Savage: A Pro Football Romance

by Michaela Scott

  Instantly, her hand shoots away. “Okay! I think that's enough for today!”

  I shoot her a look of mock surprise. “Are you sure? I think I can do at least 75 more before it gets dangerous.”

  Touching her knuckles with her other hand, she shakes her head. “I think we're good. Let's just go back to baby lunges.”

  I gesture towards the clipboard. “Aren't there any other exercises we can do on there?”

  Cassie flips through the pages. “Well, there are, but they're mostly underwater exercises, and the rest all involve resistance bands, exercise balls, and a bunch of other equipment that's...not actually here,” She looks around, confused, at the completely empty gym area, “What's the deal with this place, anyway? Are you sure there isn't some secret storage closet where they keep all the equipment?”

  “Nope,” I say, shaking my head, “Dr. Larson cleaned this place out when he opened up his private facility in Oceanside. He cut all the funding, and now it's pretty much an empty warehouse full of yoga mats.”

  I grin at her. “But, I do have a fully stocked gym at my house with so many resistance bands and exercise balls you're not even going to know what to do. And, I've got a pool, so we can do the water exercises, too.”

  Cassie shudders, then glares at me. “No way. I don't care if you have a magic wand that cures groin injuries at your house. After what happened last week, we're keeping this strictly professional.”

  I shrug. “Alright, suit yourself. Maybe I can get one of the guys to snatch us an exercise ball from Dr. Larson.”

  Suddenly, a voice rings out from behind us. “I have an exercise ball at my house! I could get it for you if you want!”

  Cassie and I both spin around to see a skinny blonde kid, probably about late high school age, in a hoodie that's way too big for him standing by the door.

  Cassie's jaw drops in shock, but I've long since gotten used to fans coming up to me in the weirdest fucking places, and judging by the word “savage” written over my numbers on this kid's hoodie, he's a pretty serious fan.

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, heading over to the fan, who starts shaking with nervous excitement as I approach. Also a pretty typical reaction, especially from my younger fans. “Well, thanks, but I think we've got it covered. Don’t tell anyone we’re in here, alright?”

  He nods vigorously, trying to play it cool. “Oh. Yeah. Sure! Can I have your autograph?”

  I shrug. “Fuck yeah. Got a pen?”

  As the kid digs through his pockets, I look back towards Cassie, who’s nervously peeking through the blinds on the back windows. Then, she turns back towards us. “How’d you get in here?”

  The kid can’t help but look a little smug as he hands me a black marker. “The password to the back door is 1234. Can you sign my hoodie?”

  “Sure,” I say, grabbing the front of his hoodie and scrawling my name and number right above the word “savage.” The kid looks over at Cassie, and then back at me. “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “Not yet,” I say, grinning back at Cassie, whose jaw drops in shock, “Right now, she’s just helping me fix up my leg, but she’ll come around soon enough.”

  “He’s kidding!” Cassie says, practically running up to my side, “I’m just his doctor! And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to working on his leg.”

  The kid cocks an eyebrow at Cassie. “Yeah, sure. How long is it going to take?”

  “Three weeks,” Cassie says.

  “More like ten days, max,” I say, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

  “Good,” he says, “You need to be healthy in time for the Mustangs game next month. My friend Ian is a Mustangs fan and he talks so much trash.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I think that can happen. And if it does, tell Ian that Brady Mack says it’s never too late to become a Kings fan.”

  The fan grins from ear to ear. “Hell yeah. Alright, well, uh…” He looks back and forth between me and Cassie, “I think I’m going to leave now. Good luck...”

  And with that, he slinks back down the hallway, leaving Cassie and I alone.

  “What is wrong with you!?” Cassie says, stepping in front of me, “Not yet!? What if that kid tells somebody you said that?”

  I shrug. “Did he look like he wanted to get me in trouble? I’m pretty sure he’s not going running to the tabloids.”

