Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  “I thought you liked living on the edge.”

  She gulped. “Some things are better in the dark, don’t you think?”

  “Have it your way.” Just when she thought her plan couldn’t backfire any further, the door behind her gave way. She shrieked and clenched her limbs around him in a death grip.

  He flashed a key card in front of her face with his free hand.

  “This is your room?” This time, the breathiness in her voice wasn’t faked.

  “Yep.” With only the harsh light from the parking lot seeping through the dark room, he walked her to the springy king bed and plopped her down on the burgundy duvet.

  “There are probably five hundred rooms in this hotel,” she muttered.

  Ignoring her whining, he settled on top of her and forced her arms above her head, locking them in place with one hand. “So, you like to be dominated?” His whisper tickled her ear and sent heat shooting to her core.

  She gasped involuntarily. The thick denim of his jeans scratched against the bare, sensitive skin on her inner thighs. Her legs were speckled with bruises from the game, but the occasional flashes of pain only made their contact seem more illicit and arousing. She writhed beneath him, and his expression grew darker. And damn if it didn’t turn her on, too. God, this was sexy as hell. But she didn’t really want this, did she? It was as though she just met a whole new Alex. One that needed to get naked right now and show her every hard edge of manliness hidden beneath those perfectly fitting dark jeans. Down, libido! Down!

  He dipped his head, dark eyes taking in every inch of her body. His warm breath brushed the sweet spot of her neck, making her gasp. Oh god, right there. Please, right there. He growled, teasing her with his breath, but his lips never made contact. The frustration snapped her rational mind back into place. The bastard was calling her bluff. And worse yet, she was actually falling for it.

  Time for a little revenge. She hummed her agreement and arched her back, pressing her chest to his. “And sometimes I like to do the dominating.”

  A heavy, pregnant silence passed between them. His brow furrowed, a classic tell that he was calculating his next move. The balance of power was shifting back in her favor.

  “Why don’t we save that until next time,” he said, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Tonight, I’m in charge.”

  She had him right where she wanted him. One more sexual innuendo and he’d probably be running for the hills with his balls in his hands. “Well then,” she purred. “What do you have in store for me? Keep in mind . . . I like it rough.”

  His body went still. His eyes met hers with scorching intensity, like a match being struck. “I’m going to make you scream my name and beg for mercy.”

  Her breath rushed from her chest as his words, however fake they might be, sent pulses of desire to her core. It had been a long time since she’d felt this kind of consuming heat. Much too long.

  Alex leaned forward in the unmistakable “reaching for a condom” move, rocking his pelvis into hers. That’s when she realized she was in way over her head. He was as hard as steel, and it felt amazing.

  Her thoughts whirred in a million directions. Even if he was as turned-on as she was, and there was some pretty indisputable evidence to support her case, he couldn’t possibly be taking her advances seriously. After all, he was Alex. And she was Jaime. Oil and water. They couldn’t do this. Not without brushing her teeth first to get rid of her tequila breath, at the very least. If she was going to go through with accidental pride-sex with Alex, it had to be amazing, mind-blowing pride-sex, and that couldn’t happen if her breath wasn’t minty fresh.

  A burning cold slashed through her frantic thoughts and seared the skin on her ankle.

  “Argh! What the hell, Alex? Get it off me!” He hadn’t grabbed a condom. He’d grabbed an ice pack.

  “Your hormones were getting a little overheated. This should help cool you down.” Alex’s triumph was etched into the smug crinkles around his eyes as he stared down at her. Arms still pinned, she couldn’t escape as the initial sting settled into a deep, freezing ache all the way to her bones.

  Jaime wasn’t easily embarrassed, but falling for his counterploy was not going to go down as a favorite memory. “You finally develop a sense of humor, and this is what you use it for?” She jerked her wrists but couldn’t break free from his hold. The effort only made him grin wider.

  “Whatever gets the job done. You forced me to get a little creative in my methods.”

  “Do you have some kind of cold fetish you want to tell me about? ’Cause it’s really weird to keep an ice pack next to your bed.”

  “I had it ready for you on the assumption you’d come willingly. But it works just the same, regardless of whether you want it or not.”

  “Okay, okay. You win. How long do I have to stay here?”

  “At least fifteen minutes,” he said matter-of-factly, as if they were in the back of the stadium’s treatment room.

  A few more silent seconds passed, adding a heavy weight to the air around them. Though the charade was over, the chemistry that sparked between them hadn’t dissipated, probably because his body was still planked above hers, forcing her to think some very naughty thoughts. Like wondering what he could do with those lips. Those damn fine lips that were still kissing distance from hers.

  “Are you sure you can hold your arm like that for much longer?” she asked. His left elbow was bent at an awkward angle, his arm stretched out behind him holding the ice pack against the ankle that was still wrapped around his waist.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I can go all night.”

  She scowled. The bastard was enjoying tormenting her way too much.

