Page 13 of Irresistibly Risky

Damn, my future wife is fucking hot.

I chuckle to myself at that thought and then breeze into the empty trainer’s room and hop up on the cushioned table they have in here. The facility is empty save for me, Joe, one of the trainers who is somewhere else right now, and Wynter. My new doctor.

Shit. That probably means I can’t touch her, right? Isn’t there a thing against that? I’ll have to ask Callan about it. He’d know.

Looking around the empty room, I hate that I’m having to be here and go through this. I feel like Coach is making a bigger deal out of this shoulder issue than necessary. Day one of training camp, and I took a hard hit. Not the first one, and certainly not the last. It took me a bit to get up, and then it took me a bit to work it out, but I eventually did. Sorta.

My speed is off a little.

I know it is.

The first time I took a hit like that, I was in my senior year of college, and it was my first game as a starter. They could have broken every bone in my body, and I would have gotten back up and continued to play. That was finally my shot, and I wouldn’t let them X-ray, let alone MRI anything on me because no way was I taking that chance. I could still throw. I could still play ball. As the youngest son of Dominic Reyes, younger brother to Jude Reyes, I couldn’t let the legacy die with me.

I had already dicked around for too long—that’s what my father called it—when I was with Central Square, touring the world and living out rock star glory with my best friends. But now…

I roll my left shoulder, trying to work it out, only… I feel it. The twinge. The creak of something not right inside me. Truth? It scares me. What am I if I’m not Asher Reyes, quarterback for the Boston Rebels? The team I grew up loving with my life’s blood. The team I would do anything for.

Now I have to sit through an exam with the woman I did wrong one drunken night in a bathroom. She is going to touch me. That’s part of her job. And my shirt will have to be off during it. If this were porn, I’d have her blouse off and my mouth on her cunt in a hot second.

Only, it’s not.

I’m stuck in some paradigm where I’m a bit obsessed with the girl things didn’t go well with, and suddenly she’s back in my life, only she doesn’t know who I am.

Do I want her to remember me? Hell if I know.

The door swings open and in walks Wynter—how adorable is that name for my ice queen?—and behind her is Coach and one of the trainers. She’s pissed. Not the least bit happy to be here or checking me out.

And then she leads with…

“How many times have you been hit in that shoulder where you knew it was more than a basic hit?”

I refrain from shifting. She’s so damn cute and studious, and I wonder if she’s aware that I can see the outline of her lace bra—and a peek of her nipples—through her thin white blouse.

“Honestly?”

She rolls her eyes, already done with me. “No, please lie to me. That’s always so helpful.”

“Wyn—” Coach starts, only she holds her hand up behind her, in his face, and… holy shit, the man shuts up. Who is this magical woman? What powers does she wield over this hard-nosed man?

“Three times,” I answer honestly. “Once in college. Once the night I won the Super Bowl.” Remember that night, I want to ask but rightfully don’t. “And once three days ago.”

A noise clears the back of her throat. “May I see the MRI?”

Johnny Scott—one of the trainers—runs over to her like a golden retriever, ready with a tablet and the films already pulled up. She stands here for a solid five minutes, staring at the screen while I stare at her.

“Take off your shirt, Mr. Reyes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And fuck. That totally came out sounding all sexy and seductive, and you may own my ass this second, but I plan to dominate yours later. Not good.

She blinks up at me. Raises an unamused eyebrow. And then returns to the screen. Her all-business doctor thing is so hot, my dick is impossibly hard for her. Finally! If only this were the moment for her to appreciate this level of devotion.

“That’s Doctor, Mr. Reyes. Don’t forget how this works.”

And shwing, I jerk in my shorts. Her confidence is sexy as fuck. I don’t think a woman has ever given me this level of shit before. Well, a woman who wasn’t Suzie, our manager for Central Square, but she was my best friend Zax’s woman, so it was different.

Women never talk back to me. They’re always too eager to please. Too hopeful, like simply being with a football player and a former rock star is all they need in this world, and everything I am on the inside is superfluous.

This woman doesn’t care either way, and it’s unbelievably sexy.

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