Touchdown and Dirty

by Sidda Lee Rain

  As a play caller, he wanted back in and now. Enough of this sidelines bull. He was a quarterback and his game was far from over. To think his future resided in some broads hands that didn’t even like him. He was so screwed. Coach Gresser and Doug Charter swore she was his last chance—okay, nobody said last chance, but he wasn’t stupid. It was now or never. If he wasn’t starting the season opener, he was done for.

  Friday night the team was having an Inner City Academic Achievers Banquet. Good cause, great kids, but a lot of questions he wasn’t ready to answer were going to be coming his way. But, when you’re summoned by the suits you go. Of course, that meant he’d need a date to accompany him—that was the easy part. Within seconds, he could have a handful to choose from without making it out of the A’s in his phonebook. When had that not become that exciting anymore? Screw it; he’d wait a couple days before deciding. Plenty of time. For now, he planned to hit his home gym for the next hour. No time to sit around wasting time—may as well be working on getting back into peak form. Not that he was far off mentally. Physically, that may just be another story.

  For the life of her, Roxy couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with her? She worked in a field that was practically all men, minus a lot of the masseuses and a few of the trainers—very few. But, here she was nervous as she stood in front of the floor to ceiling mirror that lined the dining room wall. Changing three times wasn’t her, like….at all. Her motto was dress for herself and never anyone else. Yeah, wouldn’t that be a cute T-shirt? And she’d probably sell plenty to all those women just like her who claimed to be self- assured and who don’t need the acceptance from anyone—especially some man. Roxy sighed. Yeah, one of those girls like her she thought as she turned and wiggled her ass in the mirror.

  Damn, when had her booty gotten so big? So out there? She did kinda look like one of those rap guys girlfriends or something. Oh Lord, she’d reduced herself into quoting cheesy 80’s songs about her ass.

  Michael was charming in an attainable, yet, overly sexy way. As if he didn’t quite realize how sexy he was, a rarity in a man. In her case, it was usually the opposite, the men Roxy tended to attract thought that they hung the moon or could if the need ever arose. Michael didn’t seem like that but her last boyfriend hadn’t seemed like a cheating asshole either but….he was.

  Oh no! She would not do that. She would not start thinking badly of every man because of the few bad apples she’d had in her recent past. It would be far too easy to let the bitterness take over and that’s not what Roxy wanted.

  At least he wasn’t an athlete or she didn’t think he was. Shit! That’s when she realized she hadn’t the foggiest clue what he did for a living. With his size, an athletic career wasn’t out of the question. He had seen her in her full inked glory in a tank top so it was unlikely he was in something very conservative—she usually frightened those types. Fine with her. After all, she was more liberal in her way of thinking; it would never work anyhow. Her hair hung just past her shoulders when it was down like it was now. After her shower, she didn’t feel the need to blow-dry and straighten it, so curly it was. Lip gloss not lipstick and might as well represent her new employer for the time being, right?

  Deep breath in and three soft knocks out before she exhaled.

  “Hey, I thought for sure you were going to ditch me after earlier.” He said as he opened the sliding glass door of his apartment on the terrace the two shared. Apartments 17C and 17D shared another terrace on the other side of the building.

  “I told you I’d be here. I don’t play games—I watch them.” She quietly laughed when his eyes enlarged at her comment.

  “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.” Handing her an ice bucket that held four beers, Michael went back inside briefly before returning with a bowl of in the shell peanuts—but he stopped suddenly and looked at her, “please tell me you don’t have a peanut allergy?” She shook her head. “Thank you Jesus! I can’t have beer without my nuts.” Roxy tried—God, did she ever try but failed miserably. She laughed so hard that she feared that she’d snort. It may have taken him a minute to catch on but he realized what he had said.

  “I’m just going to put some music on and try to not talk anymore today.” Grinning, he plugged his iPod into the dock and plugged that into the outside socket just beside the two chairs and small table that apparently resided on the terrace permanently.

  “Can’t say you’re boring, Michael, that’s for sure.” She took the beer he’d twisted the cap off and handed to her.

  “Oh, do you want a glass for that?”

  Rolling her eyes she answered, “Do I look like the kinda girl who would need a glass for her beer?”

  “Not touchin’ that one,” he answered, smart man.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. The view from the seventeenth floor was nice. This place was nice but it wasn’t necessary for her to live in an apartment with three bedrooms and a monthly rental fee as high as she was sure it was. It was in her agreement with the team that her living expenses would be covered until preseason was over. That was her deadline with Clayton Karz, the beginning of September. Now, if she could get the stubborn ass to follow her program, they’d make it.

  “Are you going to explain to me what the whole ‘I watch games, I don’t play them’ thing meant? I’m curious.”

  “Sorry, the view’s distracting.”

  Michael blatantly looked her over, not trying to hide his perusal, “I’d have to agree with you.”

  Well, she was not misinterpreting that.

  Her decision? Ignore that comment and move on.

  “I meant, I watch games-as in sports, mostly football, right now,” she finally answered.

