Hard Luck

by Liv Morris

  “So, it does involve Brady.” Taylor looks up at me with her hazel eyes, her wheels spinning as she tries to figure things out.

  “No more talk about him,” I say in a firm tone. “I just need to forget the last two weeks and everything will be back to normal.”

  “Maybe you’re just tired. God knows having to deal with dicks and assholes all week is exhausting.” There’s no humor in her words like there usually is around our jobs. “Here’s to the weekend.” She lifts her Cosmo up, but only has a ghost of a smile.

  “We’ll talk in the morning, but not too early. Eleven?” Taylor nods while I push my purse over my shoulder. Turning to my right, I see Erin and Laurie a few feet away. They haven’t mentioned the photos of Brady and me this week, so I’m betting they don’t know it’s me. Taylor better keep her mouth shut after I’m gone. However, keeping secrets isn’t her strong suit, so the odds aren’t in my favor.

  “Hey, guys,” Erin says as she and Laurie walk up to the table.

  “You just getting here?” Laurie asks with a puzzled look.

  “Leaving, actually.” I don’t want to go through the whole spiel again, so I focus on what Taylor said, which is probably true. “Hard week in the trenches. I’m beat.”

  “I understand. Some Friday nights, I just want to curl up on the couch and watch TV. But you look too great to go home. I love that dress on you, and are those new shoes?” Laurie asks as she admires the red sandals I bought while escaping Brady.

  “Bought them Wednesday at Nordstrom.” Taylor gives me a knowing eye, which I return, as I mouth, “No.” She rolls her eyes and I pray that means she’ll keep my secret.

  “Brunch on Sunday, right?” Erin asks and I nod, and then give her and Laurie an air kiss hug. Looking over their shoulders, I see Brady pushing off the bar starting to walk toward us. Crap

  “It’s tattooed on my calendar. Gotta go, ladies. Love you.” I’ve already started to walk away as I throw the last bit over my shoulder.

  I head to the door as fast as my heels can carry me. A quick glance behind me shows Brady isn’t on my tail. I rush to open the front door and exhale in relief when I see a yellow taxi down the block heading my way. Standing on the edge of the curb, I wave my hand in the air and the cab comes to a stop in front of me. Just as I reach for the door handle, something warm presses against my ear.

  “Leaving without at least saying hello first?” I don’t just hear his whisper, it dances over my skin and lands right between my legs.

  He’s caught me in more ways than one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cali

  Brady stretches his arm around me and opens the cab door before I can even blink. Damn, he’s fast—or has had a ton of practice. I’ll go with both since he did the same thing for me as we stood in front of Nordstrom after I left him on the sidewalk with his adoring fans.

  A smart woman would walk away from him again, but his cologne smells divine and it’s making any resolve I have disappear. I glance up at him, which is a mistake. He looks so incredible, I’ll probably swoon again at his feet.

  “Get in, Cali.” Brady motions for me to climb inside the open door.

  “Who said you can tell me what to do?” I ask. A small shiver of excitement rushes through me at the thought of being in the backseat with him.

  My sex-deprived self wants to jump in the cab and drag him in with me, but warning bells go off in my head, reminding me about getting tangled up in blurred lines. I imagine Robin Thicke smiling somewhere as this war between my heart and hormones rages, and it’s not helping anything one bit.

  “Cali,” Brady says in a firm tone, “get the hell in this car.”

  I stiffen and shake my head to give him my final answer.

  “Please,” he begs in such a way, it makes me wonder what’s so important. “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  He forgets I saw his fine ass as well as his hard cock when he was in my office. There isn’t a single thing wrong with this man, except his inflated ego.

  “Yeah, it’s your life and the death of my job. Remember you’re my patient, so why should I do a thing you say?” I cock my head and eye him, waiting for a response.

  “Not here,” he hisses while bending down to whisper near my ear. “We won’t be alone.”

