Savage: A Pro Football Romance

by Michaela Scott

  “To be honest…not really,” I say, shaking my head, “I’m not really a football type of girl.”

  Coach Bradley pumps his fist in the air. “Perfect! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  When he sees the completely confused look on my face, he lets out a little laugh. “Sorry. I guess I should give you a little background. Before I was coach of the Kings, I worked in the analytics department, using advanced statistics to determine the optimal way to win football games. For example, did you know that if you feed a quarterback a peanut butter and jelly sandwich fifteen minutes before a game, his touchdown rate decreases by 6%, but if you put the peanut butter on both slices of bread and put the jelly in the middle, his touchdown rate actually increases by 8%?”

  I shake my head, now even more confused than I was when I walked into the door.

  “Well, it does! There are literally millions and millions of little tricks like that that you can use to increase your team’s rate of victory. And that’s where you come in.”

  Coach Bradley reaches under his desk, pulls out a massive stack of paper the size of a dictionary, and plops it down on the desk in front of him. “This season, our calculations show that we have a 71% chance of winning the Super Bowl, something the San Diego Kings have never done before. In an unpredictable sport like football, that’s an incredibly high number, and it means this season is potentially the most important season of my career, the players’ career’s, and the entire history of the team. But—”

  He flips the stack of papers open and pulls a spreadsheet out of the middle. “There’s also a problem. A disproportionate amount of our advantage is completely dependent on one player.”

  “Brady Mack,” I whisper.

  “Exactly,” Coach Bradley says, “We’re lucky to have a player as talented as Brady, but the same things that make him talented make him an incredible risk to be at less than 100% by the time the Super Bowl arrives. His recklessness makes him prone to injuries, and when he gets hurt, he just tries to play through it. Also, he’s…well, even if you don’t like football, I’ve sure you’ve seen the videos of him off the field. He’s just as likely to get suspended for some kind of random act of debauchery as he is to get injured, and those two possibilities are pretty much the only things standing between us and the Super Bowl.”

  My face is starting to flush again. I knew this was going to be about Brady. “So, this residency you’re talking about…it means that my only patient for the whole year is going to be Brady?”

  Coach Bradley nods, and my heart sinks down into the soles of my feet. “Now you’re getting it. After our victory yesterday, I ran a few of my most comprehensive models and determined that the single most effective thing I could do as a coach this year is make sure Brady actually makes it to the end of the season. The only problem is, Brady doesn’t exactly love following rules and playing it safe, and I know from past experience that assigning him a regular doctor from our medical staff will probably just make him rebel. We need someone he’s actually going to listen to, and my calculations determined that the best candidate to maximize our chance of controlling him is a woman his own age.”

  “Oh…” I try to keep a poker face, “Well, you’re right, that is an unusual residency.”

  Coach Bradley shrugs. “I won’t argue there. I know you have something lined up in Alaska that’s supposed to be pretty nice, and I’m sure you probably want something with a little more actual hands-on experience. That being said, if you’re like most recent graduates, you’re probably also thinking about your long-term job prospects. So here’s my offer: if you help me, Brady, and everyone else on this team win our first Super Bowl, I can either get you a job at pretty much any hospital in California after your residency ends, or I can use every resource and connection I have to get you on the fast track to having your own practice.”

  My poker face instantly falls away as my jaw drops in surprise. I know he said his offer was good, but that’s completely insane. Any hospital in California? In a job market that’s so competitive that I’m about to move to Alaska? Any med student I know would jump through flaming hoops for an offer like this.

  And all I have to do is take Brady on as my patient for one measly little football season. And hey, we’re already a couple months in, so it’s not even that!

  Wait, am I seriously considering this now? I know it’s tempting, but there’s no way I can say yes. I’d be throwing my guaranteed safe residency away, and if Coach Bradley finds out about what happened between me and Brady at the club last night, I have a feeling I won’t be his “doctor” for very long.

  Coach Bradley breaks into a warm, almost mischievous smile. “I told you it was a good offer.”

  I look at him suspiciously. “It’s great. It’s almost too good. Can I ask why you picked me for this position?”

  He closes his eyes and nods. “Of course. My original plan was to analyze every female med student in the San Diego region to find a perfect match. However, last night, one of our undercover team employees saw you with Brady in the VIP lounge of Club Royale.”

  Oh, crap. He knows. My heart jumps from the soles of my feet to the top of my throat. “Oh. Yeah, I was wondering if this had something to do with that.”

  “Now, he got thrown out of the lounge when he tried to take a picture of you talking to Brady, but he said that he waited down on the dance floor for the two of you to leave together, but that twenty minutes later, you walked out of the lounge alone.”

  I nod. “Yep. Sounds about right.”

  Just don’t ask what I was doing while I was up there.

  “Now, our undercover guy knows Brady better than maybe anyone on the team, and he said he looked like he was about to come at you with everything he had, romantically speaking.”