  “Really? Steelers fan, huh?” Michael tipped the beer bottle toward her shirt-one of the many that was inside the duffle bag she received as a ‘welcome’ from Coach Gresser when he picked her up from the airport the day she flew in.

  “For the time being.”

  He laughed, “a bandwagon fan, are ya?” Michael chuckled and shook his head before taking a long slug off his long neck bottle.

  “No, I happen to cheer loudest for the team that’s writing my checks at the time.” She smiled at his confused look.

  “What exactly do you do, Roxy?”

  “Sports rehabilitation therapy. I’m working with a few players down at the Cherry Hill Clinic.”

  “Wait a minute! You’re the woman they brought in from Denver to work with Karz, aren’t you?”

  Roxy didn’t have to feign her surprise. “That would be me. Who the hell are you?” She asked with squinted eyes.

  “Michael Brooks, wide receiver for Pittsburgh and you’re wearing my jersey.”

  Chapter 7

  Her night had been exceptionally enjoyable and she wasn’t looking forward to this morning with….him. Clayton Karz had managed to annoy her, intimidate her, and piss her off all in a matter of minutes—Roxy hadn’t cared for that, at all. But, if nothing else, she was professional and knowing that it would probably tick him off was another incentive to carry on as if yesterday hadn’t happened.

  Parking her bike in her designated spot in front of the clinic, Roxy headed toward the front doors. The parking lot was practically empty—arriving early was habit for her. She had to punch the key code and slide her ID under the scanner next to the door before she heard the locks disengage. It was always nice when clinics took security seriously. A thought that most likely crossed her mind because of always being the new fish in the big pond.

  Missy had already started the coffee in the break room and the smell filled the reception area. It was a pleasant aroma—not too strong, but definitely not her cheaper blend of Folgers. As long as it was caffeine packed and she had creamer, it didn’t matter. The clinic was quite cool compared to the outside temperature so she’d welcome the warmth from the styrofoam cup as well. One cup held so much power over her. She shook her head as she stirred the creamer with the tiniest red straw s
he’d ever seen. What exactly was the purpose of the thing? Was it a straw? A stir stick? Did it really matter? Roxy supposed not, but small things captured her interest; useless facts fascinated her.

  “Morning Miss Shaw—“

  “It’s Roxy.” She corrected her just as she had about thirty times in the last five days.

  “Sorry, I forgot.” Even Missy’s tone sounded fake.

  Like hell, she’d forgotten. For some reason, the woman had taken a dislike to her the moment she walked in the door that very first day. And, it had yet to get better; Roxy doubted it would. She wasn’t sure what she had done to offend the petite brunette, which meant there was no way to fix the situation. Missy wasn’t exactly a mind-boggling conversationalist so Roxy didn’t think she was missing anything by not being friends with the twit. Not one for drama, her alarm bells went off whenever Missy was in the same room and all that meant was that she would be much better off keeping her distance.

  Ignoring the absolutely fake apology, Roxy took the files from the plastic pocket on the wall that sported her name and headed for her office. The ten by ten room wasn’t anything special but the clinic itself wasn’t exactly a huge bustling medical plaza like the one she was used to back in Denver. Not that she minded. The office was enough for her—after all, most of her work was done in the clinic or, like today, they’d be heading outdoors. Karz would no doubt have a problem with that like he did with every other change she’d made in his rehabilitation. Looking forward to his piss poor reaction was probably juvenile of her but why lie? Making the big boys cry was always refreshing. Even more so once their therapy was a success—which she was determined Clayton Karz’s would be.

  There had to be a reason that it was taking him this long? But what was it?

  It had to be more than Sherry’s actions. Doug Charter, Pittsburg’s Head Athletic Trainer had agreed with Coach Gresser and decided Clayton needed more than the Athletic Trainer/Physical Therapist, Juan Dilopez was capable of giving him. That’s when they brought Roxy in. And just finishing up a three-month stint in Cleveland getting Marquis Jones back into pads after his third knee surgery, she was free—which almost never happened. Usually, Roxy was booked months in advance but not sure how long she’d require with Marquis had future clients turned down….until, Gary called about Karz.

  Marquis had come from a family of four sisters and he being the only male in the family meant he’d never questioned her lead. That was a rarity in this field—even for her. Teams sought her out, hell, some players even requested their teams bring her in. But, once the work began and the day came when they had to take orders from her, suddenly there were issues. Roxy never understood it, personally. You want help? She had it to give. Simple as that, right? But, then again nothing was ever simple when there was testosterone involved. What was that saying? If it has tires or testicles, it’s bound to give you trouble? Tires, she could handle. Testicles, she would handle—she just had to remember not to crush them even when she wanted to.

  Her desk phone rang and she almost flew out of her seat. The clinic wasn’t open for another twenty minutes and the ringer was loud enough to wake the dead, if that was possible.

  “Hello?”

  “Why do you sound like you’re unsure if you really wanted to say that?” The loud male chuckle clearly belonged to Gary.

  “I was unsure. What kind of crazy person calls this damn early in the morning?

  “I see how it is. Although, I’ve been called a helluva lot worse than crazy so I‘ll take it.” As a Coach on the national level, Roxy was sure he’d been called much worse. Once you’re in the spotlight, suddenly people don’t see you as human. Basically, you are a commodity.

