The Sport of Romance: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Cari Quinn

  “I like popcorn.” Frankie pursed her lips, but her laugh burst through.

  Xavier bit his lip, trying to stop it. Sank his teeth deep to keep it in. But damn him, he joined her. Chuckles melted into laughs dissolving into low belly bellows rumbling from his toes. His eyes watered, humor driven tears gathered in the corners. It wasn’t long before his abs ached. He crossed his good arm over himself and leaned over. It’d been a long time since he’d experienced honest-to-goodness amusement.

  Grayson laughed along with them. Or maybe it was at them. “Whatever you’re giving him, Doc, it must be pretty damned good.”

  “Screw you, man.” Xavier emphasized the words with a single finger.

  Grayson continued to laugh as he strode down the hallway and through the doorway leading into the gym.

  As soon as Grayson disappeared, Frankie asked, “You okay?” in a low, still humored voice.

  “I’m freakin’ awesome.” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her and she smiled. He forced a lip tilt. “It’s good to be back.”

  “Would you like to spend a little time on the bike?”

  “I thought—”

  “A few minutes would be okay, I think.”

  He jumped off the bench, wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Aw, Doc, I could kiss you!”

  Her eyes bugged out of her head as her jaw fell open. Yep, he’d definitely misread their moment earlier. And by holding her close, he’d crossed all kinds of lines. Even worse, he kinda liked the way she felt pressed up against him, small and soft and, oh hell, she smelled sweet.

  She stretched up on her tiptoes and turned her head, tilting her chin to present her cheek. He couldn’t fight the smile, and didn’t try too hard to keep his enjoyment to himself.

  The meeting of lips to cheek was quick and over before it even started.

  She eased out of his hold and smiled, patting his pectoral. “You can be quite charming when you’re not being an ass, you know that.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  She grinned. “Now would you like to ride the bike?”

  “Hell yeah.” He’d never wanted anything more.

  Like a man possessed, he strode down the hall and rounded the corner. Six Flags had nothing on the sight before him. He had to remind himself spinning in a circle like some ridiculous parody of The Sound of Music was out of the question. He sensed Frankie loitering in the doorway, watching him closely. In slow, sure steps he crossed the gym and stood in front of the stationary bike. He paused, waiting for her to burst out in laughter, telling him she was just kidding. No laughing or mocking came though. He glanced over his shoulder and she nodded, her smile gentle and reassuring.

  Sliding onto the seat, he placed his feet on the pedals, feeling calm for the first time since he’d walked into Frankie’s office forever-and-a-day ago, begging for her help.

  The first full leg extension sent a shot of adrenaline through his bloodstream. The next, a shot of pain. It didn’t make sense. He’d barely moved his torso. Sending his left leg toward the floor didn’t bother him. His right nearly crippled him. He cursed.

  Frankie rushed to his side. “Stop!”

  He ground his teeth and ignored her. He could do this. He would do this, by damn. He hated feeling like an invalid.

  “Dammit, Matthias! Stop! Now!” She lowered herself into his line of vision just as it blurred. “I. Said. Stop!”

  He did. Breath raced out of his lungs in staggered bursts. And he hated her. He needed to get away from her before he did something he’d regret later.

  “Let me look at your shoulder.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Menace dripped from the gritted words.

  She backed away as he stood. It took every bit of control he possessed to keep from tearing the room apart on his way out. The deserted hallway was a blessing. He slammed his palm into the bar-release of the door and ignored the blaring alarm announcing his exit.

  Xavier has left the building.

  Sunlight stabbed his eyes and made it difficult to see for a moment. He rubbed a hand over his face, surprised when his palm became damp.

  What the hell? He wasn’t even sure he knew himself anymore. He thought he’d gotten over the cry-baby thing years ago. Like he had a choice.

  He stuck close to the building, following it up to the chain link fence that opened to the field. Most of the time it was padlocked. Today, though, the lock hung loose. Open.

  Xavier took a deep breath before removing the lock, flipping the latch, and opening the gate. The hard dirt of the bullpen felt strange under his tennis shoes. He missed his cleats.

  He surveyed the field. He scanned from home plate, right field, the mound, second base, short stop… His throat tightened again as he looked at left field. He shook his head. Man, he never thought he’d miss a bunch of green grass so much.

  * * *

  Frankie leaned against the open gate and watched Xavier. She hadn’t realized just how much his injury affected him. She knew he wasn’t a big fan of playing patient, of needing her help, but she hadn’t understood just how miserable he was.

  Until now.

  His chest expanded then contracted. His head dropped, shook back and forth. When his shoulders quavered with an unheard sob, Frankie barely stopped herself from rushing to him and wrapping her arms around him.

  He didn’t want her comfort. He didn’t want her help. Truth be told, he didn’t want anything from her. She was okay with that. At least she kept trying to tell herself it didn’t matter. Too bad her heart didn’t believe it. Every time he snapped at her, every time he scowled or cursed, her heart broke a little.

  His injury was only temporary, but she wondered if he understood that. He’d recover. Watching him on the stationary bike, she wasn’t so sure.

