by Skye Jordan
He watched her go, not thinking anymore about the food he’d lost. He was far more concerned that what she’d said could be true. Not only had no one told him any of that before, everyone seemed to treat him with kid gloves, limiting the information they gave him as if they were afraid he’d crumble at the news. None of his other physical therapists had been this confident or this informative, which was why he’d gotten rid of them.
Julia set the bags down and stepped into knee-high snow boots, then grabbed the trash and disappeared out the door. Leaving Noah to realize in the silence that followed, a lot of what she was saying connected with a shadowy part of him he wasn’t ready or willing to acknowledge. Not now, with a hangover. And not to her, the bossy know-it-all. He needed to yell at Drake, down a shitload of pain relievers, then crawl back into bed and sleep off both his hangover and his swollen leg.
This chick was going to be a bitch to get rid of. And if he had to listen to her rant one more time, his head would split.
With anger and panic mixing in his bloodstream, Noah pushed himself to the front door and locked it. Then he started for the stairs, flipping the dead bolt to the garage door on his way past. He had no idea where his cell was, but he had a landline in his bedroom, and he needed to rip Drake a new asshole. Right now.
By the time he’d reached the third stair, Julia was pounding on the door. By the time he’d reached the tenth, she was bellowing obscenities and threats. By the time he’d reached the landing, she was circling the house, trying every door and window she could reach, and Noah was sweating and panting from the exertion and pain.
He stumbled into his bedroom, fell onto his bed, and grabbed his phone, tapping into his contacts. Just as he hit Drake’s number, a familiar rumble kicked up in the garage.
“What…?” he murmured.
A squeal drew him to the window just as his new silver Maserati Kubang backed out.
“No way!” He dropped to his knees as she rolled his car into the street. “No.” He slapped an open hand to his window. “Don’t you dare.”
But she took off down the street anyway.
“Motherfucker,” he screamed, pain and rage frothing through his veins.
“Noah.”
The distant call of his name drew his attention to the phone, and he jerked it to his ear. “Drake? You sent that crazy bitch over here?”
“We talked about this last night—”
“She stole my car, man,” he yelled over Drake. “She stole my fuckin’ car right out of my garage. I gotta go. I gotta call the cops—”
“Stop!”
Drake’s shout cut into Noah’s thoughts. He couldn’t remember ever hearing the man yell—and Noah had given him plenty of cause.
“Dude,” Noah said, “did you hear me? She stole my car. My new car.”
“She said you locked her out of the house. I just got off the phone with her. Said her keys are on your kitchen counter and you wouldn’t let her in to get them. It’s nine degrees outside, Noah. Did you seriously lock her out of your house?” he yelled again. “You have crossed the line, bro. She’s the best goddamned therapist in the state. Hell, maybe the country. She rehabbed Woods and Yzerman, Favre and Simms. That crazy bitch is your ticket back into the Games.”
“No, man,” he shouted in return, shaking with fury and confusion and, yeah, fear—that woman had just put the fear of God into him. “She’s the bitch who stole my car.”
“Damn you,” Drake yelled, followed by a string of curses even Noah had never heard. “I’ve pushed and pushed and pushed until you hit the top. Now I’m doing everything in my power to keep you there. I can’t make you stay. I can’t make you want to get back on that board. But let me tell you this: If you don’t make it to Aspen in February, you’re going to lose Epic’s sponsorship.”
Noah was breathing hard. He raised one knee and pressed his throbbing forehead there. “They won’t drop me.”
“They’re paying Julia to rehab you. What part of ‘They want you in Aspen, blowing the competition out of the powder’ didn’t you understand? They don’t like the progress you’ve been making on your own, and, dammit, neither do I.”
“Fuck Epic. I don’t need them. I’ve got other sponsors—”
“Reality check. If you lose Epic, you’ll lose Red Bull. If you lose Red Bull, you’ll lose Volcom. If you lose those three, you can kiss Monster and Vans and Life Force good-bye too. In case I’m not hitting the one brain cell you’ve got left, let me clearly explain that’s ninety percent of your income.”