  He points to a few people gathered close by, which isn’t a shock. He’s the crowd favorite of Chicago—or he has been until recently. I can only imagine what’s going through their minds. Hotshot baseball stud desperately seeking a stubborn woman. I briefly wonder who comes off as the bad guy in this story and figure it’s likely me.

  “You’re not making your case very well. Maybe I should yell for help.” My words are more a bait than a threat as I poke Brady in the chest. I move a little closer to him and feel his angry breath against my cheek.

  “I just need to talk to you. Like I said—” Here we go again.

  “Right, it’s a matter of life and death,” I finish off his sentence as he moves so close, his lips are nearly touching my cheek. I focus on them through my lashes, all shame and restraint falling into the gutter by my feet.

  “Okay, but I don’t want to see you again after tonight,” I say…with absolutely zero conviction. He smiles widely at me, like I can change his world.

  “I’m only doing this because I don’t want to end up in some gossip sports column with you.” I slide onto the backseat in a huff.

  We are both seated in the cab when Brady gives the driver an address that isn’t familiar to me. “Where the hell are you taking me?” I raise a brow, my lips a thin line, and scoot to the farthest corner of the backseat by my door. I want distance. Brady looks too damn tempting for my peace of mind and ethical code. Never date patients, I remind myself even as that idea flies right out the window. In my defense, no patient has wanted to date me or me them, until now. Ethics are great until you have to apply them.

  “Would it scare you if I said I was kidnapping you?” I grip the door of the cab and glance up at the driver. He has an amused smile on his face. I’m sure he knows who shares the backseat with me. Brady is the golden boy of this city. He owns the title with every homerun he hits, both on and off the baseball field. Plus, his good looks are hard to forget. God knows I’ve tried.

  Two weeks ago, if I had this same conversation with Brady, I would’ve been demanding him to take me back to his lair for a lap or two around the bases, but I met him while wearing scrubs and examining his fine body with latex-gloved hands. I can’t remove my professional hat no matter how bad he makes me want to remove my clothes.

  “You owe me an explanation,” I say, choosing to ignore the kidnap comment altogether. It plays straight into a dirty fantasy of being at his mercy and the last thing I need is more fantasies.

  “I’m taking you to my coach’s apartment a few blocks from here,” he replies, his tone nonchalant, like kidnapping a woman is normal.

  “Does he need medical help too?” I ask, my confusion clear in my tone. Why would he take me to his coach’s place?

  “Are you kidding?” Brady appears stunned by my question. I answer him with a shake of my head. “He wants to talk to you about me.”

  “Your coach knows me? What’s really going on here? You’ve shown up everywhere I’ve been like you’re stalking me.” Brady shifts his eyes away from me and lowers his head. “Wait! You have been, haven’t you?” I demand.

  “Maybe. But I have a very good reason.” He looks up with his crystal blue eyes. They twinkle at me even through the dim streetlights, the happiest of sighs swallowing me as I lose myself within them.

  I have stupid girl thoughts that he’s fallen madly in love with me during our brief encounters, especially the one in the exam room. I glance down at his crotch in memory and swallow at the thought of all those inches, even if he would be next to impossible to fit in my mouth.

  I have seen cocks of all shapes and sizes, but his was flipping beautiful. And his ass…well, it was tighter than any skinny jeans I’v
e tried to fit into.

  “I’m waiting for a good answer.” I lock my eyes on his perfect face with lips I want to kiss. Why does he have to be so hot?

  “It’s complicated,” he says while running his long fingers through his glorious, thick hair.

  How many times have I dreamed of having his head between my legs since he joined the team? I’ve lost count. I close my eyes. I am in deep shit here.

  “It’s complicated on my end, too,” I reply back to his non-answer response, which frustrates the hell out of me. Sane people don’t kidnap people without an explanation. Then again sane people don’t kidnap people at all. Maybe the pressure of bringing home a trophy to Chicago’s rabid fans made him snap. “You’re my patient and I can’t cross the personal line with you.” No matter how hard I want to.

  “I’ve severed all ties with your office. I’m no longer a patient at your practice.”

