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

by Tia Souders

  “Whoa,” Emmett held out a hand. “Hold up, little lady.”

  Jinny’s skin pricked. “First of all, never call me that. Ever.”

  His face contorted, and the vein in his forehead pulsed. “Month six? You’re telling me I won’t even be able to train or practice with the team for six months?”

  “At least.”

  “Uh, no. That’s completely unacceptable.” He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging with the movement.

  Tearing her eyes from his biceps, she said, “Well, I hate to break it to you, champ, but that’s how this goes. You tore your ACL and had surgery. If you return to the game too early, you get reinjured and potentially do permanent damage to your knee. As it stands, successful reconstruction of the ACL is 75–97%. Your odds of a full recovery are amazing, but you can just as easily screw yourself up.”

  Emmett glanced away from her, staring at the wall. The muscle in his jaw worked as he took in deep pulls of air like he might be sick. “So you’re telling me I don’t even have a shot of playing ball for eight or nine months? Dr. Bauer said I’d be playing by six.”

  “Well, he was wrong. You’ll be training and practicing, yes, but if you want to be smart and not a total moron, then you’ll give your knee the extra time it needs. At least wait and see where we’re at by the end of six months. You’re making demands and assumptions at week two when we’re nowhere close.”

  His eyes snapped back to her. “No, you’re making demands and assumptions.”

  “No.” She pounded her fist into the palm of her hand. “I made a professional assessment and recommended a course of action and treatment based off of that assessment and the extent of your injury. Big difference.”

  Emmett slid off the table and moved toward her.

  “Your brace,” she said, motioning to his bare knee, but he ignored her. He moved closer until he towered over her. Her stomach flopped, and she fought the urge to take a step back. He had nearly two feet on her.

  She should’ve felt intimidated by the sheer force of him. Two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle stared down at her. But she wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t back down. Not for a second. She ate men like him for breakfast. And she wasn’t about to let him argue with her. This was her job. It was what she was born to do.

  She squared her shoulders and raised a brow in challenge.

  “I don’t have that much time. Don’t you get it?” He hesitated, and in that moment of silence, she saw something other than irritation flicker through his eyes. Something soft, vulnerable. “Nine months puts us into next season. That means I’d be out almost three months, not to mention being unable to train all summer. Three months,” he repeated.

  His eyes searched hers. What was he looking for? Sympathy? Understanding?

  A small part of her broke under his gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, to give him words of comfort.

  Maybe there was a soft center, a real person inside the cocky façade, after all.

  But before she could say anything, disappointment swept over his features. “The Pumas may be a new team, but I’m a rookie, too. It doesn’t matter that as a team we’ve proven ourselves. Two seasons isn’t enough for a pro athlete to make himself indispensable. They could trade me. Or worse, let my contract expire, and I don’t get picked back up.”

  Her stomach sunk. She thought of her brother and how disappointed Dean would be if he were in Emmett’s shoes. He’d be stressed beyond belief, anxious, upset, and more than frustrated with his inability to do the one thing he loved most. The thought of losing it all would devastate him.

  But ACL tears were common in basketball. If players listened to protocol, they’d heal nicely. Emmett would have no problem returning to the sport.

  “I’m a rookie, too, so I get it,” she said. “I understand wanting to prove yourself.”

  It was true. She understood his predicament more than he knew. She understood needing to be perfect, needing to get it right because you’d reached for the stars and finally caught one. Let it go, and they might all fade away.

  “You will be as good as new at the end of this. I promise,” she said. “And the Pumas won’t do that to you.”

  Emmett scoffed. “Our situations are nothing alike.”

  Of course he would try to argue with her. It was Emmett, God of all things. No one compared.

  “How so?” she asked, with more force than necessary.

  Emmett took a step away from her, yanked his brace off the exam table, and began strapping it back on. Whatever moment of truth he had just shared with her was gone, replaced by the simmering anger in his sharp movements and abrasive tone. “Bernard King tore his ACL playing for the Knicks and was never the same. In 2000, Grant Hill injured his ankle. Same story. In 2007, Gilbert Arena’s career imploded after he blew his knee out. So, excuse me if I’m a little concerned. And last I checked, you don’t need to worry about getting injured in your posh little office.”

  Jinny straightened, but before she could get a word in, he continued, “Sorry if I’m unwilling to put my career, my entire life, into a resident’s hands. Just two weeks ago, you were under the supervision of real staff at a university, helping college kids, and now you’re here acting like you’ve done your time, when you’re just some rookie that got the job because her daddy and her brother put in a good word. So excuse me for not trusting you with the most important thing in my life.”

  Jinny stumbled back. The blow of his words hit her in the chest. Anger zipped up her spine, red-hot. Her face flamed, and her hands clenched at her side. Any sympathy she felt for him vanished, replaced by an inferno of indignation.

  How dare he.

  It took her a moment to find her voice through her anger, but once she did, she let it rip. “Do you pride yourself on being such a jerk?”

  Emmett shrugged in response, and her nostrils flared.

