Chapter 14
I n theory, I’m supposed to hate everything about my situation. I am in pain—better today than yesterday, but still in pain. I have a low-grade infection and am now taking antibiotics. I’m not on the field, and I’m not throwing a ball, and I’m not leaving with my team for Houston tomorrow.
So yes, I’m supposed to hate everything right now.
Only Wynter is in the pool wearing a small black bikini and making tiny splashes and ridiculous faces at my son, who is tucked into a baby ducky floaty thing, giggling his head off at his mother.
I’m trying not to stare at her tits and hard nipples encased in the thin, wet triangles.
I promise you, I’m not. But let’s be real, she looks damn fine in that bikini.
Delicious curves and sexy pale skin I can’t get enough of.
Wynter hasn’t slept in my bed again. In fact, since our conversation in the bathroom yesterday morning, she’s pulled back from me. Again.
And while that’s not what I want, her distance mixed with intermittent moments of forgetting why she’s determined to hate me is certainly what I’ve come to count on.
She’s the challenge I never expected, the desire I never wanted, and the woman I was never looking for.
“Asher?”
My head snaps up. “Yes?”
A raised eyebrow. “What do you think?”
What do I think? I think I have no idea what you asked me. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“You agree I should take off my top, so I don’t get tan lines from all the sun filtering in through the open glass?”
I hesitate. Am I dreaming, or is this a trap? “Ummm… Yes?”
“Will you help me untie the strings then? With your good hand, of course.”
My gaze bounces back down to her tits, which are so pretty and perky, overflowing the confines of the meager black fabric containing them. “I’m dreaming, right?”
“No.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “You weren’t listening, so I’m putting things on your level until you figure out how to focus on something other than my tits.”
I legit might be in love. I know I was posturing or being flippant about it when I first spoke to my guys, but now I’m hopelessly lost in her. She can’t stand me, but that’s only another turn-on.
“Impossible. Your beauty is spellbinding.”
She rolls her eyes as she twirls Mason’s floaty in a circle. His arms fly up, and he lets out a squeal every time she does it. The kid is so damn easy to please. Like me. He didn’t even whine or fuss when she lathered him with enough sunscreen to not just protect him from the sun but to refract it.
“Fine. Fake apologies. What can I do for you, my ice queen?”
“Move your arm in twelve circles, six forward, six backward.”
She’s trying to rehab me, which is adorable.
Her boss point-blank told her she had to spend the rest of the week looking after me and that she wasn’t allowed in the hospital.
You can imagine how well she liked that.
Especially when Coach jumped on the bandwagon and made it clear I’m her number one priority.
She hates it.
She hates being sidelined to care for me, especially when I don’t exactly require a lot of care. She does, however, love being home with our big guy, so there were no complaints about spending an afternoon in a rooftop pool when I suggested it.
“Yes, Doctor. I’m on it.”
I do the movements she forces me to do about ten times a day, and I feel the tightness—and a decent amount of discomfort—but push through it.
I’m a football player. Sore muscles and tight joints and pain come with the gig.
She told me immobility would be my worst enemy, and I believe her, so I do what she tells me.
“Good boy. Should I give you a treat?”
I give her a crooked smile, scissoring my legs back and forth in the cool water as I sit on the edge of the pool. “You think degrading me like I’m a dog will throw me off your scent, but sweetheart, the only treat I want from you right now is to kiss your pretty lips. Either set.”
She splashes water in my direction that falls way short of getting me wet, but I’ve had a margarita today—for medicinal purposes only—and I think we’ve already established I’m a lightweight, so for me, that was game on.
I hop off the ledge and trudge through the waist-deep water in her direction.
She shrieks, her hands flying outward as if that will stop me.
“No! You can’t get your shoulder wet. Out of the pool, player.”
Just before I reach her, I dip down, careful not to get my shoulder wet, and swoosh in, faking her out, left, right, left, and land a kiss on the side of her neck. “I bet you wish I had gone for your lips.”
“Jerk!” She pinches the nipple on my good side as hard as she can, as if that simple act of impulsivity is a deterrent against my main motivation—her.
She doesn’t know that shit turns me on, but she’s about to.
Only I can’t swoop her up over my shoulder fireman style, and I can’t drag her up into my chest like a bride.