  “Right? You’re cured now.” I peek down at the general area where his former issue was and then back up at his eyes.

  “Let’s say I know who can cure my problem.”

  “Who?” My voice is as quiet as a whisper, but from the intense look in his eyes, I know he heard me. I brace myself for his answer.

  “You.”

  Well, shit!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cali

  Brady pays the cabbie after we arrive at his coach’s high-rise building. It’s in the swanky Gold Coast part of Chicago, a place I’d love to live after all my student loans are paid off, or if I win the lottery. Winning the lottery is more likely since I financed my entire gazillion dollar Northwestern education with Uncle Sam.

  I climb out of the cab onto the circle driveway entrance and wait for Brady to follow. Placing his hand on my back and pressing against me, he begins to walk forward with me in tow, heading toward the front entrance. A couple passes by us dressed in black formal attire. They give Brady a semi-smile. When they glance at me, their faces go blank and I feel suddenly out of place in my off the rack dress—at least my shoes rock.

  A uniformed man opens the glass entrance door. “Good evening, Mr. Luck. In for the night?” he asks, and I believe he’s paid to do this task. Who knew rich people couldn’t handle a door by themselves?

  “Evening, Mario. And I’m not sure.” The man turns to me and winks with a teasing smile. Is he flirting with me? I blush at the thought. He has to be as old as my father.

  After a few steps, I ask, “What’s with him? He seems to know you pretty well.”

  “He’s my doorman. I live here too,” Brady confesses, and now I understand the wink.

  “Oh no! He thinks I’m your number two-hundred and something.” I stop in the middle of the marble lobby of the building with my hands on my hips. I don’t want Mario, the doorman, to see me as just another conquest. I don’t want to look cheap and stupid.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll be seeing a lot of you.” Brady tips a corner of his lips up and nods his head.

  “He will?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

  “Come with me,” he says while taking my hand.

  I gasp at the intimate touch and look down at where our hands are joined. His large one covers mine to where his fingers are all I see. The warmth of his touch spreads through me as I glance up at his face. He’s gazing down at me with an expression I can’t read. I wonder if he feels the buzz between us, or is it just me?

  He tips his head, directing me forward, and I’m powerless to hold my ground or ask more questions. We walk to a bank of elevators and I expect him to drop my hand since I’m complying with his wishes, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands closer to me and brings my hand to his side where it grazes the denim of his jeans. I push my hand against his leg and feel steel once again.

  “You know, you’re like Superman,” I blurt out before thinking.

  “I wish I had his X-ray vision,” Brady says with a smirk. I roll my eyes. Of course he does. Jerk.

  “You’re disgusting,” I say through gritted teeth, pulling my hand out of his grasp. To think I was about to compliment his hard body. As if.

  “I’m just being honest. What man wouldn’t want that?” I roll my eyes and turn away to hide a smile, because Brady’s right. All men are animals, though some are more domesticated than others. Players like Brady never change their spots—or is it stripes? He’s just like Mitchell. Living for action now that he’s in the big leagues.

  We enter the elevator and I take the wall opposite from Brady, needing space to breathe and think. Plus, I get a better view of him from a distance, and he’s a gorgeous sight to gawk at in his navy sport coat. Brady swipes a keycard, then pushes the PH button.

  “Penthouse?” I ask, though I’m not surprised. The professional sports lifestyle is totally out of my league—and ninety-nine percent of the earth’s population. Hell, I can barely afford my one-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville.

  “Top floor,” Brady flashes a million-dollar grin, likely what his Coach’s apartment costs and then some.

  “Does your coach give the access card out to all the guys or are you just special?” I raise my brow in challenge.

  “Just the ones who live across the hall from him.”

  “What? You’re kidding me,” I say, bringing my hand to my chest. He shakes his head at me and laughs.

  He gets perks all right. No wonder he’s so conceited. He is to-die-for handsome, has a big cock—when it’s working—and can afford a place high above this city. At only twenty-five, he’s like the prince of this city. I cross my hands over my chest and wait for the elevator to finish its ascent.

