Not a Perfect Save: A Fling to Forever Football Romance (Wrong Place, Right Time Book 2)

by Ivy Hunt

  Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  My hands fist at my sides, so tight that my nails dig into my palms. Hospitals freak me out—I spent too much time in them growing up. Childhood seizures, severe asthma, and a bout of pneumonia kept my parents worried and hovering for years. Not that they’ve actually stopped worrying and hovering.

  I search for something to distract me before I hyperventilate and pass out, or worse, end up having a full-blown panic attack. My eyes land on the closest subject—Mr. Football Star, Connor Hall, sitting by my feet.

  Even I know who he is—my dad, my sister’s fiancé, and all their cronies are big fans of the New York Titans. Though Connor doesn’t seem like a douchey professional athlete. He’s actually been really nice all this while.

  Strong and chiseled, his profile is a combination of Greek god and underwear model. He’s not merely handsome. More like breathtaking. Perfect. In the midst of a headache, an unwelcome whisper of attraction flutters through me. I quickly quash it. Though it’s to be expected—I mean, who doesn’t appreciate a pretty billboard now and again?

  Although Connor is hunched forward with his elbows propped on his knees, there’s no mistaking his wide shoulders. He appears larger than life in the cramped space. A tiny part of me is glad he was in the drugstore with me, though I wouldn’t have wished that nightmare on my worst enemy.

  When my attention lifts back to his face, his eyes are fixed on me. Amusement glints in his gaze, and I get a small grin as he catalogues me in return. My breath quickens for a whole different reason.

  We hit a pothole and my stomach lurches. My hand flies to cover my mouth. Connor curls a hand around my knee to steady me. His expression has shifted from cocky to concerned. “You okay?”

  I give him a small nod. I’m not, though.

  “Hurt?” He gestures at my ankle.

  Between my head and my leg, everything hurts, and I can’t distinguish one pain from the other. I shrug. ”Peachy.”

  We lapse into silence. I don’t have the energy for more.

  At the hospital, I’m loaded onto a gurney angled toward a large, red ‘Emergency Room’ sign while another attendant meets Connor and points to a separate entrance. Mercury must be in retrograde because two other ambulances have arrived at the hospital at the same time carrying victims from a car crash. My face blanches at the sight of the blood and gore, and all my earlier bravado vanishes.

  As I swing my panicked eyes to Connor, he’s already saying, “She comes with us.” There’s no room for argument in his tone.

  Maybe I should say I’m fine, that I don’t need any special treatment, but screw pride. The attendants don’t disagree with him either. They escort us past the mass of bodies to a private exam room across from a nurses’ station and hand us over to the waiting staff.

  Disposable paper sheets crackle when I’m set on an examination table while Connor lumbers over to one of the visitor chairs in the corner and plops himself down. The doctor, who perked up at the arrival of a celebrity patient, moves over to Connor, but at his blue glare, swivels around to attend to me first.

  Not too much of a loss for Mr. NFL because a young nurse, a perky blond thing with the rare skill of making her pink scrubs look like high fashion, drops to her knees at his feet—a pose I’m sure he’s not unfamiliar with.

  The other woman, likely her supervisor, is a hatchet-faced Nurse Ratchet-type who frowns as she watches.

  A penlight shines in my eyes, and my attention switches to the doctor. He asks me a few questions. I must answer correctly because he turns his focus to my leg. I distract myself by looking around.

  High windows on one side look out into the corridor where interested staff peer inside, trying to get glimpses of Connor. I turn to find him looking at me and raise an eyebrow. He shrugs and gives his audience a small wave. The head nurse rotates to see what he is motioning at, and her mouth twists in annoyance. She marches over to the glass and grabs the rod for the blinds. With a flick of her wrist, she shuts out the prying eyes.

  I hide a smile and snuggle into my pillow.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m jerked awake when outside, a loud voice yells, “I need to go in. No, I’m not family. Are you kidding? He doesn’t need family right now. He needs me!”

  There’s a brief silence, then more yelling.

  Connor lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. “Fuck.” Then he turns to the nurse. “That’s my agent, Dan. Can you let him in? He’ll scream down the entire place if you don’t.”

  The crease between Ratchet-the-Hatchet’s brows deepens. “Gretchen,” she snaps, and the other woman stands, reluctant to give up her perch at Connor’s feet.

  Seconds later a squat man in a grey suit rushes in and goes straight to Connor’s side. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I told you on the phone I was fine.”

  “Your foot,” The agent moans, catching sight of Connor’s wrapped ankle. Sweat plasters his thinning black hair to his scalp.

  “Is fine. Tweaked it a little, that’s all.”

  “Mr. Hall needs to keep off it,” Nurse Ratchet interrupts.

  Connor’s jaw tightens at that, while Dan groans. “He’s got a game next week.”

  “I’ll be fine by then. Calm down.”

  “See? He’ll be fine.” Dan swings his head back to the nurse. She stares down her nose at him. He deflates and turns back to Connor, raking both his hands through his hair. “Fuck. There are reporters out there. The last thing you need is more press about your foot.”

  “Shit. Okay.” Connor pinches his lids shut for a moment, then whooshes out a resigned breath.

  Dan scratches his head, his eyes darting around the room. They land on me and stop.

  “Hi,” I offer.

  “Ella. This is Dan Clemons, my agent.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I give the man a wave from the bed.

  Dan examines me like a bug. “So you’re why he’s here?” he says, almost accusingly.