I’m a man with limitations for the first time in his life.
It sucks.
My good arm bands around her body, and I toss Mason a wink as I haul his mother against my chest. “If I loosen just one knot, the whole thing comes undone.”
“You try it and I’ll pinch your earlobe, and trust me when I tell you, you won’t like that nearly as much as the nipple tweak.”
“You like me.” I lick her neck again, just to prove the point that she’s mine. “Admit it. It’s okay. Everyone does.”
“Gross! Stop it with that! I don’t like you,” she protests. “You’re aggravating and arrogant and rarely serious.”
“That’s…” I pause, thinking that through. “Fair. I am all those things. But you’re stuck with me, so you might as well learn to love me.”
“I already love your offspring. That’s enough Asher Reyes for me.”
My phone rings from the side of the pool, interrupting my witty retort. With a groan and a hell of a lot of reluctance, I release my feisty doctor and wade back through the water, only to groan again when I see it’s my PR manager.
“Crap. I have to take this.”
Wynter waves me on, and I pick up the phone, slide my finger across the screen, and head for the steps at the far end of the pool since I can’t hoist myself out of it.
“Jean,” I answer as I trudge up the steps and go for a towel. “What’s up?” I tuck the phone against my good shoulder and then wrap the towel around my waist.
“The news on your shoulder broke about ten minutes ago. It hit Boston Sports Network first but quickly spread like wildfire over the internet.”
“Shit,” I hiss, and Wynter’s head snaps in my direction with a concerned frown. I shake my head and turn partially away. “There goes my perfectly planned press conference for Monday.”
“Yes. We need to get damage control on this now.”
“Great. Okay. Give me five minutes, and I’ll call you back. I’m just getting out of the pool.”
“Sounds good. I’ll call Freddy and your agent now.”
Jean hates my agent, Hunter, and never refers to him by his first name. Ever. My theory is they had a thing once that didn’t end too well.
We disconnect the call, and I turn back to Wynter, who is pulling Mason out of his floaty and walking him toward the stairs. “Everything okay?”
“The news on my shoulder broke before we could release it ourselves.”
Her head tilts as she tucks Mason against her, but hell, even with this news, Wynter walking toward me wet and in that bikini is all kinds of distracting.
“Do you know who broke it?”
“I’m not sure. That was Jean, my PR person. I told her I’d call her back.”
“Then you should go do that.”
“I can help you with him first.” I hand her a towel that she wraps around both her and Mason.
“We’re fine, Asher. Go. You’ve got business to deal with. He’s ready for a nap now anyway.”
“Thanks.” I drop a kiss on each of his cheeks.
“See you in a bit, big guy. Sweet dreams. Dada loves you.” I make the sign for father as I say dada—since dada is easier to say than daddy—and then drop a kiss on Wynter’s cheek, and quickly step back with my hand in the air when she looks like she’s ready to cut off my balls.
“That was for luck. For me. I might need it.”
I toss her a wink and then open the door for them, following closely behind as they head down the stairs, Wynter and Mason going in one direction, me in the other.
I speed across the apartment into my master, where I strip out of my wet trunks and step into a pair of sweatpants, and forgo the shirt because it’s too hard to do one-handed right now.
Then I head into my office and tap on my keyboard, illuminating both monitors I have on the desk. I go to the Boston Sports Network page, and there it is in big bold font. “Asher Reyes has shoulder surgery. Questions on the season and his future with the Rebels uncertain.”
Dickheads.
I dial up Jean, setting my phone on the desk and pressing the speakerphone button so I can talk hands-free.
As it rings, I do a quick Google search, and hundreds of articles already pop up.
I rub my hand across my forehead and back through my hair.
My contract is up in two years. I never considered the team wouldn’t resign me, but then they brought in Leo and Joe Cardone, and now with my injury, I have no idea what’s headed my way.
There’s a chance I could be playing for another team by this time next year.
“Hey,” she answers on the third ring. “I’m going to patch you in with Freddy and your agent.”
“K. Sounds good.” My voice sounds empty, even to my own ears.
A second later, the three of them are on the phone, all talking at once and over the others.
“One at a time,” I bark, clicking on link after link, all saying a variation of the same thing. “I hate it when you all do this shit. Just tell me what the deal is, who leaked it, and what I have to do now.”
