by Sara Rider
The subtle tilt of Coach’s thick eyebrows was as clear as day, signaling Alex to take his seat. He pulled the chair back and dropped into it.
“We can’t risk not making it to the play-offs. The four teams that get to the semifinals get a financial bonus. We need that money.”
“Money can’t replace a player like Jaime.”
“No, but it’s enough to hire an assistant for you. Pay you back for some of those supplies you’ve been paying for out-of-pocket. Maybe even upgrade to a bus built in this century.”
Victor had his reasons, but overturning Alex’s assessment was more than a slap in the face. It was yet another black mark on his career.
“Look, Martinez,” Victor said, “it’s not personal. I know you’re right, but I have people to answer to, too. What the hell am I supposed to say? That I benched the heart of my midfield for the most important games of the season because of an injury I can’t even name? Even if I wanted to fight that battle, Jaime’s threatening to walk.”
“What?” She loved the Falcons. He’d never known a player more dedicated to her team than Jaime. “Not possible.”
“Her agent’s playing hardball,” Gina said, pulling a magazine out from under the piles of paper on the table and laying it in front of him. A blond American gymnast who was better known for her partying than her sixth-place finish in the last Olympics was featured on the cover. “Said at least two teams have approached her after the news leaked that Jaime’s going to be on this year’s cover of the Bodies of Sport issue. Everyone wants a piece of that kind of publicity, and Chester knows it.”
Suddenly everything made sense. The Bodies of Sport issue was a major deal for any athlete, much less a relative unknown like Jaime. That’s what she was hiding from him. The magazine issue featured top athletes at the pinnacle of fitness. An injury would knock her right off the cover.
Un-fucking-believable.
ALEX’S FRUSTRATION HADN’T DISSIPATED after the long meeting with the coaching staff. It had just become more finely channeled toward its true target. He could handle the shitty pay, the endless hours, and the subpar working conditions. But he could not stand letting an athlete in her prime throw away her career because of a goddamn magazine shoot. Every minute of high-impact play was doing irreversible damage to her joint.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of door 217, rapping his knuckles against the rough wood.
“The Bodies of Sport cover, Jaime?” The words burst out the moment the door swung open. “That’s why you’re so set on ignoring your ankle?”
Jaime stood in the doorway wearing thin, clingy shorts and a tank top that drove him crazy. One arm was stretched casually above her against the door, but her mouth was pulled into a tight line. “Hadn’t made the announcement to everyone yet. Guess I need to thank you for saving me the trouble.”
She swung the door open all the way, revealing the entire team jammed into the room. His anger gave way to shock. Streamers, balloons, and elaborate flower arrangements adorned the tightly packed space.
“The Bodies of Sport issue?” Alyssa squealed from the edge of one of the beds. “That’s amazing!”
“How come you didn’t tell us?” Lynn asked.
“Because I didn’t want to jinx it,” Jaime said, grabbing his hand and yanking him into the room. “Anyway, tonight isn’t about me. It’s is about making this the best damn baby shower ever.”
“I don’t know much about male strippers, but aren’t they supposed to be in a better mood?” Jo called out with a shot glass sloshing in her hand. She was perched in a lounge chair, wearing a cheap plastic tiara and a bright red sash that read “MILF.”
He cracked a smile. “I’m not here to strip,” he said with a sigh.
A few of the women actually booed.
“Good, ’cause it’s my baby shower, and I don’t really want to see your naughty bits. No offense,” Jo said.
“None taken.” Growing up in Peru during the guerrilla war, and then moving to the roughest part of Spokane as a teenager, he’d been in some tough situations before. But nothing was as intimidating as walking into a room full of women with the predatory instincts of hungry lions looking at him like he was a piece of meat. He leaned toward Jaime and whispered, “If this is a baby shower for Joanna, why do all the decorations say ‘Congratulations Tammy and Steve’?”
“Because I snuck into the hotel ballroom last night and stole the leftover wedding decorations before they were tossed in the trash.”
“Resourceful.”