  “I have no doubts on that matter,” she replied.

  “You still haven’t changed in all these years, have you, you little shit?” The humor was in his voice just the way it had been twenty years ago. With her father gone, Gary had been about one of the only stable men in her life throughout the years.

  “Not one iota. What do you need? Did Clayton Karz join the nunnery and won’t be making it in?”

  “The nunnery? Jesus, what have you done to him that would have him running off to wear a habit?” Gary asked in a serious tone, knowing damn well she had the ability to bring the football player to his knees.

  “Oh, nothing yet. He’s still fighting me, but he’ll come around. I doubt we’ll ever be friends, but we’ll manage through this.” Flipping through Clayton’s file, her head started filling with ideas on how to get him to come around.

  “You tell me if he gives you too much grief, Sunshine.” Hearing him use the nickname her father had given her as a child was heartwarming. It had been quite some time since she’d heard it.

  “Grief? That’s what I live for. I feed off grief, I tell ya. He doesn’t stand a chance against me, Gary, you know that.”

  She heard him sigh on the other line before he spoke.

  “No, no he doesn’t. Football is in your blood and you know what you’re doing—that’s why I brought you here. You do know that your father would be awfully damn proud of you, right?” he asked.

  Not what she expected from him nor how she’d thought the conversation would go. Tears came before the wires connected fast enough to tell them to stay hidden. He had said that her father, Donald would’ve been proud of her. How many times had she wondered if he would have been? Too many to count.

  “Sa—Roxy? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She answered and then was silent for a moment before he heard her say. “I miss him and….I’ve wondered if he would be proud of me or not. I’m not exactly the woman he planned on me becoming.”

  “How so?”

  “Daddy always talked about Ronnie following in his footsteps into the game and he talked about me making him a grandpa—“

  “Sunshine, that’s just our generation, but things have changed. Ronald never loved ball like you did, ever. Don would be so damn proud of you; I know it because I am. I’m not your father and I’d never try to be, but you’ve been like a daughter since you came outta your mama kickin’ and screamin’. And you’re still the same now. You’ll make yourself heard, your way. Always have.”

  Had she been waiting for that approval? If she had been, Roxy didn’t even know it herself. But, it felt good just the same. Next to her own mother and father, and both had passed on, Gary’s opinion was the one she valued the most. His words had helped fill a part of her she hadn’t even known she was missing.

  Clayton Karz would be her first thank you to the man. He’d be ready before pre-season was over. If she had to work with the man ten hours a day, he’d damn sure be ready.

  “Anyways, the reason I called….”

  After her call from Gary, Roxy decided that instead of starting in the clinic then moving outdoors for the remainder of his session, they’d simply stay out of the clinic today. She needed fresh air.

  Just like clockwork, Karz showed up twenty minutes early, again. Roxy heard the deep timbre of his voice as he spoke to Missy. Without seeing, she knew the receptionist would be batting her eyelashes and positioning herself in some manner that put her pert breasts on display in the best possible light. Not that she hated the game—more the player this time. Truth was that if all it took was a pair of tits and a faux personality to land the man, he deserved every bit of ex-girlfriend crazy that would be coming his way. Missy was just one of those kinda women that gave off stalker I’ll slash your tires and send you fifty text messages kind of vibes. Clayton had most likely dealt with that type of woman on more than one occasion.

  If they were going to be off the property today, she was going to change clothes. One thing she wasn’t made for was the polyester pants and the preppy polo shirt uniform—it could be worse, but this was bad enough. Roxy decided to change in her office instead of making the trek down to the employee restrooms. Shutting down her computer, Roxy turned on her iPod and decided there was no use in putting off the inevitable.
Grabbing her backpack, she was thankful again that she’d hauled it with her as always packed and ready to go.

  “Roxy?” Clayton said as he opened her office door slowly.

  Whoa! He hadn’t expected to get the view but hell if he’d turn away from it. Roxy had her back to him as she pulled up a pair of jeans. His eyes were fixated on her ass as she gave a little wiggle trying to squeeze into the snug denim. The sweetest sexiest slice of her ass cheeks peeked out from the bottom of the blue lacy boy-short style undergarments.

  Did she have a tattoo on her right side? It sure as hell looked like there was some ink just below her panty line. Not that he could make out the design. Not that he could look away, either—until he saw nothing but denim and rhinestone wings across her back pockets.

  Chapter 8

  “You ever heard of knocking, Karz?” The shock of hearing her speak had him considering fleeing or pleading his innocence. As if he hadn’t just stood there and watched the arousing floor show, shamelessly. Her expression challenged him immediately to do so and he wasn’t going to rise to the occasion.

  I’ve already risen to the occasion but not that way, sweetheart.

  “I didn’t realize you treated your office as a strip club.” What the hell was he thinking? That was the problem yesterday and the day before—showing her his asshole side and here he was again, back at it.

  Roxy eyed him suspiciously for a moment before speaking, as if weighing her options. Probably, which nut she’d cut off first.