  “You’re really a spitfire,” Brady says with a wink.

  “Every girl’s dream accolade.” I roll my eyes at him and he tips his head back, laughing.

  I huff at his display and stare up at the numbers appearing above the door. Finally, the long trip ends. The tension was about to make me scream or jump him. Damn his sexiness and cocky airs—they fucking turn me on.

  We leave our respective corners of the elevator and exit into the hallway. Once again, Brady’s hand lands on my back to guide me. His thumb rubs back and forth over the silk of my dress and I try to ignore the tingles erupting over my skin. It’s not a forward touch, but it spells trouble for me. It makes me wish his hands were all over me, and God knows that would be a horrible decision…I think.

  “First door on the right,” he directs me, and I have to laugh.

  “There are only two doors. I guess your place is the left one.”

  “I knew you were smart,” he quips back, and I scoff.

  “Listen, I came with you, so you better play nice.” I look up at him with a death glare. He towers over me, appearing as tall as the hallway ceiling.

  “You’re a big guy.”

  “You should know,” he chuckles, and I punch him in the arm. My poor knuckles didn’t care for that move one bit either. “Ouch.” I wiggle my fingers to relieve the pain.

  “Hello,” says Jimmy McDermott, Chicago’s legendary coach, standing in the doorway to his penthouse. Funny thing, neither Brady nor I knocked on it. “Heard you two fighting from inside.”

  “Coach, I want you to meet Cali Jones.”

  Coach McDermott laughs while shaking his head at us. “Pleasure, Ms. Jones.”

  “Please, call me Cali,” I respond in a weak voice while shaking his hand in shock. “Honor to meet you.”

  My mouth hangs open as I stare at him in disbelief. Chicago’s coaching legend is talking to me. He joined Chicago as head coach when I was fifteen. Jimmy, as his fans call him, has reporters laughing at all his news conferences with his wicked sense of humor, even when his team’s losing.

  “Come in, you two.” Coach moves away from the door so we can enter. Brady motions with his hand for me to go first. I step over the threshold and stare in awe. I’m standing in Coach McDermott’s apartment.

  “Cali, I’d like you to meet my better half, Eve.” His beautiful wife reaches out her hand to me. She has kind eyes
and a calm peace about her. She’s the exact opposite of her husband.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “You have? I mean. It’s nice to meet you, too.” I am at a loss here. Truly baffled that she even knows who I am, let alone has looked forward to meeting me. Who’s the royalty here?

  “Come with me, dear.” Her soothing tone makes some of the butterflies in my stomach flutter away and I follow her deeper into the apartment.

  I glance back at Brady and he’s still by the front door, whispering to his coach. They both look at me with unsettling grins and I can’t help wondering what the hell is going on.

  Eve leads me to a living room that faces a wall of windows overlooking downtown Chicago—a far cry from the brick view I have at my place.

  “Wow,” I say in admiration. I walk to the windows and look down at the twinkling lights of the city. I’m so far up, I can’t even make out the cars on the sidewalk, only their headlights illuminating the street. “Chicago looks so cosmopolitan from up here.”

  “I hope we never leave,” Eve says from behind me. “It all depends on this year. Jimmy’s got to bring the World Series to town or he’s out.”

  I turn to face her, angry to hear Jimmy’s job is on the line. “They can’t do that to him,” I protest.

  “The owners have lost their patience. They’ve given him a team of players that should take it all. So it’s all or nothing, I’m afraid.” She sighs and I want to hug her, but that would be weird since I don’t even know her.

  “This is the year,” I try to encourage, but she looks at me with doubt in her eyes.

  “I thought so until Brady quit hitting,” she says, glancing over at the men standing at the edge of the room. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, pressing my lips into a tight line. Someone better start explaining why Brady brought me here or I’ll walk out the door. The silly notion that I could play a part in a Chicago victory is starting to freak me out.