“Thanks.” She was smiling, but there was coldness in her eyes. He’d hurt her feelings, even if she’d never admit it. Regret stabbed in his gut. For the four-hundredth time that day, he reminded himself that kissing her had been a huge mistake.
“You missed the mad libs, and I’m guessing you’re not really into having your toenails painted, but there’s still time to play pin the sperm on the uterus.” She pointed to an impressively anatomically correct poster taped to the wall. Little blue ovals with squiggly tails were plastered around it.
“I’ll pass.” He scanned he room to see if there was a spot where he could readily disappear into the tacky paisley wallpaper.
“Not a chance.” Alyssa came up behind him and tied a scarf over his eyes. It was one of Jaime’s scarves—he could tell by the sweet, tropical scent. “Everyone on the team has to play.”
Alyssa gripped his shoulders and turned him around. Until this moment, he’d never understood why men weren’t traditionally invited to baby showers. He would rather skydive without a parachute than play this game, but he didn’t want to be a spoilsport at Jo’s baby shower. Be honest with yourself, man. You don’t want to see any more disappointment in Jaime’s eyes, either.
He spun three times, then held his hand out in defeat. Alyssa placed the little paper swimmer adhesive-side down in his hand and pushed him forward.
Better to get it over with quickly. He walked forward with the sticker held out in front of him and stuck the damn thing to the wall.
The raucous laughter cut starkly short like someone had hit the mute button. He peeled off the scarf to see why.
Bull’s-eye.
He didn’t just land in the uterus, which was a step ahead of everyone else who had tried before him. He was dead-on the little white egg.
Jo got up from her seat for a closer inspection of the target. “Huh. If Kara’s doctor had aim like that, it wouldn’t have taken three rounds of IVF.”
That got everyone laughing again and, thankfully, took the attention off him.
Jaime brought out the gifts next. Jo laughed when she unwrapped the lingerie and cried when Jaime handed her a photo of the crib with the explanation it was being delivered to her and Kara’s apartment later that week.
Alex settled into an empty spot on the floor and ate the slice of still-frozen McCain freezer cake that Lainey had handed him while some of the other mothers on the team regaled Jo with stories of bodily fluids that he tried to block from his mind. Despite the repurposed decorations, it was clear Jaime had poured her heart and soul into the party. She flitted around the room making sure everyone had a slice of cake and a full drink, and everyone was having a good time. She always gave so much to everyone else but never took care of herself. It drove him crazy. She drove him crazy.
Eventually, she sat across the room from him where her slice of cake sat uneaten on a bright green paper plate. She crossed her legs and pulled a plastic bag full of ice out from behind the bed and surreptitiously placed it on her ankle. His heart clenched. It should’ve made him happy to see her finally wise up, but he also knew that if she was taking it seriously, it was because things had gotten worse.
She glanced up and caught him staring, narrowing her eyes. Four more days and he’d finally be able to get some healthy distance. The endless road trip was wearing him down, knowing he was sle
eping only a few doors away from her every night. Hearing her laugh every single day. It was destroying his judgment. It was destroying him. But avoiding her these last few days hadn’t helped anything. It just made him an asshole.
JAIME STOOD ON THE edge of the bed and tugged at the “Congratulations” banner she’d taped to the wall. She swore the instant she heard the unmistakable sound of cardboard ripping.
“I told you not to use so much tape,” Lainey said as she gathered up the chocolate-smeared plastic forks and paper plates scattered everywhere.
“I couldn’t help it. It’s so fun and sticky.” Jaime stretched up on her tiptoes to grab the dangling, orphaned “C.” A burning cramp shot through her hand, causing her to lose her grip on the stubborn bit of tape clinging to the wallpaper. She leaned over to massage her aching knuckles.
“Need some help?” Of course it was Alex. He hadn’t taken the hint to leave at the end of the party when everyone else did. Instead, he stayed behind to help her, Lainey, and Alyssa clean up.