  “Yes, my brother might play for the Pumas, and my father is athletic director of the university. I can’t deny that. But that doesn’t change the fact that I earned my position here. I worked my tail off getting my masters a year after my undergrad, while doing a residency. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I was the best resident these last two years”—she stepped forward and poked him in the ribs, punctuating her words—“I studied and worked while others were out partying. I put everything I had into my education and career development, and when I achieved something only two percent of PT’s achieve, I proved my worth. So, I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

  She gathered up his file and her laptop. She was so done with this appointment. It wasn’t even ten a.m. and she felt like she’d worked a full day. The gall of this man was amazing. She’d tell him that, but he’d probably take it as a compliment. No, she knew he would.

  She turned to him one last time. “You don’t want to follow my course of treatment? Fine by me. Tell that to your coach. Tell that to Bannon and Gabe and see what they say. Could you be fully back in the game at six months? It’s possible. But it’s not typical, and not what I recommend to expect in this early stage. It could take you seven to eight, or the full nine months, to play competitively. I dare you to find any qualified sports PT that will tell you otherwise. I plan on doing a fan-fricking-tastic job here, but I’m also not going to wipe your sorry hind end because you want me to baby you. Nor will I stroke your ego and tell you lies. So, you don’t want me treating you?” She waved her hand toward the door. “Go find someone else, big guy. You’d save me the stress and frustration of working with a sexist megalomaniac. It’s your loss. Not mine.”

  With that, she slammed the door shut, raising her hand in the most epic mic drop ever, and stormed back to her office.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emmett

  Big guy? BIG GUY?

  Emmett walked to his car as quickly as he could with his bum knee and his stupid brace. He needed to get out of there.

  His teeth ached from clenching them as he slid awkwardly into the driver’s seat, pulling his
stiff leg in behind him.

  At least he’d injured his left leg, or he still wouldn’t be driving. See? There’s a bright side to everything, Hall. He was a regular Pollyanna.

  He played back Jinny’s last words. Maybe he deserved a little hostility. Okay, a lot of hostility. But could she really blame him? She had to understand, didn’t she? Her brother played ball. There was no way you could be close to someone who played a professional sport and not realize it was their lifeblood.

  Everything that mattered the most to him was wrapped up in his career. That was the way he liked it. No distractions. No complications. Only pure focus. She had to know how much being out of commission would hurt him.

  What was he saying? Of course, she knew. He’d caught a glimpse of her understanding, and it nearly crippled him. The softening in her expression. The way her supple mouth turned down at the corners and her chocolate eyes melted.

  He couldn’t stand her looking at him that way, because, when she did, she looked far too vulnerable, like a stiff wind could crack her wide open. In that moment, she’d looked too much like a woman he wanted to kiss. Not nearly enough like his best friends’ little sister. Or like his newly appointed therapist. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in an inappropriate working relationship. It would reflect poorly on both of them, but mostly her.

  Jinny could deny it all she wanted. She could hide behind her smart retorts and icy glares, but she was every bit as attracted to him as he was to her. But if they ever acted on their attraction, her career was at stake. Not his. Right or wrong, there was a double standard at play. Emmett’s discretion, because he was a man and a professional athlete, would be overlooked, while hers would not. She’d be cast aside, written off. So he took all his pent-up anger and frustration about his injury out on her. It was a jerk move. But it got him the results he wanted.

  He had zero intention of finding another therapist. He had total confidence she knew what she was doing. He had no idea if her father had been involved in getting her the position with the team, but he knew for a fact Dean hadn’t pulled any strings. He had asked him. Little did Jinny know, Emmett was the one to put a good word in for her, and he didn’t want to know what she’d do if she found out.

  He may have only known Dean for a few years, but he’d heard him constantly blab about how amazing she was. On more than one occasion, Emmett saw Dean drag her out of her apartment because all she did was eat, sleep, work at her residency, and study for her SCS. Occasionally, she’d throw in a boyfriend or two, but the relationships were fleeting.

  She’d dated several guys in the short span that he’d known her, and they were all throwaways—men to pass the time until she was ready for a real one. Jinny was at the top of her game. She deserved her position, which is why Emmett spoke with Garrison about it in the fall. Only now, he’d pay for it. He’d never imagined he’d get seriously injured and be forced to work with her regularly.

  So, technically, he was partially to blame for his current situation, and it made his insistence she was “gifted” the job even more of a low blow. Regardless, the low blow worked. Just like it had last summer at the party when he’d needed to create distance between them. He’d sworn he wouldn’t use it again. But when he felt her softening toward him, he needed something to keep the wedge between them, and it had done its job for a second time.

  Really, when Jinny pointed out that the two of them were in similar situations, she hadn’t been far off. They both had reached their dreams, and now they were in a fight to hold onto them. Except, once Jinny proved herself, she’d be fully accepted into the fold and could work as a therapist for as long as she wanted. Professional sports were more fickle than that.

  His career had an expiration date. While she had a long, healthy career ahead of her, he’d be lucky to get more than five years. The average career of an NBA player was less than five years. And he may have just shortened his by a year at the least. It was a kick to the balls.

  Emmett’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. All he could do now was pray he’d proved himself enough that the Pumas would keep him.

