Chapter 4 #2
I glance over her shoulder at Joe. He gives me a firm nod, but I don’t know him all that well.
My last coach had been here since I came to the team right out of college and won the Super Bowl with me.
We had trust. We had a rapport. I’ve known this guy for less than a month, and from guys I loosely know who played with him in LA, he’s a love-the-one-you’re-with sort of man.
We have a backup QB. A kid who was drafted in the first round this year. A kid who is itching to replace me. But he doesn’t hold this city in the palm of his hand the way I do. But how long does that level of devotion last when you’re unable to perform?
Or play since now it looks as though I’ll be out for the entire season.
For the first time in my life, I’m scared and questioning everything.
“Okay.” I swallow. Hard. “Tell me the truth. Do you feel you can do this successfully?”
The tablet falls to her side, and her green eyes—the prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen—meet mine. “I think I’m your best shot at ever playing again and being the type of player you want to continue to be.”
“Then put your hands on me, Doctor, and let’s get this started.”
And she does. The tablet gets set on the table, and then she’s standing before me. Her hands fall to my shoulder, and she manipulates me this way and that. Testing my range of motion and my strength—even limits of my pain—as she said she would.
Despite my worry over my shoulder and how generally what she’s doing isn’t the most pleasant, the feel of her hands on my skin isn’t lost on me.
Neither is her proximity, or the way she smells like heaven—if heaven were sexy and smelled sinfully delicious.
She’s focused on my shoulder, but I can’t drag myself away from looking at her.
At how her bottom lip is slightly plumper than her top one and how she has a freckle just to the left of her mouth.
Her skin is so creamy white, and I can’t get enough of how it almost glows in contrast with her dark hair.
She rakes her teeth along her bottom lip as she presses in on a particular tender spot, making me wince ever so slightly. My pretty minx presses again, just to the side of the spot, and gauges my reaction.
“Is that tender too?” Her voice comes out airy, and I wonder if she’s feeling this the way I am. I hope she is.
“Not as bad as the first spot.”
She nods, and then she’s done, her hands are gone, and her expression is stoic.
“Your strength and range of motion are better than I would have anticipated given what the films show. That’s good news for you. I’ll need you to come to my office on Monday for a presurgical interview.”
“No,” Joe cuts in sharply. “That has to be done here.”
She is not happy about that, and her expression lets him know it. “You do understand I can’t do his surgery here. He will have to come to the hospital.”
“Yes, but Limbick already promised me the earliest surgery time possible, an empty floor, and a private entrance,” he counters. “I want to minimize possible exposure to the press as much as possible.”
She grits her teeth and then turns back to me. “Fine. I’ll be back here Monday morning. Now, I’d like a private moment with my patient.”
Joe leaves the room, and so does the trainer, and suddenly it’s just us again. This is not the time to tell her how we’ve already met. Especially while she’s planning to cut into my shoulder. I sit here, my shirt still off, my eyes totally, completely, irrevocably on her.
“You can get dressed now,” she instructs me, but I don’t because she’s looking at my chest. At my shoulders and biceps. At my abs as I sit up straight and they naturally flex.
“You should come back tomorrow,” I offer instead, because Monday feels too far away, and I want to see her again.
Her head tilts. “Why should I do that?”
“So you can see how I throw the ball. So you can watch me play and figure out how best to fix me.” Makes total sense to me.
She scowls, shifting her weight. “I don’t want to be here anymore than I have to.”
“Then consider it part of your job, Doctor. From my understanding, you’re not just my doctor; you’re the team doctor now.”
Her eyes narrow into tight slits as anger visibly takes over her body. She doesn’t like that. Not one bit. “Fine,” she clips out. “I’ll be here tomorrow to see how you throw the ball and understand better where your deficits are.”
“Can the surgery wait until the end of the season?”
“You tell me, player,” she tosses back at me. “From what I saw, your MRI is a nightmare. From what I just examined, you’ve managed to compensate quite well for your injuries.”
I grit my teeth and turn away from her. I’m stuck in a tough spot. If I don’t have the surgery and I suck because I’m not in top form, Coach will bench me and put in the kid. If I have the surgery, then the season belongs to the kid.
I have a serious decision to make.
I turn back to her. “Will you watch me play and give me your honest thoughts?”
She shrugs. “I have no frame of reference when it comes to football. That’s a decision for you and your coach to make. Not me. I just give you the medical facts as I see them.”
“I don’t want you to cut into my body when you hate me.”
She emits a resigned sigh, or a heavy breath, or whatever that is. All I know is this is the first she’s softened since I found her in the bathroom earlier today. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then what is this to you? Because to me, it’s my career.”
She drops onto the stool and peers up at me.
“This is a nightmare. It’s not something I want to be a part of.
That said, I’d never cut into anyone without the intention of fixing them completely and giving my full focus to their case.
My anger with your coach or even with you will not interfere with your surgery. ”
“Why do you hate Coach?”
“Personal business that’s none of yours. The reason I wanted you alone is because I’m curious why you never had surgery on this shoulder before.”
I lean forward, my hands dangling between my parted thighs. Close enough that our faces are only inches apart, and it makes her breath catch. Yet she doesn’t pull back, and she doesn’t break eye contact.
“I don’t like doctors, other than my best friend, of course. But anytime someone I know has gone to see one of you, they’re either cut open, diagnosed with some seriously scary shit, or something vital is missed and they die.”
“Well, I’m here to cut you open, and it might not be pretty when I do.”
“Everything about you is pretty.” My eyes skate across her face, and when I land on the bottom of her neck, I reach out and gently place my fingers over her racing pulse point. “Is this for me?”
A blush rises up her cheeks and her pupils expand. “I thought you said the only one of us who would be doing any touching is me.”
“I lied.” My fingers trickle up her neck and then back down toward her pulse and the sexy dip just beneath it. I watch as goosebumps erupt across her skin, and she shudders ever so slightly.
Oh, I affect her all right.
“I don’t like flirts or football players, and I definitely don’t like it when my patients touch me inappropriately.” She shoves my hand away, and I sit up, smirking as I do.
“That all may be true, but it won’t stop me from trying to change your mind about that.” I hop off the table, throw my shirt back on, and head for the door. “See you tomorrow, Doctor.”