve met him, and I don’t care how many points he can score for the team.

I hate him.

He gives me a slow once-over and it makes me feel dirty — in the worst way. He smirks, and that too makes a shiver crawl up my spine. Then he cups his junk, and says, “I’d be happy to give you some pointers, Doc . You can write your final assessment on the anatomy of a big dick.”

The locker room falls eerily quiet and I can’t tell if it’s because this is normal for someone like Elias Novak, or because everyone — the GM included — has been shocked silent.

Hearing him call me Doc reminds me of Graham, though I actually liked it when he called me that. The asshole in front of me, however, is a different story.

I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself when the eighth man and team captain, Dominic Carter, stands from his place on a bench. “Enough, Elias,” he growls and turns his attention to the group around the phone. “And shut that shit off!” He holds out a hand to me, which I shake gingerly. “I’m Dominic. Glad to have you on board, Anastasia.”