Page 10 of Irresistibly Risky

“Is what a joke?” I throw back at him, my mind still frazzled and my stomach still lurching. I need to pull myself back together, and this guy isn’t helping. “Listen, I’m sorry I was in the wrong bathroom, but I really should go. I’m expected upstairs and likely already running a little late now.”

“You can’t go.” He grabs my arm as I try to move around him, and I immediately jerk myself free of his grasp.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap.

His hands shoot up in surrender. “Sorry. It’s just…” He cuts himself off there, staring at me, squinting in a way that makes me shift my position, a little uncomfortable with his blatant scrutiny. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” Disappointment leaches from his lips.

I give him a quick once-over, and in doing so, my skin heats and my nipples tighten. An unexpected response, but Christ, this man is big and strong and insanely fucking gorgeous. Silver-gray eyes, dimpled chin, straight nose, full lips, and short, brown hair with hints of copper in it.

He’s hot.

That’s an obvious one, but I’d rather die than admit that to him.

Yes, there is definitely something familiar about him. Maybe. Probably because he’s a professional athlete and I’ve seen his face somewhere in passing. But still, I come up empty, having no clue who he is.

“No, I don’t.” Then I think better of it because the way he’s acting, it’s almost as if he knows me. “Should I?”

His mouth twists into a hard line, and his hands go to his hips. He blows out a heavy breath, an unhappy one possibly. For a moment, he just continues to stare down at me, working something through, until finally, in a rough tone, he says, “I guess not.”

“Uh. Okay.” This is getting awkward. Really awkward. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’m going to go.” He shifts in front of me again as I attempt to leave, and my heart rate spikes. “Move,” I demand, about ready to punch him in the balls if necessary. I don’t need this right now. My thoughts are swirling with what’s waiting for me, and this guy is the last thing I want to deal with.

He shakes his head at me, irritated almost, but at least now he’s keeping his distance. “You just said you’re here to meet with Asher Reyes?”

I fold my arms and refuse to answer, unsure if I should have said that.

“Well, that’s me, sweetheart.” He thrusts his hand out at me. “Asher Reyes, quarterback for the Boston Rebels. And you are?”

Oh, shit. Reluctantly, I reach out my hand. “Dr. Wynter Hathaway. Your new team and personal orthopedic surgeon.”

He grips my hand, and the moment we make contact, something funny happens. I can’t even describe what it is. It’s subtle, yet it’s not. It’s fire, yet my hands are ice-cold. It raises the hairs on my arm and sends a tingle up my spine. Both the good and the bad kind. Immediately, I release him.

He steps in a bit closer to me, his eyes doing a slow drag along my face feature by feature as if he’s trying to memorize every line and color I’m comprised of. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Dr. Hathaway. Coach Cardone mentioned you to me and spoke quite highly of you.”

It takes everything in me not to scoff and roll my eyes. I don’t dare touch that because I won’t have anything kind to say in return.

“I didn’t recognize you as the player I’m here to meet with,” I admit. “Football is my least favorite sport, and I don’t follow it.”

Now I understand why he was upset. He must have known I was coming to meet with him and since I’m in the football stadium, literally on his turf, and no doubt everyone in this town knows who he is, he must be annoyed I didn’t.

He emits an amused chuckle. “Wow. Most people never confess things like that to me.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You mean most people kiss your ass.”

He smirks, rubbing at his chiseled jawline, which looks sharp enough to cut glass. “Something like that. I’ll admit, I could die a happy man if you were at least the slightest bit impressed by me.”

My fingers clasp in front of me, and I meet his steady gaze head-on, ignoring how my body suddenly grows hot under the intensity of his eyes. “I’m here to help fix whatever orthopedic issue you’re having. That’s it.”

“So that’s a no on you being impressed by me?”

I hold in my smile at his charming, cocky, sure-fire grin. “That’s a no. A solid no at that.”

“Shame. You have no idea how rough on my ego it is that you don’t recognize me, but I suppose it’s no less than what I deserve given the circumstances. Hell, maybe it’s even a bit of a relief.”

“Pardon?”

He waves me off. “Nothing. I’m going to use the bathroom, but I look forward to our meeting. And to you putting your hands on me. Even if I can’t put mine on you.”

My jaw drops. What an egomaniac—the beautiful, talented ones always are—and now that I’ve met him, I can honestly say I like this assignment even less than I did before. If he’s anything like my father—who was also a quarterback—then I want as little to do with him as possible.

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