“We don’t know who leaked it,” Jean starts. “The story is very vague other than to say you had potentially season-ending surgery earlier this week. The story claimed a reliable source close to you leaked it. That could mean a player, someone on the coaching staff, a hospital employee, your doctor—”
“It’s not my doctor,” I clip out. “Dr. Hathaway would never do that.”
“Okay,” Jean says, backpedaling. “Then not her. But the point is, we don’t know who leaked it.”
“It had to be someone who benefits from the press knowing,” Hunter growls—since he always growls—into the speaker. “Who could that be?”
“Leo comes to mind” I answer easily because that’s true.
“Maybe,” he agrees. “I’ll look into it.”
And I’ll have Lenox look into it as well because he has ways of getting information no one else does. Because if I learn it’s Leo—
“Great,” Freddy chimes in, cutting off my thoughts. “Moving on. When is the press conference? I’m assuming we now need to do one before Monday, which means I need to go shopping ASAP for the perfect outfit.”
“I think it needs to be tomorrow morning,” Jean states emphatically.
“I agree,” Hunter declares. “News is buzzing, and the speculation is rampant. We need to get a grip on this before it spins even more out of control. We’ll call a press conference for tomorrow at the stadium.”
“Wow, you agreeing with me is a first,” Jean smarts.
“A first, and likely a last.”
I roll my eyes Wynter style. “Let’s not start with this. I agree we should do a press conference tomorrow. Freddy, that means I’m wearing what I already own. The team leaves tomorrow for Houston, so it’ll be quiet there. They won’t be able to get any immediate soundbites from anyone.”
“Right. Good.” Hunter clears his throat. “Then you need to be seen out tomorrow night.”
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. “What do you mean by out? I’m supposed to be recovering from surgery.”
“I’m not suggesting you go clubbing or anything, but fans need to see you’re out and doing well. A quiet dinner somewhere. We need to believe you will, in fact, be back this season. Hiding away suggests the opposite.”
“I hate to agree with your agent because I won’t be starting that trend, but yes, you need to be seen out and looking healthy.”
“Fine. I’ll get the guys and we’ll—”
“No,” Hunter cuts me off. “With a woman. Go out with a woman. You haven’t been photographed with one in a while, and we can move the talk from your shoulder to a female.”
“Um. No.” I glance toward my open doorway, thinking of Wynter.
I’d love to take her out to a quiet dinner.
Hell, I’d love to take her out to a rowdy dinner with Mason, but not only would she never agree to the date, but the reasons I can’t date her in public are also numerous.
And now that my face is front-page news, it’s even riskier to be seen with her.
I’m glad they moved in. Hell knows how else I’d be able to make seeing my son work.
“Yes.” Hunter is adamant. “Go out with a woman. Have dinner with her. Fuck her or not, but let the press see that you’re feeling good enough to be with someone, and let that someone churn the gossip mill into off-the-field talk.”
“I don’t even know who I’d ask, and I’d rather not use a woman I’ve had a thing with in the past. I’d need someone new, and I don’t have anyone new.
” Because I haven’t dated anyone in a while, and the only woman who is new in my life is the one woman I can’t have on my arm.
Even if she’s the only one I want there.
“I have someone,” Freddy states, but I can hear the discomfort in his voice.
He knows about Wynter. He knows I moved her in here, but I haven’t told my agent or my PR person yet because I’ve heard of things like that getting leaked as well, and though I trust them, I don’t trust them enough to risk my son or Wynter.
Especially if they’re looking for something to take the heat off my shoulder, and my future on the team.
“Who is someone?” I question, tapping my fingers impatiently on my desk.
“A model slash influencer. Beautiful with a big following on Instagram and TikTok. She’d be perfect.
She’d take a selfie and post it and it would likely go viral, and then boom, your shoulder is no longer front-page news.
You can deny any relationship and simply blow it off, but as much as I hate to agree, I think a date could help. ”
“Hell, get yourself laid.” Hunter chuckles into the phone, and I groan. The last thing I plan to do is fuck some influencer-model chic.
“Okay,” I grumble reluctantly. “Set it up.”
I have a bad feeling I’m going to regret this.