by J. H. Croix
The Play
Brit Boys Sports Romance
J.H. Croix
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 J.H. Croix
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 9781541159976
ISBN-10: 1541159977
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Liam
2. Olivia
3. Liam
4. Olivia
5. Liam
6. Olivia
7. Liam
8. Olivia
9. Liam
10. Olivia
11. Liam
12. Olivia
13. Liam
14. Olivia
15. Liam
16. Olivia
17. Liam
18. Olivia
19. Liam
20. Olivia
21. Liam
22. Olivia
23. Liam
24. Olivia
25. Liam
26. Olivia
27. Liam
28. Olivia
29. Liam
30. Olivia
31. Liam
32. Olivia
Epilogue
Excerpt: To Win Her by J.H. Croix; all rights reserved
Find My Books
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Liam
“Bloody hell,” I mumbled. I gave my knee a test bend, only to grit my teeth at the bolt of pain.
“Easy mate,” Alex said. “No need to be stupid about it.”
I glanced to Alex and rolled my eyes. Alex Gordon was waiting with me at the sleek, state of the art medical facility in Seattle. I was sitting there with a badly twisted knee waiting for the surgeon who was supposed to work wonders and make me good as new.
“At least we won,” I said, latching onto something other than the throbbing pain in my knee.
Alex chuckled and leaned his head against the wall behind him. Not for the first time, I was damn grateful he happened to be here with me. A month ago, we were signed to an American team on the heels of a crushing loss in a championship game in England. I’d known Alex since we were best mates in grammar school in a small town outside of London. We grew up playing football together, went to university together and got lucky enough to be signed to the same team back in England. Two months ago when my mum died from a stroke out of nowhere, I lost my focus, and our team lost its shot at the championship game. Before I came out of my stupor, our harebrained management ended our contracts and next thing I knew, my best shot at a good contract was with the Seattle Stars, a team paying big money for talent. Seeing as they signed me along with Alex and two other teammates from England, I went for it.
“It’d be nice if they called football by its proper name here,” I said, my favorite complaint ever since we landed on American soil.
Alex ran a hand through his messy brown hair, giving a roll of his brown eyes. “Not happening, mate. American football is way more popular than soccer here.”
“Bloody stupid to call it something else when everywhere else it’s football,” I mumbled.
He shrugged and moved on. “How’s the knee?”
Alex knew as well as I did there was plenty to worry about with my knee. Many footballers had seen their career stall after a knee injury. A bad injury or a less than stellar recovery could mean reduced speed and reflexes, which could mean the difference between good and amazing. Elite players weren’t good. They had to be amazing. The team’s doctor had ridden with us on the way here, but he’d wandered off to find the surgeon who was supposed to work magic on my knee.
“Eh, hurts. Can’t be too bad though. I walked off the pitch.”
“Field, mate. It’s a field here.”
I elbowed Alex in his side, which was conveniently not the side with my bruised shoulder. A nasty collision with a defender sent me sideways, twisting my knee and jamming my shoulder into the ground. I was impatient and ready to see the doctor. Just as I started to wonder where the hell Dr. Monroe was, the door to the room where I’d been deposited with Alex opened.
I looked up into the most gorgeous pair of green eyes I’d ever seen. A woman walked through the door, and my mind was effectively blown with one look at her. Her eyes were bright behind her glasses. The wild, dark curls of her hair were partially tamed into a knot atop her head, yet a few curls escaped as if in defiance, one winding around the temple of her glasses. The curls dangled around her face, which was heart-shaped, her complexion pale with a few freckles scattered across her nose. Never one to shy away from a good long look, my eyes traveled down, taking in the woman’s basic green hospital scrubs. It was hard to tell what her figure was underneath, although she was curvy enough her breasts were stretched against her top. All I could do was stare at her. For the first time since I’d collided with that defender on the pitch, I wasn’t obsessing about what any of it might mean for my career.
Dr. Monroe stepped into the room behind the woman who’d paused by the door, her hands clasped together in front of her. Those green eyes of hers flicked from me to Alex, but her expression was hard to read. “Liam, this is Dr. Bowen. She’s here to take a look at your knee.” Dr. Monroe turned to the woman as he gestured to me. “This is Liam Reed.”
I started to stand when it occurred to me that might not be the brightest idea. “Nice to meet you Dr. Bowen,” I said with a wink.
I felt Alex’s shoulders shake slightly with laughter beside me. Dr. Bowen adjusted her glasses, which were green to match her eyes and angled up at the corners slightly. “Nice to meet you Liam. Let’s get you into the examining room here,” she said, pointing to a door off the small waiting room.