“I’m going to be totally fine by February. I never had any fancy specialists before, and I’ve always bounced back.”
“You were younger before. You’re not twenty years old anymore. And you’ve never been hurt this bad before. Now you have a company willing to spend big bucks to repair you with a quality therapist. I strongly suggest you accept their generosity and soak up Julia’s experience and knowledge, because the alternative isn’t pretty.”
“This is so fucked—”
“Think long and hard about your next move, bro, because if you call the cops on a woman who was sent there to help you, a woman you agreed to work with, a woman you basically stranded in nine-degree weather by locking her out of your house because you’re too messed up to think straight, you will have all but trashed your career.”
Before Noah could respond, the line disconnected.
“Wait…Drake? Fuck!” Noah turned, dropped to his ass, and pitched the phone across the room. It hit the plaster and shattered, spewing plastic all over the carpet.
He raised both knees, rested his elbows there, and fisted his hands in his hair. His entire lower leg exploded in fire, and his head spun with everything Julia and Drake had just threatened—the loss of his career and, quite possibly, his leg.
Julia took another long drink of her hot tea and picked at the muffin on her plate while she stared at her phone. She’d checked all the job boards she normally scanned every day, but every new listing was no better than the job she’d had at Sunrise Manor.
She glanced through the window of Kelly’s Bakery at the snow swirling through the air. What the hell was she doing here?
“So damned stupid,” she muttered, letting her eyes close for a moment.
She knew better than to trust the people in this business. She never should have quit her job until she’d been one hundred and fifty percent sure she could work with this guy.
With a disgusted shake of her head, she opened her eyes to her phone and her boss’s number at Sunrise Manor already typed in. She just had to tap Send, and she could proceed to beg for her job back. But, man, the idea had wedged itself into her gut like a jagged rock.
The bell on the door tinkled, and Julia watched an older couple wander to the counter, offering hellos to friends sitting at other tables in the small space.
Her mind flitted through her options again, but after only a few minutes, the attempt to find another road out of this mess came back to the number on her phone. The sudden loss of her job at Performance Therapy had put a big strain on her bank account. The cost of living in San Francisco was ridiculously high, and she’d been digging into her savings just to make rent and gas and food—the savings she’d earmarked to fund her dream company. If she didn’t beg for her job back—and fast—her remaining savings would become dust in the wind.
And she’d be right back where she’d been the day Duncan walked away.
“Fucking Duncan,” she whispered to herself. “Fucking Phillips. Fucking Hunt. Fucking Drake.”
Fucking men.
Julia picked off another tiny corner of the muffin and muttered, “Just get it over with.”
She popped the muffin into her mouth and sighed as she stared at the green button on her phone with a sick twist in her gut. Her mind wandered back to the morning, back to Noah, and she shook her head. That guy was in serious denial. On one hand, she felt for him. She knew from personal experience how difficult accepting a life-changing injury c
ould be. On the other, that didn’t give him the right to act like an asshole.
And damn, he was so smokin’ hot, he nearly set her on fire. She hated to admit it. It just seemed wrong that such an arrogant jerk had pulled such a great hand in the deck of looks. Or maybe the looks had turned him into an arrogant jerk. Even hungover, the man threw off waves of confidence, dominance, and control. He had the whole this-is-my-world-and-you’re-inconveniencing-me thing down.
Luckily—or not, depending on how she looked at it—she wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with him. No, she’d be four hours away, working with ninety-year-olds who moved about as well as Hunt hobbled through the kitchen.
She heaved another sigh and muttered, “Can’t wait.”
Then lifted her hand to press Send.
The bakery door opened again, but this time it flew wide enough to let in a flurry of snowflakes. Ice wrapped around Julia’s body and stung her exposed skin. An involuntary gasp drew the air into her throat, and she winced, scowling up at whoever had disturbed the bakery’s warm cocoon.