  Slowly, very slowly, he wandered, head down, shoulders slumped, toward the position he’d dominated for years.

  Frankie heard footsteps and turned to see Ricky Santiago stroll around the corner of the building. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to check Xavier’s status. He still looked broken, standing lost in the middle of left field. She hustled to Ricky, caught him by the arm and guided him in the direction he’d just come.

  Xavier seemed to be coming apart at the seams. She’d been surprised to hear him go off on Grayson. There was no way Frankie could allow X to come face to face with the guy who’d stepped into his cleats—and done a decent job of filling them.

  “Hey, can you give me a half hour or so?”

  Ricky’s dark brows pinched, before one rose with the question he didn’t voice.

  “Please.”

  One huge shoulder lifted and dropped. “Sure thing, Doc. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  “Thanks.” She patted the tattoo sleeving his forearm and he walked away.

  Her thoughts returned to Xavier. She didn’t know what to do for him. She’d been hesitant to bring him with her today. Turned out, setting foot within Rockets Field was the worst thing for his mental recovery she could have possibly done.

  Chapter Eight

  After the few hours at the gym last week, Xavier’s mood had plummeted faster than a skydiver without a parachute. The impact, it seemed, just as dramatic.

  His attitude toward Frankie consisted of bitter one-syllable, mostly four-lettered words and grunts. His attitude toward his treatment and the world tended to be even worse. To say she worried about him would constitute the understatement of the year. She’d lost sleep over the damned man.

  Dealing with surly athletes was nothing new, but Xavier… He had her in knots, turned inside out, unsure of what to do next. She cared about him. Not that she didn’t care about the others…

  Oh, good hell.

  She shook her head. She resorted to chalking her feelings up to her intense need to mother, to serve, to … care. The need burned deep in her bones. She’d come to earth that way, according to her mother.

  And her mother would know.

  “Frances, you
okay, baby girl?”

  Frankie glanced up from her cereal bowl into the light gray eyes of her mother and smiled. “Yeah, just lost in my thoughts.”

  “Lost is the right word.” Her mother placed a hand on the table to steady herself, awkwardly pulled a chair out, and carefully lowered herself into it. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve lost your best friend. And I know you just talked to Christian this morning.”

  “It’s Xavier.”

  Her mother raised a pale blond brow and tipped her head to the side. Her gaze held accusation, but none crossed her lips.

  “I just worry more than I should.”

  “That’s who you are, baby girl.” Slightly gnarled knuckles stroked over Frankie’s perfectly straight ones, and she once again hated the disease that had stolen so much from Charlotte Holden.

  Polio had killed many people, crippled many more. And though Frankie should be grateful her mother was alive and well, she still felt cheated sometimes. Well, she hadn’t been cheated. She harbored the resentment her mother didn’t.

  Frankie loved her mother. Loved taking care of her, but sometimes—a lot of the time—she wished she didn’t have to. Only because she wanted her mother to know a life free of pain, of struggle, of doctors and needles and crutches.

  “Hey.” A light, loving pat on her hand brought Frankie out of her thoughts. Her mother smiled. “You disappeared on me again.”

  Frankie offered a tight, completely fake grin. “Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Mom nodded. “You shouldn’t keep all that worry buried deep in your heart. It’ll give you an ulcer. If you don’t want to talk to me—” Her hands shot up when Frankie began to protest. “—that’s fine, but promise me you’ll talk to Christian. Or somebody. Anybody. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Frankie wasn’t sure she could keep the promise. Christian would let her vent, but his disapproving commentary wouldn’t offer the relief she so desperately sought.

  “Hello?”

  Speak of the devil.

  Christian sauntered into the kitchen with all the swagger of the beefcake he was. Dressed in jeans and a white wife beater, muscles flexing with each step, Frankie took the only comfort he’d give her.

  She stood and all but threw herself into his arms. He chuckled softly and wrapped her in a hug. As he held her tightly against his chest, she melted. Sobs bubbled up from her toes and rumbled out in pitiful explosions of emotions.

  “Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” Christian gripped her shoulders and tried to ease her away enough to look in her face. She couldn’t let him see the pain in her eyes. When she didn’t budge or release the grip she had on his waist, he tightened his hold. With a particularly hard blubbering snuffle, she threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

  “She’s worried about Xavier,” she heard her mother say, adding, “Take care of her, okay?” before leaving the two of them alone.

  His chin moved against her temple with his nod. “Oh, honey.”

  She expected the lecture to begin, the condemnation, the accusation, but he just held her as she cried.

  Minutes ticked by filled with snuffles and sobs. She clung to Christian, accepting every ounce of strength he willingly offered. She sniffed and wiped at her nose. When she pulled away, he smiled at her.

  “Feel better?”

  She nodded and snorted a soggy giggle. “Sorry.”

  He tugged her into his arms again, rubbing her back. “It’s what I’m here for.” He kissed her temple. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, feeling so much better. “Thanks.”

  Another sniff. She reached toward the counter to tug a tissue from the box and wiped her nose. Christian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scrutinizing her every move.

  “So … you wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  His jaw twitched. “Did he hurt you?”

  She felt her eyes bug out of her head. “No!”