Alex stood at the same moment Dr. Monroe stepped to my side. I wanted to brush them away, annoyed my knee was in enough pain I’d rather stay right where I was. I gritted my teeth and tolerated Alex’s hand under one elbow while he walked beside me through the door into the examining room. The room wasn’t large by any means. With two footballers and a tall doctor in there with the lovely Dr. Bowen, there was hardly any room to move around the table in the center of the room.
I was accustomed to having people around me constantly when it came to the state of my health and playing. Dr. Bowen, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think a group exam was a great idea. She adjusted her glasses again, tempting me to want to tug on one of her errant curls. “I’d like some privacy please,” she said briskly.
Alex quietly turned and stepped out of the room. He was the tall, dark, quiet type, which was why he was such an amazing goalkeeper—calm and cool at all times. Dr. Monroe, on the other hand, turned his sharp eyes to Dr. Bowen. “Olivia, I’d like to be here for the exam,” he said firmly, as if expecting no argument.
As a flush rose on her cheeks and her eyes narrowed, all I could think about was how perfect her name was for her. Olivia. Lust r
oared through me, followed promptly by a jolt of pain when I went to lean against the table.
Olivia basically had a stare down with Dr. Monroe. After several beats, she spoke again. “Whether you’d like to be here or not, it’s not how I work. Liam is my patient, and I’d like to meet with him privately first. I understand you’re the team doctor and would like to be involved in planning, but first I’d like to take a good look at his knee, review the MRI results and then we’ll talk.”
I bit back a grin because damn if her bossy side wasn’t fun to see. I sobered immediately, realizing she was trying to do right by me and not just go along with whatever the team doctor, and by extension, management might want. After another brief staring contest, Dr. Monroe nodded and turned to leave. He glanced back at me before he closed the door. “Liam, if you need me, let me know.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I knew Dr. Monroe meant well, but it’s not like Olivia would hurt me. I was quite looking forward to a few private moments with her, although for all the wrong reasons. He closed the door behind him, and I turned to Olivia. I’d stopped even thinking of her in doctor terms and was busy wondering how the hell I could get her out of those scrubs.
She wasn’t even looking at me and was clicking through some screens on a laptop on the counter. After a moment, she turned back. She held a pen in her hand and flipped it back and forth between her fingers. Her gaze coasted over me. I was sweaty and streaked with dirt and didn’t give a damn.
“Well, Olivia,” I said, emphasizing her name. “You wanted to meet with me privately. Here we are.”
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. I could sense her wrestling with her thoughts, and it made me want to tease her even more. I felt let down when she simply shook her head slightly and stepped to my side. “Let’s get you on the table.” She moved efficiently and had me sitting on the table with my leg stretched out before I knew it. Her touch was cool and impersonal.
“I took a look at the MRI results from the scan they did before they brought you here. You tore your meniscus, but I’m guessing that doesn’t surprise you,” she said, her hand resting on my lower calf.
My gut clenched and an awful feeling of dread welled inside, sickening fear chasing fast on its heels. Football was my life. I didn’t play for the fame, but I had it. It came with being one of the best midfielders in England and right up there in the world. A knee injury could spell the end of my career, and I was only twenty-eight. I had plenty more years to play if I stayed healthy. I swallowed against the fear rising inside and met Dr. Bowen’s gaze. She’d suddenly become Dr. Bowen in my mind again. I needed her to be that right now, so I could cling to the hope she could make me good as new. I’d been promised she was one of the best surgeons I’d find, and I prayed that to be true.
“Bloody hell.”
Dr. Bowen’s eyes softened, just the slightest bit. “I bet that’s how this news feels, but it doesn’t have to. You’re young and healthy as a horse. The tear isn’t too bad. I’m confident we can have you back on the field within a few months,” she said with a subtle nod.
“All I care about is playing again. If you can make that happen, I’ll do whatever you say.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Right then. Are you comfortable going ahead with the surgery? It will be an outpatient procedure. You’ll need to plan for a day here and then we’ll send you home. I have plenty more to review, but let’s cover the big picture first.”
I shrugged. “Of course I’m comfortable. Let’s get this done. The sooner the better.” I didn’t voice aloud the jumble of worries crowding my mind. The underlying fear that I might be facing the end of my career was powerful and hard to ignore, but I couldn’t let myself dwell on it.
“You know you can choose your own doctor,” she said gently.
I stared at her, confused by her point. “Dr. Monroe says you’re the best.”
“He does, does he? Well, either way, it’s up to you. It’s your knee. To be honest, that’s why I wanted to give you a few minutes to yourself. You sports guys are all but owned by the teams, so it’s easy to forget when it’s comes to your medical care, you call the shots.”