The glass door shut behind a big man dressed in worn jeans and a hunter-green parka, the collar guarding his face from the cold. He wiped his boots on the mat and dragged off his knit cap. Sandy-blond hair stuck up and out and all over, and Julia’s stomach turned from ice to fire. Then Noah’s deep blue gaze swung around the bakery and collided with hers, and a knot tightened deep in her body.
She couldn’t read his expression. He looked both angry and relieved at the same time, which probably related to the new Maserati she’d stolen from his garage. The impulsive, fury-filled move had been so bad, it still felt good, and a devious little smile curled in her gut.
She swept a look over his big frame, her gaze pausing on his right boot where it barely closed, the laces hanging undone.
“That can’t be comfortable.” She met his gaze again. “There’s a reason elephants don’t wear shoes, you know.”
His eyes narrowed, lips parted.
“Good morning, Noah,” Jill Kelly, the woman who owned the bakery and who’d served Julia called from behind the counter, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Your usual?”
“Hey, Jill.” His voice came out warm and smooth, and he pushed his hand through his hair, combing it back off his face. “Sure, thanks.”
He greeted a few other men seated at nearby tables with handshakes and small talk, like a regular small-town boy. Not at all what she’d expected. The athletes she’d worked with regularly traveled with entourages, bodyguards, and assistants. They rarely had time for small talk, and even then only made it with people who could move and shake the industry.
Julia turned off her phone and slid it into the pocket of her jacket. The humiliating call to beg for her job would have to wait.
When Noah turned back to her, Julia braced for his anger. She could take it. She’d taken worse. And, hell, what was he going to do? Fire her?
Still, as he stopped beside the table and stared down, the intensity of those Tahoe-blue eyes made her insides squeeze. Drake’s claim of Noah’s charisma jumped to mind, but she pushed it aside.
“You’re just in time. I was about to leave.” She brushed her hands free of crumbs and sat back, pulling the keys to his fancy SUV out of her pocket, and tossed them onto the Formica. “Now I won’t have to dump a Hamilton into that boat’s gas tank for the drive home. How’d you find me?”
“That boat has a GPS.” He stuffed his gloves into his pocket and curled his big hands around the back of a chair. “You’re damn lucky I didn’t call the cops.”
She snorted a laugh in the act of taking a sip from her tea and covered her mouth as she swallowed. “You’re lucky I left the doors to my own car unlocked so I could get another jacket. You could be facing manslaughter charges right now.”
Jill approached with a plate-size bear claw and a tall coffee. She set the food down, smiling at Julia. “You should have told me you’re a friend of Noah’s. I’d have given you a discount.”
“Aw, sweet. Thank you.” She dropped her chin into her hand. “Next time.”
“You bet.” Jill turned her gaze on Noah. “You’re looking…rugged. Is your foot giving you trouble?”
Rugged. Yes, that was a good description. Ruggedly disheveled. Ruggedly handsome. Ruggedly sexy.
Ruggedly asinine—she reminded herself.
“No more than usual,” he said, shooting her an easy smile.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t all bad. And maybe he wasn’t the arrogant elite athlete she was used to. But he was still an ass.
“Yell if you need anything.” Jill patted his back and returned to the counter, where a mother and son peered through the glass case holding donuts and pastries.
Julia appraised the gargantuan bear claw. “You know how a donut goes straight to a woman’s hips?”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “I’m not all that concerned about my ass.”
She lifted her gaze to his deliberately. “That breakfast will go straight to your ankle the same way. Add that breakfast to your alcohol last night and your bedroom festivities, and hell, if this is your daily routine, I’m going to forget about finding another job. I’ll just sink every penny I have into betting against you getting to Aspen. I’ll be a damn millionaire.”
He dropped into the chair with a heavy sigh, pulled his arms out of the jacket, and let it slump over the back of his seat. “We really got off to a bad start. Can we just…start over?”