  Cassie storms out into the hall until she reaches the back door, then puts her hand on the handle. “Okay, we have to change the password before he tells his friends about this place.”

  “Too late,” I say, holding out my phone to Cassie and showing her a selfie the kid posted on social media about thirty seconds ago right in front of the back door, “This is how it works. One fan finds me, posts about it on social media, then his messages get fucking flooded with people asking him questions, including reporters. Then, in fifteen minutes, max, people figure out where I am and suddenly I’m doing a meet and greet with a hundred fucking people.”

  Cassie turns pale as she sees the number of likes below the photo. “Well, we can still change the password, can’t we?” She steps out into the parking lot and starts fiddling with the buttons, but I shake my head.

  “Nope. Only Dr. Larson can do that, and if you ask him, he claims he doesn’t know how. It’s another thing they did to make this facility too annoying to actually use; you can’t spend any time here without a fan or two sneaking in. Or in my case, a hundred.”

  Cassie looks up from the keypad. “So, let me get this straight. You can’t go anywhere without becoming the center of attention, surrounded by obsessed football fans?”

  I nod. “Pretty much. Not in San Diego, anyway.”

  “So how do you deal with it?” She asks.

  I look out the window towards the eastern horizon, barely visible through the downtown buildings. “I get out of town. That’s why I live where I live, so I can be alone whenever shit gets too crazy around here.”

  Cassie follows my gaze. “How far out do you live?”

  I laugh a little. “Pretty far out there. I wanted to be close to home. My original home. Out in the desert.”

  I can see the gears turning in her head. “And when you’re home, no one ever bothers you?”

  “Nope,” I say, “Everyone in town knows me, and anyone who likes me enough to try and go to my house knows not to bother me when I’m out in the desert.”

  Cassie scrunches up her face, and I can practically see herself trying to talk herself out of what she’s about to do. Then, after a pretty lengthy pause, she finally gives in. “Alright. You know what? Let’s go.”

  I pump my fist in the air. “Fuck yeah! You’re going to fucking love it out there.”

  “But,” she says, pointing her finger in my face, “If you try anything, I’m out of there, and you’re going to have to figure out how to do rehab on your own.”

  I smirk at her. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”

  Suddenly, Cassie’s lip retreats in her mouth and her eyes get a little wider, like she’s trying to figure out why she just did what she did. But then, a passing car full of people shouts my name, and she snaps out of it. “Okay,” she says, “Let’s go.”

  She pulls out her keys, but before she can reach her car, I pull out my own pair from under one of the potted yuccas outside the back entrance and unlock the ivory-colored sports car parked in the reserved spot right next to her. “Let’s go in fucking style.”

  Cassie bites her lip as I climb in through the driver’s side of the sports car and turn the key in the ignition. Through the window, I look out at her, watching waves of conflict wash over her. And shit, I get it. It’s risky to get in this car. She’s worried she’s going to get caught doing something she isn’t supposed to do, and that it’s going to get her fired. But honestly, Cassie seems like she could use someone to tell her that it’s okay to take a risk once in a while. To listen to that quiet little voice in the back of her head, telling her to go for what she wants, but isn’t sure she can have.


  And sure enough, after a few seconds of indecision, Cassie gets into the passenger’s seat, trembling a little bit with anticipation.

  “Looks like somebody’s ready to hit the fucking road,” I say.

  She shrugs, trying to play it off. “I mean, we’d better leave now if we want to get any actual rehab in today.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I say, backing the car out of its parking spot and whipping it out onto the open road.

  Chapter 11: Brady

  “I’ve never been this far out into the desert,” Cassie says, looking in the rear view mirror at the sun setting over the mountains.

  “Most people haven’t,” I say, “That’s why it’s the perfect place to get away.”

