“Yeah, that was right up there with those girl balls you were pitching.” Brian McCauley grinned.
“You see the papers?” Jimmy asked, his brow lifting. “They were praising my fastball. The Trenton Times can’t say enough nice things about us. Imagine that, after last year when they were calling us the Garden State Goons!”
“You can thank his girlfriend, Nikki Case, for that,” Chase Westbrook, the starting pitcher, said, pointing to shortstop Jake Baldwin. “Best damn PR rep in the business.”
“You’re not going to get an argument out of me,” Jake said as he kicked his locker door closed. “She cleaned up our image, got rid of the haircuts, the tats, the bar fights. Have to admit, her plan worked. I hate it when she’s right.”
Chase laughed just as Pete Johnston, the Sonics’ manager, walked in with a new player. By the deferential way he was being treated, it was clear the new guy was someone important. The noise in the locker room subsided as recognition came quickly, and more than one mouth dropped as they identified the California slugger.
“Hey, boys,” Pete said in his folksy way, chomping on a wad of bubblegum. “We got ourselves a new first baseman. I know you’ll all welcome Gavin King to the Sonics.”
Their new teammate stood beside Pete like exhibit A. At six foot five, with black hair, chin scruff, and a build that went with his size, he had an undeniable presence. Even more irritating, he was good-looking, with a pair of intense dark eyes, a firm chin, and a sensual mouth. He’d been considered a star player, and rumor had it that among his other attributes, he was considered irresistible to the female fans.
But worst of all, every man who had been with the team the previous summer could only remember that devastating game when Antonio Chavez, the Sonics reliever, lobbed a curveball right over the middle of the plate and Gavin tattooed it, sending it four hundred feet over the bullpen wall to lose the game.
It still stung.
“Now we all know it was Gavin’s grand slam that kept us out of the series last year,” Pete continued, as if reading their minds. “That’s all the more reason we want him on our team. We need to fill Ryan’s cleanup spot, and he is just the guy Jeffrey thinks will do that.”
Several of the men groaned, but they were not about to challenge the manager, or Jeffrey Caine, the general manager. Yet none of them were happy to see their adversary being led to the nicest locker in the room. Pete opened the door, tossed out Jake’s belongings, and displayed the generous storage inside, a pile of fluffy towels, and a pair of shower shoes.
“Chase, why don’t you show him around, you know, make him feel at home? And Brian, once Gavin’s ready to play, I’m going to change the lineup, move you down and put Gavin behind Jake in the rotation. Any questions?”
Crickets.
“Good. Meet you all outside in fifteen for batting practice and drills. We want to keep up all the good work we started last year. Gavin, I’ll let them fill you in.”
Chase did an eye roll, but otherwise complied. As the pitcher led him out of the room, they noticed that the new player walked with a limp.
“Great,” Brian said in disgust once he was out of earshot. “On top of everything else, he’s a gimp.”
—
When he returned with Chase after a tour that took all of fifteen minutes, Gavin turned innocently to Jake. “So where is the concierge?”
“The what?”
“The concierge. You know, the person that orders stuff for us. I was thinking to get a salad for lunch.”
Jake’s eyes met Cody’s, and he fought the humor that threatened to burst out of control.
“We don’t exactly have a concierge,” he said seriously. “But we do have a snack stand. I’m sure if you asked real nice, they could find something for you.”
A couple of the men broke into laughter. “I guess this will take some getting used to,” Gavin said, glancing outside. Even though it was April, there was a coating of frost on the ground. He visibly shuddered. “This sure isn’t California.”
“You can say that again.” Cody grinned. “Welcome to Joisey.”
—
“Okay, let’s try the crunches with your feet a little higher on the bench. If that goes well, we can add it to your routine.”
Jessica Hart bent over to arrange the baseball player’s sneakers in the proper position on the bench, completely missing the once-over he gave her. Clad in sweats and a tank top, her copper-colored hair in braids and a Sonics cap on her head in an effort to restrain a multitude of curls, she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t appreciate a lascivious glance.
But when she rose, Roger Adams couldn’t help but openly admire her toned athletic body, biceps that rivaled those of some of the players, and the sheer strength of her physique as she tossed one leg over his trunk and positioned his shoulders in a perfect square. Her face was intriguing, with a turned-up nose and a sprinkle of freckles, her green eyes intense, and somehow her workout clothes only enhanced a feminine beauty that seemed innate.
“Christ,” Roger moaned even as he lifted his back off the floor. “I’m sick of working out. Besides, I have a groin injury. What the hell do crunches have to do with that?”
“Everything,” Jessica said firmly. “These exercises work your core. If your body is balanced, injuries are a lot less likely. Besides,” she added, giving him a thoughtful look, “Matt Carpenter never complained about a few sit-ups. But then again, he was in much better shape.”
That did it. Roger threw himself into the workout, determined to show her and Matt Carpenter that no one bested him. Squatting beside him to count, she hid a grin.
As the new sports therapist for the New Jersey Sonics, Jessica knew more than she ever wanted to about motivating athletes. She had grown up in a house full of brothers, all of whom went on to play pro sports. So she understood how they thought, what made them tick. She also knew that even though they were bigger and stronger than she was, they weren’t a damn sight better.