His voice grated on her. Not because it wasn’t a good voice. It was a damn good voice—all deep and rumbly and rhythmic, sending vibrations to her very core. Which is why she found it so annoying. She couldn’t ignore him no matter how hard she wanted to. He made it clear after their kiss that he didn’t have the same problem. “I got it up, I can get it down.”
He stepped behind her and reached over her head to pull the rest of the banner down, overwhelming her with the broadness of his shoulders.
“I said I could manage it by myself.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you should.”
She spun around to give him a piece of her mind, but lost her balance on the lumpy, shifting mattress. Alex grabbed her wrists to steady her, but her momentum sent them tumbling backward onto the bed. His arms snaked protectively around her waist. Unfortunately, that meant she ended up right on top of him, her face so close to his that their noses almost touched. His powerful, brawny body wasn’t the most comfortable landing spot, but his hands settled against her lower back with a delicate intimacy.
“Um, I’m going to sneak in a workout before the gym closes,” Lainey said without an ounce of subtlety, forcing Jaime to tear her gaze from the vortex of Alex’s midnight eyes.
Lainey cleared her throat and yanked on Alyssa’s shirt. “Oh, right. I’m, ah, going to call my grandmother to see how she’s doing. She is eighty-four, after all!”
The two women bolted from the room, leaving Jaime and Alex alone on the bed.
“Not the most subtle getaway lines,” Alex said.
Jaime rolled off him. “Actually, Alyssa’s grandmother really is eighty-four.”
Alex got to his feet and continued picking up the stray bits of paper streamers. “So, which elephant in the room are we going to talk about first?”
“Why don’t we start with the magazine, since you’ve already let that cat out of the bag?”
“The publicity is not worth the risk. There will be other magazine covers.”
Frustration curdled in her stomach. “No, there won’t. How many Asian athletes have been in the Bodies of Sport issue in the last ten years?”
She laughed mirthlessly at his silence, but at least he had the courtesy not to take a wild stab in the dark.
“None. And you know how I know? Because I’ve bought that issue every year since it started ten years ago, hoping every time to see someone I could look up to. Someone like me. I’ve won two Olympic medals in two different sports. Guess how many endorsement deals I have.” She made a big fat zero with her hand. “The world doesn’t take me seriously as an athlete. This is my chance to prove everyone different. And if it means I have to suck up a little bit of pain and swelling, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
She flopped butt-first onto the bed, too exhausted from her rant to stand any longer. Even though she followed Alex’s icing instructions to the letter, it still felt like a thousand fire ants had burrowed into her tender ankle.
He sat down next to her, expression casual, but she knew he was scrutinizing her every movement. “All right. Change of subject?”
She brushed her bangs out of her face. They were getting too long, but she’d made the mistake of cutting them herself once in college during a fit of desperation. It was a horror she wasn’t willing to repeat. “Fine. Are you going to tell me that I’m using the wrong kind of ice? The chair I used to elevate my leg isn’t at the perfect thirty-six-degree angle?”
“I was going to suggest we talk about our kissing problem.”
A rueful laugh escaped her throat. “Kissing problem? Seriously? Mononucleosis and garlic breath are kissing problems. Our kiss was perfectly fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Eh. Seven out of ten.”
“Liar.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “So, what do you want to call it?”
“Chemistry? Lust? Cabin-fever-induced insanity?”
He shook his head. “The attraction problem between us is something we should talk about.”
“Okay, how about we stop calling it a problem? We kissed. The world didn’t end because you did something impulsive. It’s not like I’m running through the hallways telling the world I’m about to have your babies.”
“It’s a problem because we both know that kiss was a ten out of ten.” He spoke with such ferocity that she shuddered. “It might’ve been impulsive for you, but it was a hell of a long time coming for me. I can’t keep my head straight around you. And even though I know you need to stay off that ankle, it’s killing me to see you so upset when you aren’t on the field, and I’m actually considering saying to hell with it and dropping my fight to get you to take care of yourself just so that I don’t have to see the heartbreak on your face.”
