Trying to Hate the Player: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love on the Court Book 2)

by Tia Souders

  Trying to Hate the Player

  A Sweet Romantic Comedy, Love on the Court

  Tia Souders

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  TRYING TO HATE THE PLAYER

  Copyright © 2019 THERESA SOUDERS

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  www.tiasouders.com

  First Edition : February 2019

  Second Edition: February 2021

  To my husband.

  Your support lifts me up and keeps me going in everything I do.

  Thank you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Emmett

  Emmett wiped the sweat from his brow before it dripped into his eyes. With a grunt, he raised his water bottle and chugged the icy contents, draining it. Garrison, the head coach of the Pumas—the newest team in the National Basketball Association—screamed a variety of commands at them, which all came down to one thing. They needed to get their crap together.

  The buzzer went off, signaling the end of their timeout. Garrison shooed them away, his face contorted in frustration.

  Emmett jogged out to midcourt, thinking of the long, cool shower awaiting him at the end of the game. He needed it. He was ripe with sweat, his muscles fatigued. It had been a rough second half, and his body hadn’t taken the abuse well. But before he could relax, they had a little business to take care of. They had to win.

  As the rookies of the basketball world, the Pumas had something to prove. Making it to the play-offs was amazing, but going all the way to the NBA Finals would solidify their status as serious contenders.

  He glanced at the scoreboard.

  It wasn’t looking good.

  Three minutes to go, and they were down by eighteen. Dang, he wanted this.

  It wasn’t about the money or even the fame. It was about validation. He wanted the Pumas to be taken seriously. They’d worked their ever-loving butts off, and he craved a victory for them. All of them.

  Okay, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the NBA Championship ring or the Larry O’Brien trophy. They were coveted by any serious player. The trophy would be invaluable to the team—a symbol of all their hard work, their talent. At two feet tall, it was made of nearly sixteen pounds of sterling silver with a 24-karat-gold overlay and features a life-size basketball falling into a net. His best friend and teammate, Dean, and his new fiancée, Callie, could keep her giant Tiffany & Co. ring. Call him shallow, but Emmett wanted his diamond-encrusted championship ring and that trophy. And he intended to get them.

  He took his place on the court and glanced at the stands, his eyes immediately snagging on the same spot it always did. Frowning, he realized for the first time that Jinny, Dean’s little sister, was nowhere in sight. Her usual spot beside Callie sat empty. Odd. She rarely missed a game.

  Even if it was unusual, why should he care? It was none of his business whether she came to their games or not.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

  Emmett shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. His eyes zoned in on the ball as the Celtics took it out. He defended his man, and when he shot and missed, a Puma rebounded.

  He caught a pass from Dean and pivoted, but he got stuck and gave it away. Moving under the hoop, he regained possession, took a shot, and scored.

  Shaking his fist in the air, Emmett hauled butt downcourt as the Celtics took control. The action slowed to a subtle dance as they passed, volleying the ball back and forth between them. Emmett defended his opponent, raising his arms and waving them in his face. When he made a poor pass, Emmett leapt in front of it and stripped the ball.

  He charged downcourt, homing in on the hoop. Almost there.

  He lifted his arms, jumping—airborne as he took the dunk. But something wasn’t right. His left leg bowed. He was weightless as the ball left his fingertips, but the trajectory was off. The sickening POP echoed off his eardrum. A machete sliced through his knee. Excruciating pain shot down his leg as he fell to the ground and rolled onto his back, clutching his knee to his chest while the stabbing continued.

  Fresh agony ripped through him when he heard the sharp sound of the whistle. The game stopped.

  “Emmett,” Coach called out. He appeared by his side, along with Gabriel Swanson, the director of strength and conditioning for the team.

  Swanson knelt next to him. “Does this hurt?” He probed the muscles around Emmett’s knee, eliciting a hiss. “Try and bend it.”

  Wincing, all Emmett could do was groan. Fire blazed through his muscles.

  “Can you push on my hand?” Swanson asked, placing his palm under the sole of Emmett’s shoe.

  Sweat beaded on Emmett’s brow. He tried to listen, moving his leg only a hair, but he had nothing left to give. Knives turned to needles, followed by a prickling sensation from his knee down.

  Coach Garrison and Swanson exchanged a knowing look while Emmett’s heart raced. No, please. Don’t say it.

  “What is it?” he rasped.

  “Let’s get you up and out of here,” Swanson said, ignoring his question.

  Emmett gritted his teeth as dread clogged his throat. Seconds felt like hours as reality hit. He was injured—out of the game.

  His teammates huddled around him. Coach and Swanson backed off, allowing Emmett space to try to stand.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not now.

  He rose on one foot, his hands planted on the ground, futilely trying to place his weight on his left leg, but the muscle had turned to putty. In the blink of an eye, his worst nightmare had come true.

  His insides quaked, and a hollow ache filled his chest as two of his teammates placed Emmett’s arms over their shoulders, helping him stand and walk off the court. Fans cheered, but the applause stung. There was nothing to celebrate.