  It takes a couple hours to get from downtown San Diego to my place out in the desert. And for the past ninety minutes or so, Cassie’s been like a whole different person. We stopped by her apartment so she could grab a couple changes of clothes when she realized that my place was far away enough that she was probably going to have to stay at least one night. Not expecting it to actually work, I suggested that she get enough clothes to spend three weeks up at my place, and to my fucking surprise, she actually walks out the front door in a tight black tank top with a huge bag of clothes slung over her shoulder.

  And then, the second we hit the city limits, her posture instantly changes. She throws her shoulders back, leans back in her seat, and lets out a massively deep breath.

  “Shit, you really needed to get out of town, didn’t you?” I ask, looking over at her as we take an exit ramp off towards the highway.

  Cassie nods. “It’s been a long, long time. Med school is no joke.”

  “Yeah, I fucking bet,” I say.

  “On the other hand,” Cassie says, “I think my roommate’s right about me taking things too seriously. I’m thinking about my mindset over the past couple months, and I think I’ve felt like some tiny little thing was going to ruin my life every single day since at least the start of my last semester. I didn’t used to think like that. I used to actually…”

  She smiles, looking out at the open road ahead of us. “I used to actually feel like this.”

  And after that, for the rest of the drive, I don’t hear a fucking word about appropriate doctor-patient relationships, intermediate exercises, or rehab timelines. We just fucking talk.

  And now, after about ninety minutes of not being a football star and his doctor, we’re here.

  A tiny little town out in the California desert that barely has a name. The town where I was born.

  Cassie shoots me a look as I pull off the highway, parking my car right in front of a run-down adobe building that looks like it’s about to collapse at any fucking second.

  “Is this your house?” She says with a teasing laugh.

  “No,” I say, leaning in towards her and putting my hand on her leg like I’ve been doing all ride long, “But this is where we’re going to get the keys. And it’s also the best fucking Mexican restaurant in California.”

  Cassie scoffs as we get out of the car, but before we go in, I pull her into me and whisper in her ear. “Go ahead and doubt me. After this, you’re never going to be able to look at a San Diego taco the same way again.”

  And then, with my arm around her in a way she’d never allow in the city, I walk her through the front door, and the two of us instantly get a massive cheer from everyone who sees us come in.

  For me, it’s just your average everyday hero’s welcome, but I can tell Cassie’s getting a little nervous again. She takes a step away from me as Hector, the owner of the restaurant, comes out of the kitchen and excitedly walks up to us. “Brady! Welcome home! How’s that leg?”

  I give my lower thigh a light punch and grin at Hector. “Fucked up enough that I had to come out here to work on it. But I’ll be back in time for the rematch.”

  Hector looks relieved. “Oh, that’s great! We were watching the game in here and it looked bad on TV. They were saying you were going to miss the whole season.”

  I shake my head. “Fucking typical.”

  Hector glances over at Cassie. “So, is this your doctor?”

  Cassie is pleasantly surprised. “Yes, actually! That’s exactly what I am! And don’t worry, Brady’s in very good hands!”

  Hector grins at Cassie. “I believe it! Anyone who’d come all the way out to our little desert town for Brady is pretty special.”

  Cassie smiles and nervously glances down at the floor. “Just doing my job,” she says, in the voice of someone who’s clearly not just doing her job.

  Hector laughs. “Aren’t we all? By the way, speaking of very good hands, watch this!”

  In the blink of an eye, he throws the keys to my house hard over my shoulder, trying to get them past me, and I reach out and snatch them out of the air.

  He leans in towards Cassie, lowering his voice. “I used to be able to get things past him every once in a while, back when he was this tall.”

  He holds his hand out at rib level. “Clearly, that didn’t last very long. I haven’t gotten anything past him in years.”

  Hector looks over at me and beams. “Brady used to play football with his friends out in the lot behind my old restaurant. I knew he didn’t always have a lot to eat at home, so I’d cook up a plate of tacos and bring them out to him and the other kids. And look at him now. Personally, I don’t think I get enough credit.”

  I roll my eyes in Hector’s direction. “Hector, we both fucking know that they come through here with a huge camera crew every single time I make the playoffs, and you get on national TV and this restaurant is packed for months.”