Jaime tried to breathe, but it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Alex was always so calm and collected, even in his anger. She’d never heard him speak with such emotion before. Hell, she’d never even heard him speak in full paragraphs before. It cut right to the gut, and she had no idea what to make of it. “I didn’t realize that.” She kept her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap. She didn’t dare look at him.
“You weren’t supposed to. But here’s the thing. I’m screwed either way. If I don’t figure out what’s going on with your damn ankle soon, I can kiss my job good-bye. Carson Chester has made it perfectly clear he’d be happy to cut me in favor of someone a little more compliant. Someone who can actually keep his mouth shut for the sake of convenience. They’ll take any excuse to fire me. But the thing is, following you around, trying to uncover whatever secrets you’re hiding, would be an even bigger disaster, because I can’t trust myself around you anymore. I can’t treat you if I act on any of these urges. So this thing between us? It’s a huge problem.”
He stood up before she had the chance to respond, but he didn’t walk away like she’d expected. He picked up the bottle of Advil lying on top of her bag and tossed it to her before heading to the bathroom and coming back with a glass of water.
She swallowed the pills and let the water coat her desert-dry throat. “Can’t we just go back to how things were before? We don’t have to rewind all the way. I kinda liked the part where we were starting to become friends.”
He paused long enough to make her heart stutter, then nodded. He knelt in front of her and gently lifted her ankle, frowning as he examined it. “I made an appointment with Dr. Sidhu the day after you’re back in Seattle. Promise me you’ll keep it?”
Jaime closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. Even the word “doctor” sent her heart racing. Too many memories thundered through her mind. “Fine. Can we call a truce now?”
“Yep.” He stood up and walked to the door, giving her the chance to find some relief.
He hesitated before exiting. “One more thing. The other day when you said you made a promise to live your life t
o the fullest. Who was it you made that promise to?”
“Chelsea,” Jaime said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “My sister.”
11
THE ENDLESS BLACK SKIES and purring bus engine had lulled every one of her teammates to sleep, but Jaime was too restless for any shut-eye. She twisted and turned in her seat but couldn’t find a comfortable position. They were somewhere in the Midwest. Iowa, maybe? She couldn’t keep track anymore. It was all just endless fields of corn. Not that it mattered much at this point—this was the final stretch before their last away game in Chicago. Afterward, they’d fly back to Seattle and get a much-needed break before play-offs. And Jaime would be spending part of that break in Hawaii on the Bodies of Sport photo shoot. Jillian had called after the last game with the details. Unfortunately, her excitement for the shoot left her completely unable to sleep.
A hazy blue glow lit up the narrow corridor of the bus from somewhere behind her. She shifted for a better view. Alex, sitting a couple of rows back on the opposite side, was busily writing on his iPad with a plain black stylus. He was wearing his glasses again, the ones that supercharged his hotness and emphasized the angular lines of his jaw. He reminded her of Superman trying to hide his bulging muscles behind a pair of black plastic frames.
She studied him as he worked. The intensity of his concentration, even at one in the morning, was fascinating. It was like he had no off switch. She found that sitting still to read anything longer than a tweet was hard, much less poring through the endless pages of dry research papers and case reports. Jaime’s brain worked best when she was moving. The faster she ran, the sharper her mind. He treated even the most inconsequential activities with absolute precision, whether it was applying a bandage to a scraped elbow at an angle that wouldn’t constrict or filling the team’s water bottles to the max without spilling over.
Yep. She was still wondering what kind of lover he would be.
She shook her head. Definitely not the kind of thoughts she needed to be having. He’d made it clear that whatever feelings he had for her, they needed to be ignored for the sake of his career. Burying her emotions was among the many things she naturally excelled at, and she didn’t want to have to consider how she really felt about him, either. Besides, it was the nature of professional sports to relegate sex and romance to the lowest possible priority. There was no time to meet anyone, and even if by some miracle she did, dating a female pro soccer player didn’t come with the money or luxury to balance out the long road trips and intense training schedules.