  ∞∞∞

  Jinny

  Jinny swallowed and plunked her drink back on the bar top with a loud clunk. “So, I said to him, ‘go find someone else, big guy. You’d save me the stress and frustration of working with a sexist megalomaniac like yourself. It’s your loss. Not mine.’ ”

  Callie grinned ear to ear. “No, you didn’t.”

  Jinny nodded. “I did.”

  “How can someone with such beautiful eyes be so rude?”

  Jinny took in her best friend of twenty-four years (yes, the entire span of her life) and snickered. She looked like a Barbie doll, with her hair pulled into one of those adorable high ponytails that looked like she’d spent hours perfecting, while she blinked her baby-blues dreamily. In comparison, when Jinny pulled her hair back, she looked like a middle-aged schoolmarm. Good thing she didn’t care. When Jinny made an effort, it was because she wanted to look good. Not because she wanted to impress anyone else.

  Jinny scoffed. “His eyes are not beautiful.”

  “Oh yes, they are.”

  Jinny grunted. “I’ve never noticed.” She took a sip of her beer.

  “Sure, you haven’t. I’m sure you’ve never noticed how they’re the color of finely aged whiskey, with little flecks of green in the center. I’m sure you’ve also never noticed how thick his hair is. Or how it’s the exact shade of sand on a Carolina beach. Or wondered what it might feel like to run your hands through it. Or—”

  “Enough. Please.” Jinny held her hand up. “Much more and I’ll barf up this beer.”

  “Mm-hm,” Callie murmured, taking a sip of her wine.

  Gosh, sometimes best friends sucked.

  “Listen, the point is not what shade of puke-inducing whiskey his eyes are. The point is that he was completely out of line.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  Jinny sighed. “I don’t know. I thought about going to Gabe and seeing if he could work with him. He’s certainly trained to do so, even if his main role isn’t the injured list. But that’ll just make me look bad, you know? I mean, I work one day. One”—Jinny held out her pointer finger for emphasis—“and I can’t handle the first a-hole patient I get?”

  “Right. Totally would look bad.”

  “Exactly. So, the way I see it, I have two options. I work with Emmett and keep a truckload of indigestion meds in my office, or I make him hate me so much that he opts to find treatment elsewhere.”

  “But wouldn’t that look just as bad?” Callie asked.

  “I thought about that, but I don’t think so. He cares too much about his friendship with Dean to jeopardize that by badmouthing me. If he decided to seek his own therapist elsewhere, I’m sure he’d come up with a plausible enough excuse that it wouldn’t hurt my image too much. Plus, in the meantime, I’ll make all the other patients love me so much that they have nothing but glowing reviews. To everyone else, I’ll be sweet little Jinny. When I walk into the room, it’ll be like Santa Claus just made an appearance. I’ll be the friggin’ Easter Bunny dropping candy at their feet. I’ll crap rainbows. But to Emmett, I’ll be a rain cloud on a sunny day. I’ll be the devil incarnate,” she said darkly.

  “Um, creepy, much?” Callie turned away from her and waved toward the bartender, catching his attention.

  “I guess you’ve thought it all out,” Callie said as the bartender appeared in front of her. “I’ll take another white wine, please.”

  He turned to Jinny and inclined his head. “What about you, darlin’? Want another beer?” His shaggy blonde hair fell in his eyes. He flicked it away and flashed her a smile.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  When he turned to get their drinks, Callie wiggled her brows. “Oh, he’s cute. And he likes you. You should totally go for it.”

  Jinny rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like me. He was waiting on me.”
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  “Nuh-uh. He’s been eyeing you all night. And he called you darlin’. He didn’t call me anything.”

  Jinny snorted. “Oh, okay, detective. Well, he can keep his disgusting term of endearment because I ain’t his darlin’.”

  Jinny drained the last dregs of her beer just as the waiter placed the fresh one in front of her. She raised her brows in thanks, and he winked at her as he turned.

  “Ugh. I mean, really? Come on. What is it with these men nowadays? They think they can wink at us, and we’ll fall into a puddle at their feet? I don’t think so.”

  Jinny took a healthy sip of her new beer and swallowed, wincing at the burn of the bubbles in her throat. “I mean, take Emmett for example. He calls me sweetheart. He flirts one second, throws sexual innuendos at me like candy, then insults me the next. It’s all a part of their world domination game.”

  Callie frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “Yeah.” Jinny nodded, getting into it, using her hands as she spoke. “You know, proving they’re still on top. That they’re the superior sex. Like they can just spout their degrading terms of endearment, wink at us, and wave their noodles around, and we’re supposed to fall all over ourselves because we’re lucky to have a man like them.”

  Callie coughed, choking on a sip of wine. She pounded her chest with her fist.

  “You okay there, bucko?” Jinny asked.

  “Noodles? I really hope you weren’t referring to—”

  “The point is, they think they’re superior because they have an extra appendage. End of story.”

  Just like Emmett thought his budding career was more important than hers. Her woes were small and simple and ridiculous by comparison to his huge man-sized ones. And she couldn’t possibly be capable at her job because she was lacking something between her legs.