  Hector nods vigorously through his laughter. “I know, I know, but where’s my paycheck!?”

  I shrug. “Oh, it’s coming. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Getting a little more serious, Hector looks back towards the kitchen. “Let me get you two some dinner, alright?”

  He heads into the back, and a couple of the regulars, older guys I’ve known my whole life, come up and talk a little bit of football. I learn a little bit about how things are going in town, they all tell Cassie not to be afraid to put me in my place if she needs to. Eventually, Hector comes back out with a giant paper bag stuffed with tacos.

  “Every flavor,” he says, “And I filled the rest of the bag with chips. I’ll come by the house tomorrow with more.”

  “Thanks, Hector,” I say, looking out the window at the darkening desert sky, “We should probably get going, though. We’ve got rehab to do tonight.”

  With a nod and a quick wave to everyone, Cassie and I head out the door, getting back into the car and hitting the road again.

  “Well, I guess I see where you get your ego from,” Cassie says, once we’re back out onto the highway, “Everyone here worships you.”

  I shrug. “I’m the one that made it out.”

  Cassie looks out at the road ahead of us, turning her head to watch a couple exit signs go by. When she talks again, her voice is low and soft. “So, that guy who owned the restaurant…Hector, right? What did he mean about you not always having enough to eat growing up?”

  My hands grip the wheel as the memories wash over me. “It’s fucking hard out here. I used to come home from school and there just…wouldn’t be any food at home. Sometimes my parents wouldn’t be home, either. Still, I got pretty lucky, compared to some of my friends. They didn’t leave until I could take care of myself. I’m not sure if they realized that or not, but that’s what happened.”

  Cassie turns away from the window and looks towards me. “So your parents left you?”

  I nod, looking up into the rear view mirror at the empty back seat. “Yeah. But not together. My Dad left first. I heard he crossed the border into Mexico, but I honestly have no fucking idea if that’s true or not. Then my Mom met this guy who lived up in Nevada. She invited me to move up with her, but…if I’d gone with her, I don’t think I would have been going to school. And by that time, I was
on my first football team. Sixth grade. Everyone wanted to know how I could run so fast. Or hit so hard. They called me a savage. That’s how I got the nickname.”

  I motion down to the paper bag at Cassie’s feet. “Have a taco. They’re just as fucking delicious now as they were back then.”

  Cassie pulls a foil-wrapped taco out of the bag, and her eyes go wide as she bites into it.

  “Told you it was good,” I say, pulling the car into the left lane and pulling off onto an unmarked, unpaved road leading off into the desert.

  I live about fifteen minutes down this empty desert road, and after about five, Cassie looks over at me. “So I guess I am spending the night out here tonight.”

  I cock an eyebrow and look over at her, trying to read her expression. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah …” She gestures out at the open desert, “I’ll probably just sleep out here with you until your rehab is done. It’ll be nice to be out of the city.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, my voice lowering to a growl, “But if you go from zero to sleeping with me every night, you might need a little rehab yourself.”

  “Brady!” She smacks my thigh, “I’m not going to—oh, wait, ew, that’s not what I meant! I’m going to be sleeping with you, I’m going to be sleeping…in the same house as you. Like a live-in doctor taking care of you until you get better, except for the parts where I’d have to look at your dick.”

  Fuck, this girl is going to drive me completely fucking crazy. When I woke up this morning, I thought I wasn’t even going to talk to her until the end of the season, and now, she’s openly checking me out in the passenger seat, pressing her bare thighs together as she talks about sleeping with me. Sure, she’s still trying to play it off like she’s not interested, but her fucking body? It’s not just interested in getting fucked. It’s fucking obsessed. If it weren’t for the seatbelt strapping it down, it’d probably be climbing all over me right now.

  And if she keeps talking about sleeping with me once we get inside, she just might find herself bent over the nearest piece of furniture, taking every fucking inch of my cock.