The Playbook (a Secret Baby Sports Romance) (4 page)

M
y head hurt
like it had been through five rounds with Tyson. And the phone call I’d just received was the last thing I needed. How he’d gotten my number—I’d changed it so many times—was beyond me. But as soon as I’d heard his voice I hung up and blocked his further attempts. When was he going to get the message that I didn’t want anything to do with him?

I thought it would take him longer to find me. I groaned. I was going to have to get a new cell. Instead of dealing with his crap I wanted nothing more than to lie in my bed and recuperate. Not only from the relentless hangover but also from the encounter with the most intriguing woman while looking for the untouchable and unfindable Lucia from the playbook.

While I didn’t remember everything about last night, I did remember enough to make me feel bad for the woman I had nearly accosted. Although I still had a bet to win, the searing kiss from my gym bunny had me wondering if I would run into her today at the stadium. I didn’t know her name, but I knew the curves of her body, and I just hoped that she wouldn’t go running the other way when we finally did meet without the aid of alcohol. I wanted to apologize for my drunken kiss, with the hope that she would let me take her out on a date so that I could end our night with something more fulfilling.

But first, I had to meet with some fucking performance coach or therapist or some shit like that. Today was not the day to be pouring out my feelings to some shrink who couldn’t care two fucks about me or my performance. Her voicemail from yesterday afternoon already told me that she wasn’t my biggest fan, considering I had missed the first appointment.

“
Mr. Maddox, you are required by the contract you signed with the Jupiter Suns to meet with me, and I expect my clients to show up when I schedule them. I further expect to see you in my office at nine a.m., first thing in the morning. Don’t be late, or I will be forced to turn in my blank report, which won’t be very good for you.”

Her tone belied her frustration, but I couldn’t help but notice a sexiness behind it. Images of an authoritative woman in killer heels standing ready to dress me down in the bedroom had my cock standing at attention.
Shit.
Her voice was starting to get me hard, and that didn’t bode well for the meeting that morning. I needed to get laid and soon, before I started humping the first thing in sight.

I pulled the car up to the stadium and parked in the players’ parking lot, wincing as I opened the door and climbed out into the bright sunshine. That was one thing I was already missing about Minnesota. In a hangover situation, it was nice to have a cloudy, overcast day instead of one that felt like it was driving dazzling spears into my eyes. My sunglasses didn’t even block out the rays; they pierced them, making my head throb.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before I was walking into the air-conditioned building and down the hall, my thoughts returning to the foolish bet I’d made with the guys. A little bit of alcohol in me and I thought I could do anything—well, I couldn’t back down now. I had to find this Lucia character so I could start wooing her and win two grand and my teammates’ respect. I had doubts that she was as tough as the book made her out to be. No woman could resist a winning smile and some smooth talking. I just had to find her so she could experience the Maddox charm. She was a challenge I was more than willing to handle.

Looking down at my watch, I realized I was already thirty minutes late for this stupid appointment. Clearly I was not going to be the therapist’s favorite player on the team, but nor did I care to be. All I really wanted to do was go back and bury my head in my covers for the rest of the day. Actually I wanted to bury myself into something else, but the gym bunny last night had been my only chance that evening. And after her rejection, instead of going back to the guys as a failure, I had made my way to the player’s digs somehow, passing out across the king-sized bed alone.

I found the office number and walked in, stopping in my tracks at the sight before me. The performance sports therapist, or at least I presumed it was her, was standing on a chair, her very shapely ass encased in a tight pencil skirt that was about eye-level across from me. Her legs were long and shapely and her body stretched out as she attempted to hoist some books onto a top shelf behind her desk. I couldn’t help but admire the view, taking in her wavy but tight frame as she stretched. God, what a sight. Every part of me, including my cock, was waving a thunderous hello, definitely not expecting the doctor to be such a looker from behind.

Loving the cock-teasing show, I leaned against the doorway, watching as she moved the books around on the shelf, her ass wiggling in the process, before I took in the rest of her small but tidy office. On the opposite wall there were numerous certificates encased in solid wood frames. So the doc was a smart one, go figure. The only certificate I had was my high school diploma, and hell if I knew where it was now. In college I had focused on football, going into one of those bullshit programs of study that would allow me maximum time on the field. Three years in and I was heading for the draft. At twenty-four, my life was engulfed by this career. Hell, I owed everything to my throwing arm, and if I ever found myself with an injury, I would be screwed. Without football, I would have nothing to fall back on, which tended to be a pitfall for most athletes. When we are at the top of the game, nothing else matters. Not school, sometimes not even the people in our former life. There was no thought to the what ifs, the thought that we might not play professionally long enough to build up a fat bank account and a comfortable lifestyle for the rest of our lives. I know I hadn’t, which was why this job was so important to me. If I didn’t climb the ladder back to the starting quarterback position, I could find myself traded again or worse, forced to travel overseas to play for a fraction of what I was making now.

Shrugging off my insecurities for the moment, I looked closer at the name on the certificates, wanting to put a name to her banging ass. She was still too preoccupied with her task to realize anyone else was in the room.