  “Game’s already over, Martinez,” she said, pretending to not be affected. Though the amusement was still there, Jaime could see on his face that he was starting to struggle. While there was some definite full-body contact going on, she knew he was being careful not to squish her, and there was only so long that a man could handle a one-handed plank. Even a man as ripped as Alex Martinez. “If I promise not to run away again, can we please switch positions?”

  To her surprise, he backed off and sat at the edge of the bed, pulling her foot onto his lap and setting the ice pack back in place. With some much-needed distance between them, she breathed a sigh of relief and settled her head against the mattress.

  “I’m going to get frostbite if you keep this up.”

  He exhaled heavily, like he was already exhausted by her questions. “Fifteen minutes. Nonnegotiable.”

  Only a few seconds passed before she started feeling restless from staring at the ceiling. “So . . . what are we going to talk about for the next fifteen minutes?”

  “I vote for awkward silence.”

  “That’s a waste of a perfectly good opportunity to learn more about each other. Why don’t you tell me your deepest, darkest fear? That’s always a good icebreaker.” She laughed at the cleverness of her pun that seemed to whiz right past his funny bone.

  When he didn’t answer, she pressed on. “Is it that someone will sneak into your house and rearrange all your meticulously alphabetized issues of American Physiotherapy Quarterly? Oh, the horror.”

  More silence.

  “Maybe you’re afraid you’ll have to start sharing a room with Coach Labreilla. He seems like the type who sleeps in the nude and probably likes a good cuddle now and then, don’t you think?”

  “Not funny, Chen.”

  “I could keep going. Or you could confess.” If she was going to be stuck here, she may as well try to enjoy herself at his expense.

  His grip tightened on her foot. “Missing a big diagnosis.”

  Jaime pushed up onto her elbows and looked at him carefully, wondering if he was being truthful or deflecting. Now that she wasn’t distracted by his hotness or his hardness, she noticed how tired he looked.
Shoulders slumped. Jaw tight. There was weariness in his movements as he rotated and examined her ankle.

  “Nah. I know what it is. You were the kind of kid who thought space aliens were coming at night to abduct you.”

  He glanced over to shoot her a pointed look. Before he turned back, she caught the corners of his mouth twitch. “What about you?”

  “Not living life to its fullest,” she said without missing a beat.

  “That’s not easy to do while ignoring an injury.” She winced as he pressed his thumbs into a particularly tender spot.

  “Even harder if you constantly make excuses and hold yourself back.”

  He tossed the ice pack onto the floor. It was a casual movement, but she felt the tension ratchet again. “There’s something going on here, and we need to figure it out.”

  “You’ve examined me six times already.” Six times with no official diagnosis and no improvement. “Time to admit nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then how do you explain this swelling?”

  She shrugged, no small feat given the anxiety pulling her body taut. The poking and prodding made her heart race more, but not with excitement. With dread.

  “You’ve had to come off in four of the last ten games. That’s not normal. You know it. I know it. And Coach Labreilla sure as hell knows it. This was the last time I cover for you when you miss an assessment.”

  Jaime opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know he’d been covering for her, but if he was buffering her from Coach’s wrath, then maybe she needed to be grateful. At the same time, she resented the insinuation she was irresponsible with her health. Immature, maybe. Probably. But never irresponsible. Besides, she’d given him more than enough chances to fix her. But all the examining, all the stupid little cartoon drawings of exercises and stretches he’d given her had gotten her nowhere. She was the type to put her head down and power through when things got tough, not keep beating a dead horse until it rose up like a zombie just so she could beat it some more.

  “How bad was the pain today?”

  She bit her lip. It’d been bad. Some days, it was excruciating to the point where she was popping ibuprofen like an addict. Other days it was fine, making her wonder if it was all in her head. “It’s fine.”

  He rotated the ankle once more, and she sucked in her breath. He turned his head to face her. “Hurts?”

  She clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.

  “Jesus. You’re scared. Is that what this is all about?”

  The trembling in her voice would give away the truth, so she shook her head again.

  “Just relax, okay? You don’t need to be afraid. It’s just an assessment. I swear to you nothing bad will happen. Trust me.”

  His expression had softened, and for the first time she started to think that maybe he was right. Maybe she could trust him. He wasn’t some aloof doctor in a white coat informing her that her whole world was about to be shattered. Alex was part of the team, and that mattered more than anything. “You promise?”

  “I promise. I’ll talk you through everything I do, okay?”

  She nodded and let her head fall back to the mattress.

  “When did the pain first start? Do you remember rolling it or taking a hit?”

  “No. It just started one day out of the blue.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m more tired than usual,” she said, figuring an understatement was closer to the truth than a lie. Some days she could barely drag herself out of bed.

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “I hide it well.”

  He flexed her foot and rotated the ankle a few more times. “Some stiffness, but you have decent range of motion.”

  “That’s good, right? It means it’s probably just a sprain.”