  His face registered a whole lot of uh-huh, yeah. He stalked her until he’d gotten up close and personal. “Frank. Don’t screw with me.” His huge hands cupped her cheeks, his eyes intense. He towered over her, his protective scowl soothing her. She both loved and hated when he got like this. “Do I need to kick his ass?”

  She laughed, tried to shake her head, but his tight grip prevented any motion. “No, you do not need to kick his ass.”

  “Then why are you cryin’ over him?” He released his hold and stepped back. The taut muscles into his jaw jumped. He tried to suffuse some calm, relaxed, totally-in-control in his expression. And failed.

  “I’m just worried about him. That’s all.”

  He cocked his head to the side and smirked.

  She put her hands on her hips. “His physical well-being. Nothing more.”

  He shrugged and laughed, the deep rumble diffusing the tension. “You go right on lying to both of us then.”

  “I’m not—”

  His hand shot up. “No offense, Frank, but talking about your boyfriend—”

  “He’s not—”

  “—isn’t my idea of a good time.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and we’ll go catch a movie.”

  “I can’t. I have to get over to Xavier’s.”

  Christian’s blue eyes flashed. His sandy blond dusted head shook. “You seem to choose him over me. If I didn’t know better, I’d get a complex.”

  * * *

  Christian was her rock. His calm strength grounded her better than anything else. She hadn’t meant to completely lose it, but wrapped in his arms, held tightly against his chest, feeling protected, the dam broke.

  As she walked up to Xavier’s front door, she was glad she’d released some of her worry. Falling apart within Christian’s embrace beat the hell out of doing it in Xavier’s. In fact, a breakdown the likes of what she’d plagued Chris with would probably freak X out and send him running for the hills. Or send him into hysterics while he laughed and pointed.

  She knocked and wasn’t surprised when the door didn’t open. Another knock didn’t cause the door to magically swing open either. She bent over and picked up the rock to retrieve the key and slipped it into the lock.

  As soon as she opened the door, she cringed. The television screamed at her from the other room. She only barely resisted the need to clamp her hands over her ears. She definitely didn’t want to hear the theme song for SpongeBob SquarePants any louder, but she headed in the direction of the whiney music anyway.

  Xavier’s living room epitomized masculinity, decorated in brown leather, electronics up the wazoo, cup holders within the cushions of the recliners, and—Frankie shook her head.—a guy wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, staring dumbly at the television, his back facing the archway where she stood.

  “Hello.” When he didn’t acknowledge her presence, she raised her voice. “Hello!” No reaction. “Xavier!” Nothing.

  She watched him for a moment, wondering if he could possibly sleep through the blaring noise coming from the television. Then he laughed, and she got good and pissed.

  She stomped around to stand in front of the recliner, feet braced apart, hands on hips, prepared for battle.

  He stared through her. “Move.”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed, tiny wrinkles crinkling in the corners. Menace sparked in his gaze when it flipped up to clash with hers. “I said, move, Doc.” His deep growl rumbled like a growing thunder. She waited for the crash signaling the lightning.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She reached out and snatched the remote control, pointing to toward the TV and turning it off.

  A loud pop! accompanied the closure of his recliner and was the only warning she got before his hand seized her wrist. He whirled her around and got right in her face.

  “Get out of my way!”

  “No.” Miraculously she managed to keep the nervous shake running
through her blood out of her voice. “I’m here to hel—”

  “I don’t want you here. I don’t need your help.” Breath raced in and out his lungs, his chest expanding and contracting with the puffs. “Get the hell out of my house. Now!”

  She wasn’t sure where she got the courage to stand there toe-to-toe with two-hundred pounds of seriously pissed off, but she didn’t feel truly threatened. Maybe she’d lost her mind.

  “Matthias, you need me.”

  His nostrils flared. His teeth ground together. “I don’t need anybody.” His low, no-nonsense tone didn’t allow for argument.

  Not that it stopped her. “Humor me.”

  “No.” He jabbed a finger at the door. “Get out.”

  “Why don’t you put some clothes on, then we can talk.”

  He raised the middle finger on his left hand before slipping it into the waistband of his boxers.

  “Don’t you dare.” The words barely crossed her tongue before his boxers hit the floor. He stood in all his exquisite glory, daring her to look her fill. She met his challenge, eye-to-eye, proud she’d been able to keep her eyes focused on his face.

  “My house. My rules.” He wiggled his brows. “And I feel like bein’ naked. Don’t like it, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you in your perky little ass on the way out.”

  “Fine.” She huffed a sigh. A mule had nothing on the stubborn jackass standing in front of her. He’d dug his heels in and there was no reasoning with him. “I’m leaving. But I will be back tomorrow. And we’re going to start working out that shoulder. Naked, if that’s how you choose to do it.”

  The journey to her car came and went in a blur. Her hands trembled as she tried to get the key in the ignition. She dropped her head to the steering wheel and focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  Heaven help her if he chose to workout naked.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m not a chick!”

  The flutter-flap combination of the peach resistance band landing like a drunken flamingo negated his pissed off, and Frankie had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Xavier had been in a bad mood for the last couple of weeks.