A frown crossed my face as I read her first name. I squinted. It was a distance away but my eyesight was perfect.
Lucia
. Surely not? The fucking therapist was Madam X? I looked back up at the woman who had yet to see me, her hair starting to tumble out of the neat bun at the base of her neck. My hands itched to curve around her ass, slide up her skirt and find out what was underneath. If this truly was the Lucia from the black book, then I had a perfect opportunity here. But the therapist? God, I couldn’t have any harder job in front of me. No wonder Terrence and Trey weren’t worried about their end of the bargain. I was as good as two grand down at that moment.

Pushing away from the doorframe, I started to move forward ready to turn on the charm, but my sleeve caught on the door’s handle, and I stumbled into the office instead. I looked up in time to see her jerk around at the sound, the chair wobbling precariously as she flailed her arms about.

With a burst of speed, I regained my balance and reached her before she hit the ground, her delicious body landing in my outstretched arms with a soft thud. I balanced myself under her added weight, wrapping my arms around her trim waist as she steadied herself against me. A flashback of how my gym bunny had ended up in my arms last night hit me. Hell, I must be starting a trend, gorgeous women falling into my arms at the weirdest moments.

Her eyes rose to meet mine and I was momentarily frozen by the familiar warm caramel color peering back at me, reminding me of a particular whiskey I often enjoyed. Then a bucket of cold realization doused me, my breath seizing in my chest. It was her, the woman from the gym that had left me horny as hell. I had found her.
Oh shit… I had found her!

No fucking way. The woman in my arms was the same woman that I’d been trying to track down, Lucia and my gym bunny. And fuck, on top of that she was the therapist. I wasn’t sure if lady luck was smiling down on me or laughing at me. Damn. Still, as the moment lingered, her still in my arms, her body felt so good next to mine. Damn near perfect.

“Um, Mr. Maddox, can you release me now?”

Still holding onto her tightly, startled by her words, I released her abruptly and caused her to stumble once more. My hand shot out and I grabbed her arm, feeling the softness of her skin under my fingers as I steadied her once again. She was wearing a sleeveless blue shirt to match the tight skirt, the material silky and clinging to her skin in all the right places.

Her face flushed and she immediately pulled away from my touch, straightening as she looked at me. “You’re late.”

“I’m never on time,” I responded, taking in her features with both dread and excitement. Shit. Of all people, I was not expecting this. Not in my wildest dreams did I expect Lucia from the playbook to be the therapist. No wonder she was marked untouchable. If Lucia’s credentials were real—and from the display of certificates on her wall, they were—she could read anyone like a book, making it extremely difficult to pull one over on her. But hell, she was a great kisser. One I had fucking dreamed about.

A frown appeared on her face, and she cleared her throat. “Well, Mr. Maddox, I expect all of my patients to be on time. My calendar is very important to me, and I like to stay on track.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have the meetings so early in the morning,” I grumbled.

She pursed her lips and pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “It is not my fault that you chose to be out late last night… getting up to no good. Sit. We are already behind.”

H
e was here
. I couldn’t believe that he was taking a seat in front of my desk, though the surly expression on his face told me this was the last place he would like to be.

Feeling somewhat disoriented myself, I made a great show of placing my shoes back on my feet and sliding my chair back to my desk, wishing that he had not seen me standing on it and nearly falling flat on my face. Surely he had had a good view of my backside for a few moments, though I didn’t know exactly how long he had been standing there. The thought both unnerved me and excited me. I could still feel the weight of his arms around my middle, the smell of him assaulting my senses and sending my body into overdrive. After the kiss last night, I had gone home to my pitiful TV dinner, but my thoughts had strayed to that kiss more than once. My dreams had been filled with it. Was I so pathetic that one kiss, one searing kiss, could take over my thoughts so much? Or was it more pathetic that I craved his touch again?

I looked up to find him watching me intently, and I instantly blushed. Glancing back down, I fidgeted with my notepad and pen. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way with him right in front of me! I was a professional, with a client in the room, and all I could think was how nice his arms had felt around me. Like they belonged there.

“So do we just stare at each other or what?”

I cleared my throat and pulled out a file, already labeled with his name in bold print.

“Of course not, Mr. Maddox, it won’t be that easy. I am Lucia, the team’s performance therapist. Performance therapy is a relatively new field, so if you’re not familiar with how this works—I don’t believe your previous team employed one—I will go over a few of the basics, okay?”

“Fine by me if we can be quick.”

His desire to leave made me bristle, and I sat up in my chair, urging myself to make stern eye contact. “I will be scheduling times with you to find out how you are with a number of things, namely how you are fitting in with the team and if you are experiencing any issues. And just so you are aware we do not condone bullying of any kind, hazing, or discrimination, so if you or anyone on your team is caught doing so, there will be consequences for your actions.”

“Did I just step back into high school?” he teased, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter.

I gave him my best no-bullshit look, hating the way he made me feel—like I should be stripping off my clothes before him. His teasing nature could rattle anyone, pulling them off-track, but I was going to show him that I was not so easily flustered. At least that’s what I told myself. “This is a serious matter, Mr. Maddox, and I expect you to treat it as such.”