  Emmett stared at nothing while the scoreboard counted down the time. Seconds disappeared along with Emmett’s dreams. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All he could focus on, all he saw, when the buzzer sounded, was the score.

  They lost.

  His stomach plummeted. Hope was gone, replaced by the sound of the medic’s voice as he turned to Emmett, his expression somber. “I think it’s a torn ACL. We need to get you to the orthopedist. I’d expect surgery.”

  ∞∞∞

  Jinny

  Today was the best day of Jinny’s life. All her hard work, all the late nights, all the blood, sweat and tears had paid off. Finally.

  Jinny traversed the city streets in her old beater, Betsy, a Ford that was manufactured roughly around the time she was born. But hey, who was counting? She and Betsy shared a lot of the same attributes. They were loyal, a little rough around the edges, likely to make obscene noises from time to time, and classy (despite the noise thing). She would’ve led with dependable, but that might’ve been pushing it a bit, considering that Betsy’s health had declined.

  The traffic was fairly light, despite being the weekend, for which she was grateful. It meant she’d be home in minutes. Then she and her best friend, Callie, could pop their best bottle of wine—which was proba
bly a six-dollar bottle from the little grocer around the corner—and celebrate her accomplishments. A few nights ago, the bubbly they’d opened was to toast Callie’s engagement to Jinny’s brother, but tonight was all about Jinny. She and Callie were really moving up in the world, making something out of themselves.

  This must be what adulting felt like.

  She stopped at a red light and pinched her forearm. “Crap, that hurt.” She winced, but the stinging pain meant this was real. She wasn’t dreaming—like the hundreds of times before. As of today, she was officially a Sports Certified Specialist. In a few weeks, she would no longer be a starving sports therapy resident at the University of Pittsburgh. Instead, she would be the physical therapist for the Pittsburgh Pumas. She’d already gotten the call, and she could hardly believe it.

  Snatching her phone out of the cup holder, she sent Callie a quick text. “You home? I have great news!”

  Callie texted back, “Yup. But something happened to Emmett at the game today. Wait till I tell you.”

  Jinny grimaced and set her phone down as the light turned green. Like she cared about anything having to do with Emmett Hall. He was everything she detested in a man: arrogant, self-centered, entitled, a womanizer, and a player—oh, did she say arrogant?

  Callie knew darn well that Jinny didn’t get along with him, so why would she think she’d care?

  He probably broke his man-parts on one of his many conquests. Or maybe he chipped a nail today at the game. Who knew?

  Now that she thought about it, the only downside to her new position would be having to see, and, potentially, work with him. But none of that mattered. The trade-off was worth it. What mattered was her new job and the new title that would accompany her name. Jinny Kimball, MS in Physical Therapy. Sports Certified Specialist, Team Physical Therapist for the Pumas. It might be a mouthful, but it was music to her ears. Pure poetry.

  She patted the dash of ol’ Betsy as she drove. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I won’t forget you. You’ve been good to me. I’ll make sure you find a great home.” A hissing sound escaped from somewhere in the bowels of the car, as if in response. Jinny ignored the smell of burning oil.

  She parked outside the apartment she shared with Callie and sprinted up the stairs. When she reached their unit, she tried the knob and found it wasn’t locked. She hurried inside and hung her purse on the hook by the door.

  A noise came from the kitchen, so Jinny spoke loud enough for Callie to hear as she kicked off her shoes. “You’ll never guess what I got today,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  When she received no response, she hurried into the kitchen. Their apartment was basically a box. They had a sizeable living room attached to a quaint kitchen and two bedrooms, so she didn’t have to go far to find her friend.

  Callie stood at the breakfast counter, pouring herself a glass of wine. When she glanced up, she smiled. “Oh, hey, there’s—”

  “Fabulous,” Jinny said, snatching up the glass. “I was hoping we could open a bottle. Wait, you don’t know yet, do you? Because I wanted to tell you myself. Please, tell me you don’t know and that’s not why you have the wine out.”

  “No.” Callie shook her head, her forehead furrowing.

  “What in the world are you blabbing about?” Dean exited the bathroom off the hall and headed toward her, his dark hair still damp from what she assumed was a shower.

  Jinny grimaced. “Must you walk around our apartment half-naked?” she asked, eyeing his bare chest in disgust.

  “Callie likes me this way.” Dean winked at Callie, and Jinny groaned.

  “You two are so nauseating. Tell me why you aren’t at your giant penthouse apartment again?”

  “It’s undergoing renovations. We’re making it more suited to both our tastes,” he said.

  “Ah, that’s right. Anything to please the lady. Am I right?” Jinny smirked. Ever since they got engaged, she poked fun at them any chance she got. Though, truth be told, she couldn’t have been more thrilled for them. It wasn’t every day your best friend was going to become your sister-in-law.

