Chapter Fifteen
Dash
“Can you give me a number for your pain? One being the least amount of pain, ten being the most.” The team massage therapist pushes against my shoulder while bending my arm in a way that makes stars swim in my vision.
“Five,” I grit out.
Tre—at least I think that’s his name—frowns. “That sounded more like a ten than a five.”
“What can I say?” I roll my shoulder back once his hands fall away. “I have a high pain tolerance.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “I think you should see the team doctor.”
Dread coils in my midsection, tightening like a serpent. “Thanks for the advice. Now, do I get that massage or…?”
“I don’t want to hurt you any further.”
I fist my knuckles against the massage bed. “You won’t hurt me. I just need some of the tension rubbed out.”
He raises an eyebrow, giving me a full once over. “I’m happy to work on you. After you see Eric.”
I run a hand through my hair before dropping it at my side. “Look, this is an old injury.” Biting back the rest of it, I curse under my breath. I shouldn’t have to give this guy my full medical history just to have some relief from the pain.
“You know what? I’m good.” I hop off the table and stalk toward the showers, needing to wash off the grime from practice. My shoulder throbs like it’s about to fall off, but I push through it.
I’m not usually this grouchy or stubborn, but this level of pain has a way of bringing me to new lows. It’s not that I don’t want to see the team doc, it’s just that I know what he’ll tell me. And I’m not quitting this tournament before it ends.
Nor am I ready to forfeit next season.
If this is to be my last one, I’d like to go out on my terms. Not on the word of some doctor who hasn’t even known me for even a month. Nah, I’m not going there. Not yet. Not unless my arm detaches from my shoulder.
After a cold shower where I let the spray soak through my skin for a good long time, I dress and check the time on my phone. My gift should be arriving at Ruby’s salon any minute now. I would have loved to deliver it myself, but I had early practice.
I wanted to text her back last night and convince her I’m the king of proving my intentions, but I figured actions speak louder than words.
Leaving the practice facility, I drive back to my hotel. Just as I’m about to lay down, rest my shoulder, and take a nap, my phone buzzes.
My smile starts before I even open the text.
Tinsel: How do I look?
My pulse races when a loading bar appears underneath the text she sent. I jerk to an upright sitting position. After long, painstaking seconds, a picture of Ruby wearing my jersey pixelates into a beautiful reality on my screen.
Dang, she’s gorgeous. And the craziest part is she doesn’t even know it.
Her long brown hair is pulled up into an elaborate bun that makes little hairs stick out on top in that sexy librarian sort of way. She’s tugging on the bottom hem of the jersey, so it molds more to her curves, and is staring at her smiling reflection in a mirror while snapping a selfie.
I’m still staring at her picture like a caveman who’s seeing his first woman when another text pops up.
Tinsel: Seriously, Dash, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, typing out a response.
Me: You asked me to prove my intentions. This is my way of doing that. I’m glad you like it.
I lay back on the bed, grinning from ear to ear, as I settle into this conversation. Even the pain in my shoulder seems to ebb when I’m talking to Ruby.
Tinsel: I really do. It’s a little big but it fits your personality.
I laugh out loud at that.
Me: If you think my personality is big, just wait until you meet my big Italian family.
Oh, crap. Realization dawns when I think of two totally different worlds colliding—shy, sweet Ruby and my big, over-the-top family. If Ruby keeps coming to all the games, there’s a very strong chance she’ll meet them.
Do I want that?
Tinsel: Making a mental note of that. lol My family is not big or loud. But they’re the best.
Me: I can tell your family is important to you. Beckett is a whole vibe, honestly. Wish I had bro’s confidence.
Tinsel: He’s a lot like my mom. Whip smart, dark red hair and freckles, and wise beyond his years.
Me: I love that. And I’d love to meet her someday.
I blow out a breath as a mixture of anxiousness and excitement flows through me. Ruby and I just met a few days ago, yet here we are talking about our families, getting to know each other on a deeper level, and flirting like we both want this.
It’s exactly what I’d hoped would happen when I left her my number, but now that it has, my insecurities resurrect to taunt me. What if she gets to know me and realizes I’m not all I’m cracked up to be? What if, down the line, she realizes that—for whatever reason—I’m just not enough for her?
Tinsel: I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to get back to work. Thank you again for the jersey.
Panic has me typing out another knee-jerk response.
Me: Wait. Are you busy tonight? Would you and Beckett like to sit with me at the women’s game?
Those little dots pop up, then go away. I bite my cheek, waiting. They pop up again.
Tinsel: Sure. What time should we meet you and where?
I exhale, and some of the tightness in my chest dissipates. I quickly type out the details, and when she gives me the thumbs up, I tell her I can’t wait to see her later.
One thing I know for sure—I don’t know where my future with Ruby will take me, but the question I need to ask myself is…am I willing to risk my heart again for a chance to see where it could go?