  Feeling the beginnings of an unfortunately timed blush tinging my cheeks, I fold my hands in my lap. Okay, so he doesn’t actually know what happened last night. In fact, he thinks the opposite thing happened. And what he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. “Right. He was very aggressive, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Coach Bradley claps his hands together. “Now that’s what I want to hear. Our number one concern with filling this position is that the young woman assigned to Brady is going to end up…behaving inappropriately with him. Our market research shows Brady is incredibly popular among women your age, and although I haven’t actually run it through a spreadsheet,” he lets out a nervous laugh, “I’d guess the risks of Brady seducing a doctor that meets all of our other criteria are about…80-90%.”

  Leaning forward over his desk, he lowers his voice. “So when I heard through the grapevine that a med student about to enter her residency caught Brady’s eye at a club and then didn’t give into temptation, I decided that hiring her would be our best shot at pulling this off.”

  He shrugs. “So there it is. Take care of Brady for the rest of the season, medically and otherwise, and I’ll pull every string on the puppet to get you a post-residency job you won’t even believe. Sound good?”

  Good? I have absolutely no idea. Will I kick myself forever if I don’t take it? Almost definitely. Coach Bradley extends his hand, and as I reach out to shake it, he stops me with a gesture from his other hand. “Now, before you shake my hand, there are a couple things I want you to keep in mind. First, you might be wondering if this is legal. We have the best lawyers money can buy, and the state tends to look the other way on this sort of thing, especially when we’re winning. So we should be fine, but don’t go shouting what your real job is from the rooftops. And second of all, and this is much more important,”

  He gets a serious look in his eyes, “Starting this season, the league’s been taking inappropriate employee-player relationships very seriously. We got a new commissioner this year, and he’s made every single player, coach, and team employee sign one of these.”

  Coach Bradley pulls an intense-looking contract out from under his desk and slides it in front of me. “If you
take the job, you’ll have to sign it. Most of it won’t apply to you, but the parts about player-employee relationships definitely will. So even though I might have you doing some…unusual things to help us manage Brady, it’s very, very important that things stay strictly professional between you two. If a scandal breaks out, our whole season could fly off the rails, and trust me, you do not want any part of what will happen if you and Brady get caught breaking the rules.”

  He laughs a little, in an effort to diffuse the tension. “I just wanted to get that out there. I don’t actually think we’ll have any problems. After all, you turned down Brady once! Just keep doing what you did last night, and the season will be over before you know it.”

  Different parts of my body have different reactions to the thought of doing what I did last night over and over again, and I suppress them all as I look across the desk at Coach Bradley, who extends his hand again. “Think you can do that for your hometown football team?”

  Visions of opening my own practice after a few years at my dream hospitals dance through my head as I look down at Coach Bradley’s hand, but they keep getting invaded by the memory of Brady’s smirking face, his hungry blue eyes, and his wild, completely unpredictable personality. No matter what Coach Bradley thinks, this is not going to be easy.

  But you know what? I’m not going to let some oversexed, entitled playboy get between me and my dream practice. So with a big, fat job interview smile, I look up at Coach Bradley. “This might be the weirdest residency anyone’s ever offered a med student, but you know what? I think I’m ready to join the team.”

  And with that, I shake his hand, and a tiny voice somewhere way in the back of my head is asking what the hell I just got myself into.

  Chapter 6: Cassie

  The muffled sound of the national anthem echoes through the halls as Dr. Larson knocks on a nondescript metal door with a slightly rusty handle. When nobody answers, he opens it up and looks over at me. “Well, Ms. Parker, this is where you’ll be working this season.”

  Nodding at Dr. Larson, I take a deep breath and walk towards the doorway, nervous about what’s going to be on the other side. After all, I’d kind of assumed that I’d be working with, you know, the team medical staff, helping them out from the sidelines. But when I went up to Dr. Larson and introduced myself, he barely even looked at me, gave me a cold fish handshake, and said “Oh, right, you’re Brady’s good luck charm.”

  And then, he led me way, way back through the twisty stadium halls, all the way to what looks like the door to some kind of forgotten storage closet.

  So, fully expecting an empty concrete room full of cobwebs and deflated footballs, I head through the door…and step into what’s actually a pretty nice exam room. It’s got everything: cabinets full of supplies, sports magazines in a basket by the exam table, eye charts on the wall…

  Dr. Larson flashes a cold smile. “That’s right, it’s a real, functioning exam room. Because of the way we built the stadium, we had to add an extra exam room for legal reasons, so we built one out here.”

  “Gotcha,” I say, opening one of the cabinets and start checking to make sure I have all the supplies I’ll need.

  But out of the corner of my eye, I see Dr. Larson shake his head. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up about using any of that, especially not during a game. After all, it’s not exactly what you’re here for.”

  Nervously, I shoot Dr. Larson a look. “So…what am I here for?”

  He shrugs, looking at me with disinterest behind his thin glasses. “Coach Bradley thinks you can get through to Brady when he’s being…difficult. So when we want him to do something, we’ll get you to tell him to do it. Maybe we’ll have you give a couple supervised checkups to sell the illusion, but that’s about it.”

  I furrow my brow. “I can do more than that, you know. I graduated from med school!”

  Dr. Larson cocks a condescending eyebrow. “Well, that’s good. But I’ve got a pretty full medical staff right now, so I don’t think we’ll be needing your services. But hey, when I was your age, I would have killed for an easy residency like this. If I were you, I’d kick back, relax, and enjoy the game.”