  “Yeah and no. Range of motion is good, and I think we can rule out tendon damage. There could be a chip along the talus bone. But that usually results from a contact injury. I doubt it’s a stress fracture, or the pain would be constant, but we need an X-ray to be certain.” His hands worked along her soles and up to the numb skin on her calf, massaging gently with the occasional deep prodding as she stared up at the stucco ceiling. As the minutes passed, she let herself start to give in to a state of false relaxation. If she closed her eyes, she might almost start to believe she was at the spa instead of his hotel room.

  Then he had to ruin the moment.

  “There’s also the possibility that it isn’t mechanical.”

  She pulled her foot away and sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling the room close in around her. “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Could be something viral, or—”

  “Nope, try again. I don’t do sick.”

  “Jaime,” he said softly, reaching a hand to her shoulder.

  She jumped off the bed before he could touch her and rushed to the door. She fumbled with the heavy handle and yanked the door open. He caught the edge of the door, crowding her in the narrow foyer.

  “I said there’s nothing wrong with me.” Her voice rang hollow in her ears. She closed her eyes and buried the small grain of panic threatening to rise up and swallow her.

  “I’m not your enemy. I’m trying to help you. You can’t ignore this any longer, and neither can I. I’m going to figure out what’s going on with you, even if I have to do it without your help.”

  She plastered on a fake smile before turning to face him. Never let ’em see you sweat. “Are you saying you want to play dirty detective with me?”

  His mouth hardened, creating thin lines at the corners. “I’m not playing anymore, Jaime.”

  Her eyes met his, and a buzz of electricity flared through her body, reminding her just how close she’d come to jumping his bones. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to lose herself in some angry, wild sex. With the way he was looking at her, she was willing to bet he might be feeling the same way, even if he’d never admit it.

  But then he’d know just how much he’d gotten to her.

  “Thanks for the good time,” she said breezily, slipping through the small opening to the hall. “Let’s never do it again.”

  3

  THE CLOCK RADIO KICKED on, waking Alex with a start. He swiveled in the leather desk seat, fumbled for the clock’s cord, and yanked it from the outlet. The jackass who’d stayed in the room the night before him had set the alarm to a death metal station. Then again, he probably should just be grateful the alarm was even set, since he hadn’t remembered to do it and there was only seventeen minutes left until the team hit the road for a game the next day in DC. Just enough time to pack up and grab some breakfast.

  He’d fallen asleep at his desk last night, too jacked up after nearly crossing every ethical line of his profession. Instead of tossing and turning, he’d thrown himself into research, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Jaime’s mysterious symptoms. And now it felt like a vise had clamped onto his trapezoid, kinking his neck. His eyelids scraped like sandpaper against his corneas as he opened them all the way. Fuck. He’d left his contacts in again last night.

  The friction could have burned a hole in the carpet as he dragged himself to the bathroom and peeled the hardened lenses from his eyes. He squirted some Visine and took a two-minute shower. The blast of hot water had him feeling a little more human. He put on his glasses and started shoveling all his personal crap on the counter into his duffel bag.

  The bed was pristine, save for the small ripple in the duvet where Jaime’s luscious body had lain trapped beneath him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. The soft feel of her curves beneath him. The hint of challenge that sparkled in her brown eyes when she looked at him. The perfect fit of her legs wrapped around his waist. Something in him snapped last night. Usually, a body was just a body. He’d worked on men and women of all ages in his career, and seen e
verything from weirdly placed body hair and crusty rashes to bones sticking out in the wrong direction. And lately, he’d worked on a heck of a lot of beautiful, fit women. Nothing fazed him. Nothing except Jaime. And after last night, there was no more denying that their chemistry was through the roof.

  And while his contract didn’t specifically prohibit intimate relationships with the players, that was more of an administrative oversight than waiver of permission. His reputation couldn’t withstand any more damage. The woman was a tornado. She would rip through his life in an instant, leaving destruction in her wake.

  His cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and frowned. There were only two reasons why his brother Ricky called him. “How much?”

  A thick chortle rang through the receiver, piercing his raw brain. “I’m not calling about money, bro.”

  Must be reason number two. “All right, then who kicked the bucket this time?” Weddings and funerals were a favorite source of gossip among his very large and very Catholic family. Since he was the only one of nonscandalous marriageable age, he was pretty sure the call wasn’t about a wedding.

  “That’s not what I’m calling about either, bro. Well, actually Tia Rosa mentioned that her mother’s sister-in-law’s great uncle Flavio passed away in Lima last night. He was ninety-six. The funeral is next Saturday.”

  “Are we even related to him?”

  “No, but we’re still invited.”

  “So why are you calling me? It’s not even five a.m. where you are.”

  “Tell that to your nephew.” As if on cue, Mateo’s cries echoed in the background. “I’m calling to share my good news. Jed Weaver is retiring at the end of the summer, and he’s agreed to sell me his practice.”

  “Congrats, man. That’s awesome.” He ran his hand through his hair and scanned the room for anything he might have left behind. Without any assistants, he was responsible for managing and lugging all his gear on the road. A quick peek beneath the bed revealed a roll of KT tape that had somehow snuck away.