When she was in high school, her physical education teacher suggested she take up cheerleading, and she had laughed out loud at the idea. The thought of standing on the sidelines with a couple of pom-poms, a ponytail, and a push-up bra was totally ridiculous to her. Instead, she wanted to compete, to be treated as an equal. Unfortunately she discovered that for a female, the world hadn’t gotten there quite yet.
So she became a sports therapist, utilizing her skills and knowledge of the male athletic psyche to become a successful trainer. After a few temporary positions, she got offered a job in New Jersey thanks to her brother Rory, and established her reputation among the jocks.
The position was just to her liking: the Sonics were a fairly new team, filled with reckless young rookies looking to make it to the big time, players who would certainly get hurt and need her help.
She was on board.
“That’s fifty,” Roger said, collapsing on the mat, puffing from the exertion.
“It was forty-eight. But I guess if that’s all you’ve got in you…” She shrugged indifferently.
He completed the last of the set and went on to add five more, hoping to impress her. But she was already preoccupied with the weights on the wall, carefully selecting a pair of dumbbells for his next torture.
“Give me thirty reps, the first ten slow, then pick up the pace. We need to get these arms in shape.” She indicated his biceps. “No wonder you’ve hit zero for twenty.”
His eyes blazed, but as she’d predicted, he worked even harder. By the time they were done, she almost felt sorry for him. Roger was dripping in sweat, red from exertion, and trying to hide his puffing.
“Okay, you’re done for the day. Good work.”
He beamed like a three-year-old who had been praised for putting away his blocks. Rising, he grabbed a towel and proceeded to blot some of the sweat that now gleamed from his torso. Tossing it aside, he approached her with a speculative look in his eyes.
“You know, we work together every day and yet
we don’t hang out. Why don’t we grab a few beers, get to know each other?” He gave her his most charming grin and reached up to finger a lock of hair that had escaped from her cap.
Jessica burst into laughter. “That’s very flattering, but no thanks.”
“Why not?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Some guy screw you over?”
She froze for a second before putting the mat away, and then she turned to look him in the eye. “Not that it’s any of your business, but with the exception of my brothers, I don’t care for professional athletes.”
“Why?” Roger asked, bewildered.
“Because you all have egos the size of the state of Texas, and you want to screw everything that moves. You don’t care about anything but the game and yourself. What about all that would be appealing to me?”
“Come on, we’re not that bad,” he said with a smirk and tried to pull her into his embrace.
She laughed and threw a fresh towel at him, chuckling when it smacked his head. “You are exactly that bad. Hit the shower. Same time tomorrow. Got it?”
Roger grinned. “Yeah. I get it.”
She hoped for his sake he did.
—
Pete walked into the PT room a moment later, popping his gum with a grin.
“I want you to meet our new player, Gavin King. Gavin, this is Jessica Hart. She is the best sports therapist in the business, and a hell of a trainer. Jess, Gavin just joined the team, but he’s on the DL.”
Jessica turned to the coach, saw the ballplayer beside him, and her heart stopped.
He was exactly her type. Or her former type. As she took in his magnificent physique, black eyes, and Colgate smile, she felt an instant attraction.
Gavin was the kind of guy she used to dream about, drool over, and date. She’d met enough of them growing up, friends of her brothers who started out as decent guys but got caught up in the hype and eventually stomped all over some poor girl silly enough to give up her heart. Unfortunately, she’d had to walk that path herself. She’d made the fatal mistake of falling for an outfielder who played for Cleveland, and eventually played her. Zach had the same dark hair, heart-stopping smile, and killer body.
He’d taught her what the word devastation meant.
“Good to meet you.” She extended her hand, reminding herself to think of him in clinical terms: he was a pro baseball player, a young athlete, and he was hurt. “So what seems to be the problem?”
“I had surgery for a meniscus tear,” he said, lifting his left pant leg and indicating a bandage. “It’s pretty much healed, but the surgeon wants me in physical therapy for a few months to build back up. I think they sent my test results, the MRI, and a script.”
She nodded, squatting before him and removing the bandage to examine the pink half-inch line on his knee. “I’ll take a look at the films. Red zone?” she asked, referring to the location of his tear.
“Yeah, I think so. But they said it spread into the white zone.”
Her eyes shot to Pete’s, and he gave a slight negative shake of his head. This news wasn’t good, and neither one of them wanted to share their misgivings. A tear that went into the white zone could mean big trouble for a ballplayer, or it could heal well and the limb would fully recover. It would take weeks before they’d know, and she understood now how the Sonics had acquired this magnificent specimen of a man:
His previous team didn’t want the risk.
So New Jersey had rolled the dice, gambling on his recovery. She could only hope they’d beat the odds.
“Okay, let’s get started. Have you done any therapeutic exercise up until now?”
“Yes, for a couple of weeks,” he said, flexing the knee to demonstrate. “They had me doing leg raises until they took the brace off.”
“That makes sense. We won’t do much today; we’ll do an evaluation, take a look at your records, and then we will put together a program.”
“How long?”
Her eyes met his and she saw the pain and frustration there. No player ever wanted to be on the disabled list, especially for any period of time. She didn’t want to raise false hopes, but she also didn’t want to discourage him. She took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words.
“It’s different with everyone. Some people recover much more quickly than others. A lot depends on how well you heal, how much you can tolerate, and if you’re willing to do the exercises at home. That will give us the quickest turnaround.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said fervently. “I just want to get back in the game.”
Jessica nodded as she wrapped the limb with the heating pad. No way in hell would she tell him the truth:
He might never be back.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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