  He grabs a remote off the counter and turns on the TV in the upper corner of the exam room, immediately filling the screen with a shot of Brady standing on the sidelines with his helmet in his hand, smirking like he knows I’m watching him.

  “Well, I should probably get back to the sidelines. It looks like the game’s starting. If you get bored, there are crossword puzzles in the basket under the magazines. And when the game’s over, feel free to leave. We’ll call you if we need you.” He heads towards the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the hallway. “Have fun.”

  And with that, he leaves me alone, the heavy metal door slamming behind him. I sigh, looking up at Brady putting on his helmet, winking at the camera, and then running out onto the field. “Well, I’m glad someone’s having fun.”

  ***

  Man, football games are long. I've done every crossword puzzle in the basket, including the weird half-finished one at the very bottom with a bunch of wrong answers filled in, and we're still only in the third quarter.

  Oh, wait, the fourth quarter just started. Hooray. I look up at the screen, and just like every other time I've looked, Brady's running around with the ball in his hands, making the other team look like they've never played a game of football in their lives. This time, he's got six people chasing him down the sideline, and he outruns all of them easily, front flipping into the end zone and tossing his helmet up into the stands. The camera spins around him as he roars up at the cheering crowd.

  The camera cuts to a whole family wearing Brady Mack jerseys, and I shake my head. I can't believe this many people are completely obsessed with a spiky-haired douche whose only talents are catching footballs, running really fast, and making stupid faces at a camera with his shirt off. It feels like I'm the only sane girl on the planet.

  I'm about to look away and start drawing funny hats on everyone in the golf magazine I just pulled out of the basket when the camera cuts back to Brady, who's literally halfway up the yellow metal pole holding up the uprights at the back of the endzone, and climbing higher as the refs grab at his legs, trying to pull him down.

  Seriously, what's wrong with him?

  Stretching his arm out, he grabs the crossbar above his head, hangs from it, then does a pull-up until he's standing on the metal, stretching his arms out in a victory pose above his head. The crowd literally looks like they're about to start pouring over the railings and rushing onto the field, and the game isn't even over. Then, as the camera cuts to a close-up of Brady's face, he looks into the screen, mouths “Super Bowl,” and jumps down onto the field, where he immediately gets dogpiled by his teammates. The refs throw a flag on the play for excessive celebration, but no one in the stadium cares. Meanwhile, I'm just here, sitting alone in an empty exam room with a golf magazine in my lap, still trying to understand how the hell I got here.

  The game cuts to a commercial break, and I open up the magazine, flipping forward until I see a picture of three golfers holding their clubs at their sides, looking serious with a thunderstorm digitally added behind them for some reason. Oh, yeah, these guys are getting some ridiculous hats.

  About five minutes later, I'm drawing a sombrero on the president of the National Golfers' Association when the heavy metal door slams open, causing me to practically fall off the exam table.

  And then, when I look up from the magazine, I practically fall off the table again as I see Brady, looking much, much bigger that he does on TV, staring right at me.

  “Having fun on the job?” he asks with a smirk, pointing down at my sombrero drawing.

  I slam the magazine shut, looking over my shoulder at the game, then back at Brady. “What are you doing out here? The game's still going! Get back out on the field!”

  He shrugs, then points towards the TV. “We don’t have the ball right now, so I thou
ght I'd come hang out with my biggest fan.”

  I toss the magazine back into the basket and glare at Brady. “You're going to get me fired if they catch us back here! Go, or I'm going to hit you with one of these magazines until you leave.”

  A playful spark flashes in his eyes as he opens up the cabinets above the counter and starts rifling through them. “Well, as kinky as that sounds, there's a better way to get me to leave, and that's to tell me where they keep the cortisone shots back here.”

  I chew on the corner of my lip and watch as Brady starts emptying out the cabinets. “Why do you need a cortisone shot?”

  He turns towards me and smirks. “You saw that shit I did between the uprights, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I was doing a crossword puzzle, but it sounds pretty stupid.”

  Brady's head whips towards me, his ice blue eyes blazing. “Oh, you saw it. I can hear it in your voice. Nice try, though.”

  Furrowing his brow, Brady starts opening the cabinets under the sink and emptying out the contents. “Well, it was fucking awesome, but I came down hard on one leg and now I've got this little pain in my thigh every time I take a step, so I'm going to stick myself to numb the pain and head back onto the field before anyone notices. So if anyone asks, I wasn't here.”

  He reaches all the way into the back of the cabinets and pulls out a bag of individually wrapped syringes, fishing one out and peeling it out of the plastic. “Yeah, here they are, perfect.”

  Brady brings the syringe down to the upper part of his thigh, and I bolt off the exam table, grabbing him by the wrist before he can give himself the shot. “Wait!”

  Brady looks up at me, a grin forming on his full lips. “Wait? For what? I've gotta get back out there.”

  I take the syringe from his hand, my medical instincts taking over. “I know, but you can't just give yourself a shot if you don't know what you're doing, you could miss the part that actually needs it and hurt yourself worse.”