Dr. Monroe’s opinion aside, I didn’t want anyone other than Dr. Bowen to operate on my knee. Something about how she stood up to Dr. Monroe cemented my trust in her. She was still Dr. Bowen at the moment. I nodded firmly. “It has to be you.”
Those green eyes held mine and damn if the bloody woman didn’t know how to keep her expression controlled. Whatever she was thinking was hidden behind a bland, somber gaze. She finally nodded. “Right then. Well, let’s go over the particulars.”
She rolled a wheeled stool to the edge of the counter and perched on it. She adjusted those glasses again and spun on the stool with a computer tablet in hand. She briskly started talking, all business was definitely her mode, and reviewed the details of my surgery. I zoned out when she idly twirled one of those loose dark brown curls around her finger. After a few minutes, she set the tablet down.
“So will that work for your schedule?” she asked.
I’d noticed somewhere along the way, while she was driving me wild with her talk about the surgery, that her mouth was nearly perfect. When she was still, it was as if everything about her tightened up, so I hadn’t noticed her lush, full lips at first. But when she started talking, she forgot to keep herself buttoned up. Her rosy red lips were distracting beyond belief. I’d swung my legs to the side of the table and was relieved, otherwise she’d have seen my how hard my cock was. Not that I was one to be shy when it came to women, but Olivia was a challenge and I knew it. She would most certainly not take well to blatant flirting. I stared into her green eyes and tried to recall what her question was.
“Come again?”
“The surgery. Will it work to do the surgery in two days?” she asked, speaking slowly, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes.
“Olivia,” I loved saying her name and paused to enjoy it. At the arch of her brow, I grinned. “My schedule is your schedule.”
Chapter Two
Olivia
I looked over at Liam Reed and had to fight to keep from returning his grin. He was devilishly handsome with his straight black hair, deep blue eyes, chiseled features and a body so muscled and fit, it was hard to keep from staring. I’d been working with athletes since my stint as a resident in medical school. I was quite accustomed to ridiculously handsome specimens who expected women to fall at their feet. Usually, their looks didn’t draw my attention and their attitude often turned me off. Liam was another matter altogether. The moment he’d pinned his eyes on me, my body had tightened inside, heat unfurling from my center and radiating outward. It made me restless, prickly and annoyed.
So, I bit my lip and looked down at my computer tablet, clicking through a few screens. My actions weren’t entirely pointless as I took another look at the MRI results. Medicine was my life and had absorbed most of my time, energy and intellectual capacity ever since I started college. I took comfort in the details of every case that I handled. My relentless attention to detail fit beautifully with orthopedic surgery. I hadn’t set out to work with athletes, but that’s where I’d landed. I’d graduated from medical school Summa Cum Laude and promptly walked into a position at Seattle Sports Orthopedics. At twenty-seven, I was the youngest doctor on staff there and constantly fighting to prove my worth. While I loved the surgery part of my job, my personality was an odd fit for most of the patients there. The clinic’s reputation rested on remarkable results, so we charged top dollar. That meant hordes of professional athletes. I coped with my mixed feelings about serving mostly wealthy patients by volunteering my time at a local medical clinic for uninsured patients on occasional weekends.
Liam’s case looked to be a clean procedure, but I was nervous. He was the highest profile athlete who’d ever walked through my door, and he made my body do funny things. I wasn’t a prudish person. For God’s sake, I was a doctor. But I found sex incredibly
boring. I didn’t have time for relationships and didn’t want to make time. Yet, here I had Mr. Sexy-as-hell soccer star sitting in my office and calling me by my first name with that teasing glint in his eyes. I clicked out of the MRI screen and looked up again. I could do this. This weird haywire thing my body was doing would pass.
My eyes collided with Liam’s bright blue ones, and my breath hitched. What were we just talking about? Scheduling his surgery. Right.
I swallowed and adjusted my glasses, brushing an errant curl out of the way. “In that case, I’ll have them book you for first thing in the morning.”
He nodded. “Right then. What time is early for you, luv?”
He was going to have to stop talking. It made me nearly mad that he just called me ‘luv’ and some part of me, a side I’d never even known existed, liked it. That British accent of his sent flutters twirling in my belly. I could feel my cheeks heating and desperately wished my skin didn’t flush at the slightest provocation. “Early is six in the morning. You’ll be scheduled for arrival then, and we’ll operate by eight.” My voice sounded tight, and I prayed he wouldn’t notice. He barely knew me, so how could he?
“Perfect. Who’s we?”
His eyes held mine in a lazy, teasing look, and I lost track of what I’d just said. “We?” I asked.