Page 45 of Force Play

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll see you after we win,” I say softly, her eyes already heavy.

Chapter 16

Indie

Leather sticks to my skin and I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to get comfortable. The pillow slips and a zing of pain shoots up my leg in the darkness when I move to grab it. Slowly, I sit up, disoriented at first. My ankle throbs where it’s propped up, bringing back the events that lead me to wake up on a cold leather couch.

The squirrel, the bike, Dom. It all comes rushing back.

Moving gingerly this time, I sit up. My eyes adjust to the low light and I see that someone left a pair of crutches for me, probably Grant. Judging by the thick grogginess that still clings to me I was out for a while and the game is probably well underway.

I hobble my way towards the light filtering in from the hallway and find Grant still in the trainer’s office, right where I left him. Only now the TV is on, and he’s engrossed in the game.

“You’re awake. I came in to check on you a few times and had to make sure you were still breathing,” he jokes, glancing from the TV to me momentarily before he stands and offers me his seat.

I want to refuse, but I’m still too tired and sore.

“It’s already the eighth inning.”

There’s no point in trying to hide my yawn. He’s seen me at my worst once already today.

“As I said. Out like a light.” Grant rolls another chair over and helps me elevate my foot. “We should ice that while you’re awake.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just grabs a bag of ice out of the chest freezer in the corner and fits it against my ankle.

Between the weight of the ice and shock from the cold, I hiss through my teeth.

“You really did a number on it. It’s going to hurt for a while, and it’ll heal faster if you stay off it.”

Groaning, I let my head fall backwards, already feeling trapped by the stupid injury. “How long are we talking?”

“Oh, you’re going to be one of those.”

“One of what?” Goosebumps cover my skin and I cross my arms, attempting to stay warm. The closed off posture and my words give off defensive vibes. But I suppose I am.

“The kind that can’t sit still and ends up hurting it worse.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Nothing isn’t an option, not when getting outside and moving my body basically keeps me sane.

“Swimming, but only if it doesn’t aggravate the injury. Dom had a similar injury during spring training last year. He can show you the pool exercises he did. It’s mostly walking and running with a flotation belt on until it’s strong enough to swim.”

Perfect. Where the hell am I going to find a pool? Especially one that I can use anytime of day and without dozens of other people around. That’s the reason I run to nature when things in the real world get too hard. Solitude helps me think.

“Let me grab you a sweatshirt or something,” Grant says, his eyes dropping to my bare legs. Between the ice and the dried sweat from my ride, I’m freezing.

He’s back a minute later handing me an oversized black and teal hoodie. I don’t need to see the number four stitched on the arm to know who it belongs to. The second I pull it over my head, warm amber and rich jasmine surround me. I hate the way it immediately relaxes me. And that it’s so perfectly him—a little sweet, a little spicy, and so damn wholesome. It could be straight out of a cologne ad in one of my mom’s Good Housekeeping magazines from the nineties.

Ducking my head I breathe it in one more time. That’s all I’ll allow myself. Despite my annoyance, the sweatshirt does the trick, helping to chase the chill away. With no other options, I watch the Bandits wrap up the game, narrowly beating the LA Diablos two to one.

It’s a miracle I’ve avoided the other guys this evening, but I know the chances of escaping the stadium unseen are slim. It’s not that I want to hide this from anyone, but I’m just not ready to deal with the explanation for why I was out riding alone in the first place. Not until I know what I’m doing.

When the door to the office bangs open, I’m so startled that I almost topple off the chair. Thankfully, I don’t. But I do laugh when I see Dom standing there, hair still dripping wet and his joggers on inside out. All the humor quickly fades when my eyes settle on his bare chest, water droplets still clinging to his firm pecs.

“Ready to get out of here?” he asks.

I hear him, but I can’t pull my eyes away from the rivulet that is slowly running down the valley that splits his stomach, heading straight to where his perfect dick is outlined by his sweatpants. Did he forget his underwear in his rush?

“Can you check her head again? There’s got to be something wrong with her if she’s openly gawking at me.”

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