“Sure,” he replied, leaning back in the chair. “Go ahead, Doc, therapy me away.”

I fought the urge to throw something at his cocky smile. “We’ll start small. Is there anything you would like to discuss? Are you anxious after your move?”

“Am I really here to discuss my feelings?” he asked with a sharp laugh. “Well, fine, today I am feeling like shit, Doc. Don’t suppose you have an aspirin, do you?”

“That’s not what this is about,” I said tightly, hating those that didn’t take this seriously. I had come onboard to make a difference in their lives, to provide them an outlet with someone open up to—anything that was driving them crazy and affecting them on the field. Most of the players were under a great deal of stress, trying to balance work and their home life under intense pressure and scrutiny. I wanted to be there to listen and offer advice, to give them the resources they needed to be successful, and most importantly help them succeed and focus when it mattered during games.

But most of them didn’t give me a chance to offer even the slightest bit of advice. Most of my time was spent trying to coax even one word out of them. Clearing my throat, I regarded another jokester in front of me. “I am sorry you are feeling bad. Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Fair point,” he grinned. “But it was fun, wasn’t it? Do you ever have any fun, Doc?”

“We aren’t here to talk about me,” I replied, folding my hands on the desk. I wasn’t going to comment aloud, but last night, for a brief moment, I had experienced a taste of fun. I just hated the fact that it had been with him.

“And I don’t want to talk about me,” he said, rubbing his hand over his hair idly. “This is a complete waste of time. I could be out training right now, not talking about my childhood and shit.”

My ears perked up and I leaned forward. “You would like to talk about your childhood?”

His face grew pale and he immediately shook his head. “Hell no, I don’t want to talk about my childhood. I’m done.”

I watched as he rose from the chair and started to leave, and panic started to set in; I was about to lose another one—Coach Hanshield will be pleased, I thought. I couldn’t let him go! I had yet to keep any player in the seat for longer than five minutes since I had started, and if another one walked out without scheduling a routine appointment, I was going to be in trouble. I needed one success story. I needed to prove that this really worked, that I could make a difference!

“No, wait, please,” I started, standing. He stopped and looked back at me, some of the color returning to his face. Obviously, his childhood was a sore subject. I would make a note of that later. “I’m sorry. I can help you however you would like. We can talk about anything or nothing at all, just please, don’t leave.”

He looked at me, and I knew I sounded desperate. I
was
desperate. This whole thing needed to work, otherwise I might as well pack up my diplomas and leave with my tail firmly between my legs and with the shame of letting my father down hanging around my neck. I already lacked the confidence of the majority of the coaches, and if my father got wind that I wasn’t having any success with the rest of the guys, I knew that would be the end of this little experiment. After all, my father wasn’t known for wasting money. I would be a failure, the one word I could not stomach. I was more than that.

“Why?”

“I… er, because.” How could I find the words to explain it all to him, to open myself up to that kind of scrutiny? This wasn’t my therapy session, for God’s sake.

“You really need for me to do this, don’t you?”

I cringed at the way he said it. I should just let him go, wallow in my self-pity, and move on. “I do,” I all but whispered, feeling a bit useless. “I really need this to work.”

A strange look crossed his face as he walked back toward the desk, his intense eyes staring into mine. “OK, fine. But on one condition.”

“What is it?” I asked, breathless with anticipation. Short of sleeping with him, I would do anything to keep him here.

He grinned then. “A date.”

“What?” I responded, surprised. A date? No I couldn’t go on a date with him! I had a strict no-player policy built into my contract. Besides, my father would kill me if he found out. “No I couldn’t possibly. It’s not allowed.”

“Oh well, then I can’t come visit you regularly,” he replied with a sad, exaggerated shrug. He was loving this. “Sorry, Doc, those are my terms.”

“One date?” I asked hesitantly. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go out with him. He was after all Jacob Maddox, handsome, cocky, and could kiss like the world was ending. I could only imagine what type of date we would have, but I had to stick to my guns, right? If I gave in just one time, I would be treading into some dangerous waters in more ways than one.

“One,” he replied, holding up one lone finger. “But sometimes you can’t just stop with one.”

I sighed loudly and sat back in my chair, glancing at the calendar before me. Could I make this work? I had to didn’t I?

“Fine, one date. I have an opening this Friday.” That was two days from now, giving me plenty of time to prepare for him and whatever antics he might try during the date.

“I’m free after eight,” he said, a grin appearing instantly on his face. I nodded and wrote down my address on a pink sticky note and handed it to him.

“Here, pick me up here.”

“See you then,” he said.

Before he could walk out the door, I quickly added, “There will be no kissing! Or… or touching!”

“Oh, Doc, I can’t promise anything of the sort.” He winked at me then started to whistle as he turned away.

I scrubbed my face with my hands and fought the urge to scream. What had I just done? I felt like I’d made a deal with the devil. Not only had I agreed to go out on a date with him, but he’d managed to wangle his way out of the therapy session we were having! I groaned. He’d played me. And I could lose my job over this—breaking my contract so openly—but if I didn’t get him on my side, I was done for anyway. Just one massive leap of faith, and perhaps the outcome would be worth it.