  “Actually, it’s good you’re here. I can share the news with you both.” Jinny did a little jig. Normally, she was not the squealing, gushing, giggly type, but her news was just too good not to allow herself a little giddiness.

  She set her wine down and fisted her hands by her side and closed her eyes. “I got my SCS test results back.” She paused for dramatic effect but couldn’t hold it in. “And I passed!”

  Callie covered her mouth with her hand, then moved around the counter and drew Jinny into a hug. “That’s amazing! I knew you could do it.”

  “All the work. It was all worth it,” Jinny mumbled into Callie’s shoulder.

  When Callie took a step back, Dean grinned at her and rubbed a hand over the top of her head, obnoxiously tousling her hair. Normally, she would punch him for it, but she was too excited to care.

  “That’s amazing. Seriously. You’ll be taking the PT world by storm,” he said.

  “Obviously.”

  “Well, we have news, too. It’s about the game,” Dean said.

  “Wait. Wait.” Jinny held up a finger. “I know that’s super important, and I swear I want to hear all about it. But I have one more piece of good news to share first. Craig Bannon called me.” Jinny grinned, knowing Dean would recognize the name. He was the sports general manager of the Pumas.

  “Wait, isn’t that…?” Callie asked.

  “Yes, it is. In three weeks, I will officially be a physical therapist for the Pittsburgh Pumas.” She jumped up and screamed, leaping at Dean and squeezing him with all the strength her wiry arms had to offer.

  “That’s…uh…amazing,” Callie said, but she sounded less than enthused.

  Jinny pulled back from Dean and frowned as she glanced to her best friend, who shifted nervously on her feet. “I mean, technically, they’re giving me a chance to prove myself. I won’t have a contract until the end of the year, but as long as I do an amazing job, the position is mine.”

  Dean chuckled. “Three weeks, huh?”

  Jinny put her hands on her hips, taking in the way Callie’s eyes darted around the room before landing on hers. “Yeah. Why are you guys acting so weird?”

  Callie licked her lips. Something was up. “Um. We think we know who your first patient might be.”

  Jinny scrunched her nose. What were they… Then it hit her. Him.

  “Hey, there, Doc,” the familiar voice said.

  She froze. His voice was like ice water, penetrating her excitement.

  “He just got back from the hospital,” Callie explained, but Jinny barely heard her.

  Anger burned hot in her veins. She clamped her mouth shut, needing to contain the nasty things threatening to spew from her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned around.

  Chapter Two

  Jinny

  A sneer curled her lips as she took him in like a platoon assessing the enemy. Emmett Hall towered over her, with his perfectly white teeth, his crop of sandy hair, and his disgustingly bright hazel eyes. The only thing different about him was the pair of crutches wedged underneath his muscled arms.

  “I’m not a doctor. I’m a therapist,” she said.

  “Ah, that’s right. To be a doctor, you have to actually know what you’re doing.”

  Her eyes widened, but she deflected his words with a smile. An experienced soldier never lets the enemy know when they’ve been hit. She slid her gaze down to the brace on his knee, like she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Callie came up beside her, folding her arms over her chest and glancing at Emmett. “That’s what I tried to tell you. Emmett got injured at the game today.”

  “What’s the injury?” Jinny asked, even though she already knew by the looks of him. It was one of the injuries that would require her to work with him the longest.

  Emmett’s gaze focused on her in challenge. “Torn ACL.”

  Crap

  ∞∞�
�

  Karma was a cruel mistress.

  Of course, on the day Jinny got her dream job, the one person in this world she couldn’t stand would become her full-time patient.

  She’d be lucky if she made it past her first day.

  The universe must hate her. Maybe she unwittingly ran over a cat with ol’ Betsy or shoved an elderly person into traffic. Maybe this was payback for ignoring the Bird Lady in the city last week. She always gave Jinny the creeps, talking about the end of the world, but maybe Jinny should’ve emptied her pockets into the paper cup and given her every last dime she had, because it would’ve been worth it to not see Emmett on a daily basis for the next seven to nine months.

  “Looks like we’ll be working together.” Emmett winked.

  “I swear, if this wasn’t a serious injury, I’d think you did this on purpose.”

  “Yeah. Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

  He hobbled toward the refrigerator on his crutches, and Jinny’s skin prickled as her gaze tracked his movement. When he opened the door to peer at the contents, she muttered, “Please, feel free to make yourself at home.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He grabbed a beer from the shelf, popped the top, and took a long pull.

  She stared aghast as he nearly drained one of the craft beers she’d bought from the new microbrewery downtown. It was her last one. She had been saving it for a special occasion. Like today.

  She ground her teeth so hard, it was a miracle her molars didn’t turn to dust. “I hope you plan on replacing that.”

  Emmett lowered the bottle and swallowed loudly, then looked at the label and shrugged. “Whatever. Here, you can have the rest.”

  He handed her the nearly empty beer, and the muscle above her eye began to twitch in response. Gripping the cold bottle, she thought of all the ways she’d love to hurt him.