She scanned the way his deep-brown Henley clung to his muscled torso, one she could still see naked. His beard looked fuller than it had earlier. The overall effect was… Well, it was not anything she needed to be thinking about.
“I’m not much for second chances,” she said. “I pretty much believe we are what we are. I’ve seen what you are, and I’m not impressed. You obviously don’t think much of me either. This is one of those situations when it’s better to just stay well out of each other’s way.”
His attempt at good nature drained into frustration. He shifted in his chair, and a clear you’re-really-putting-me-out-here message radiated from him as he cradled the paper cup with both hands. “How can you preach to me about sugar while you’re eating that? Are you the do-what-I-say-not-what-I-do type?”
“I’m not rehabbing. And there’s not an ounce of sugar in this. It’s not going to turn into sugar the minute it hits my bloodstream either. It’s a bran muffin, sweetened with applesauce.”
“So, sorta like cardboard.” He pressed those beautifully shaped lips to the rim of his cup and sipped, followed by a hum of pleasure, a sigh of relief, and those deep blues rolling back in his head, lids closing.
Desire swirled low in her abdomen like the snow flurries stirring outside. Her mind drifted to what he’d be like in bed—hurried and selfish, typical for a man used to having the world revolve around him? Or as intense and deliberate as his personality implied?
She crossed her arms and forced the sensations out with a deep breath. Looks meant nothing. And looks were the only thing he had going for him.
“Keys, please.” She slid her chair back. “I want to hit the road. It’s going to be a long drive back with this storm.”
“What?” He opened his eyes with a look of surprise, then smirked. “You’re not really—”
“Going to leave? Jesus, you are full of yourself. Yeah. I’m really going to leave. If you think you’re going to treat me like you did at the house, then pretend it didn’t happen…” She tossed up her hands. “All I can say is…dude.”
He laughed, a low, husky, authentic sound that she felt in the pit of her stomach. Then the dimple in his right cheek appeared. And his eyes sparkled.
This was the media flirt. She’d seen him before.
Julia extended her hand again. “Please.”
“Hold on.” The grin melted into alarm. “You weren’t particularly nice to me either.”
“Like I said, people are pretty much what they are. I’m straightf
orward, no-nonsense, no sugar coating. I gave you the facts. If you want to heal, you have to face the tough stuff. Suck it up, playboy.”
His golden brows shot up. “And my car?”
She dropped her hand, inhaled a breath, and held it, contemplating a response. In the end, she couldn’t find anything appropriate—or snarky. So she exhaled and studied her muffin. “Yeah.” She drew out the word. “I’m, um, sorry about the car. I shouldn’t have done that. It was…impulsive.” She met his eyes as she pulled her purse strap from the back of the chair. “Good thing we found out we can’t work together sooner rather than later, right? I’ve really got to get going.”
“Well, I’m sorry about locking you out too. If I’d known it was only nine degrees outside—”
“You’d have flipped the dead bolt, and we both know it.”
He dropped his head back and started laughing. The sound was rich and easy and made some of the tension leak from Julia’s shoulders. Made a smile turn her mouth. He sat back and set his coffee down, then met her eyes again, that killer grin gleaming. “I’m trying to apologize here—”
“Appreciated. Accepted. Let’s put this all behind us and go on with our lives.” When he didn’t offer the keys, she added, “This is the last time I’m asking before I shoot down that snowy freeway in your shiny Maserati. And I suck at driving in the snow. Just sayin’.”
“Why the hate?” He leaned even farther back to reach into his pocket. She absolutely did not stare at his crotch as the denim stretched across his package.
The jingle of her keys drew her gaze from where she was absolutely not looking.
“I’ve got an unbeatable deal for you, sweetheart,” he said. “Just hear me out.”
“My first mistake was hearing Drake out, and my name is Julia, not sweetheart.”
“Drake twists things upside down and sideways, and you’re right, you’re a little too edgy to be considered sweet. But back to me.”
“Of course. It’s all about you.”
He grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
She swallowed a laugh. Dammit.