Page 12 of Irresistibly Risky

“So?”

“So, I also heard shoulders, in addition to knees, were your specialty.”

I grit my teeth because now I want to see the MRI. Now I want to know why the others passed and said it would never heal right. Now I want to prove that I can fix it when those other hotshots chose not to try.

I flip back aground. “Limbick would have done it. You turned him down. Said you only wanted me.”

“He’s not my daughter.”

My fists clench, and my vision grows hazy with rage. “Neither am I.”

He glances away for a moment, nods slowly, and then looks back at me. “You don’t owe me anything, but he’s a great player and deserves another shot at a ring.”

“I don’t give a shit if you win another championship. In fact, I hope you don’t. I hope you sink like the fucking Titanic without being nearly as cool or dramatic.”

“You hate me.”

I laugh caustically. “That’s more than putting it mildly, but the truth is, you aren’t even worth the energy to hate. Hating you requires emotion. It requires thought. I stopped thinking about you when I was barely seven. You are nothing to me now.”

He shifts on his large desk and glances out his window at the base of the stadium beyond. “Football—”

“Shut. Up!” I scream, and I’m not even sure where it comes from. “I don’t care. I don’t care!” My hands fly out. “I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to help you, and I don’t care about your player, and I sure as hell don’t give a shit about football. You pulled strings with my boss and are fucking with my job. You had no right.”

“Wynter.” He sighs and stands. “I requested you because you’re hungry, and not complacent or afraid. You are the most confident, smart, dedicated, ruthless, and talented person I know.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t know you. But I know the stock you’re built from. Will you please look at his MRI? That’s all I ask. I’ll stay away. I’ll keep my distance. Just look at his damn MRI and tell me if I need to cut him or trade him.”

“So much for he deserves another shot at a ring. Real fucking loyal there, Joe.”

“It’s business.”

I smirk viciously. “Don’t I know it. Loyalty was never your strong suit anyway. Give me one real reason other than your precious game.”

“He’s a good guy. He goes into hospitals and sits with sick kids without ever sharing a second of it on social media. He wants everyone to succeed and motivates his teammates and this town. But more than that, he’s a patient, and he needs your help.”

Dammit.

4

After she called me player, and the door slammed shut, I spent a solid five minutes staring at my reflection in the mirror, a million things running through my head at a dead sprint. I shouldn’t have mentioned her touching me. She was right to fire back at me about that one. It was inappropriate, to say the least.

But at that moment, I had become irrationally angry. I couldn’t stand that she didn’t recognize me when I hadn’t thought of any other woman for a year and a half.

A year and a half of her.

Of wanting to know who she is. Of wanting to see her again and set the record straight, and hell, apologize for how it all went down.

And. She. Didn’t. Fucking. Recognize. Me.

I stood there, staring at myself, trying to swallow the pill that it was for the best that she didn’t. That it could be a clean slate. A do-over. But I couldn’t stop that voice. The one that told me that makes me a liar and a bit of a bastard. That’s not the sort of guy I am, and now as I walk down the hall toward the trainer’s room, I feel like shit.

Still, what am I supposed to do if she doesn’t remember me?

Be like, “Hey, you remember the night when I was so worked up that my dick wasn’t hard that I forgot to put on a condom, gave you shitty sex, and then prematurely jizzed inside of you?” Yeah, that’ll get her crawling back into my bed in no time.

This woman. Wynter Hathaway. How many nights have I spent wondering about her? Curious about her name, and where she was from, and what she was up to. Dreaming of finding her again and what I would do when I did. It was as if she left her fingerprints on my skin. The imprint of her is indelible, though my memory didn’t do her nearly the justice she deserves.

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