  Connor grimaces. “Dan, shut up. This is Ella Dixon. She took down the bad guys.” His lips twitch the tiniest bit as he meets my gaze, and I try to hide my answering grin. It’s ridiculous to claim all the glory, but in that moment, I needed to feel like I was in control. I think we both know I wouldn’t have been able to do it alone.

  “Her?” Dan sounds incredulous.

  “Yes, me.” God, I hate it when men make assumptions like that. I might be tiny, but I’m not helpless.

  He snorts, but before he can say more, his phone rings. The nurse shoots him another dark scowl, but he ignores her and starts pacing the small room, the screen clutched tight against his face while sweat drips down his temples.

  I turn back to the nurse, “Can I go home now?” I’m ready to be done with tonight.

  Ratchet-the-Hatchet frowns. “Ms. Dixon, you have a concussion. It’s best that we observe you.”

  I paste on what I hope is a serene smile, even though my head is pounding in time with my heart. “Oh, no, really. That won’t be necessary. Thanks for your help, but I’ll be fine.”

  She tilts her head and studies me. “We can’t recommend letting you go without someone around to check on you for the next twenty-four hours. Are you able to call someone? Family? Friends?”

  The very notion of calling my parents makes me shudder. They’d rush over, and that’s the last thing I need. It was hard enough to prove I was capable of taking care of myself to begin with.

  The nurse clears her throat and I try to focus back on her. The wooziness makes it difficult to hang on to more than a single thought at a time. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then we’ll have to keep you, possibly overnight.”

  Choices, choices. Here in the hospital, or in New Jersey with Mom and Dad.

  “I’ll stay.”

  She nods and leaves, presumably to make the necessary arrangements. The other nurse gives me a sympathetic smile and hands me a cup of water with a bendy straw as a consolation prize.

&n
bsp; In the corner, Agent and Football player engage in a whispered argument.

  My eyes drift shut and I try to drown out the sights and sounds around me. The thought of the night ahead, alone in this cold, sterile building, is freaking me out.

  It’s gone quiet. Too quiet. I snap my lids open on two sets of eyes fixed on me. One is pained and the other pair is eyeing me like a roasted duck. The expression is familiar. I’ve seen it in the mirror right before I embark on some kind of questionable adventure.

  “Miss Dixon, is it?” Dan-the-man walks over.

  “Yes?” My tone is cautious. Something tells me I won’t like what he’s going to say.

  “We couldn’t help but overhear your...problem.” His voice is calculating. “We have a proposition for you.” I’m surprised he isn’t rubbing his hands together.

  Connor snorts in disgust. “Dan, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Fine! Then you ask her.”

  My eyes dart back and forth between them.

  “Ella—“ Connor’s voice trails off.

  “Yes?” I say slowly.

  Dan makes a noise of impatience. “We have a situation. Connor Hall here,” he says the name almost reverently, “is in a bit of a predicament.”

  A faint flush rises in Connor’s cheeks. This is getting more and more interesting. Despite my aching head, I turn my attention to him and drawl out a, “Yeesssss?”

  He releases a heavy exhale and looks down. “So here’s the thing. I injured my foot a couple of weeks ago, just a sprain. I was about to get the all-clear to play next week, but...”

  Understanding dawns. “But you decided to go all Boy Scout,” I complete his sentence for him with a wave at his ankle.

  “I did.” He sweeps his gaze back up to tangle with mine. A corner of his mouth quirks up. “As you can tell, that didn’t end so well for me.”

  “Your own fault,” I point out.

  Connor’s grin widens. “Absolutely. You did all the hard work.”

  He really has the most mesmerizing eyes. “What do you want?” I ask slowly.

  The smile drops from his lips. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “There’re paparazzi out there. If they see me injured again, they’re going to make a big deal out of it. It could damage my chances of playing.”

  “So…?” My head is spinning too much for all these vague and subtle hints.

  “I wondered if you might be willing to come outside with me and umm…” Connor’s face goes an even deeper pink. Adorable.

  Dan’s fed up with all the hemming and hawing. “Miss Dixon, if you would tell the paparazzi that Connor saved you, it would help our situation.”

  I almost snort out the sip of water I’ve just taken. Did I hit my head harder than I thought? “Come again?”

  Dan repeats his request.

  “Wait, so you want me to play the damsel in distress?” My gaze swings to Connor, incredulous. “Like, you rescued me?”

  “Uh, yeah?” He scratches the back of his neck, a humbled expression on his face.

  “Why would I do that?” I study him. His eyes don’t meet mine, but his hands are fisted tight. Something twists inside me, and I’m filled with a strange desire to run my fingers along his jaw.

  “I heard you say that you don’t have anyone to call.”

  Not exactly true. “And?”

  “Well, um... you could stay at my place. The nurse said you shouldn’t be left alone. I could, uh, check on you?”

  I gape. Since when do concussions impair the ability to hear right? “Are you crazy? I’m not going home with a stranger.”

  “He’s not a stranger!” Dan jumps in. “He’s a two-time Super Bowl winner.”

  Maybe Dan senses I’m not impressed with these credentials because he tacks on “He’s also ex-army—defender of the peace and all that.”

  A slow smile breaks over my face. “So you really are a Boy Scout, Boy Scout?”

  Connor scowls at Dan before turning back to me. “No, I’m just offering you a room.”

  “I’m perfectly fine staying here,” I respond primly, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in my jeans.

  He raises a blond brow.

  A throat clears behind us. The nurse has returned. “We have a bed in the ward set up for you.”

  The ward?

  Oh, yeah. No private room without calling Daddy. How’s independence looking now?

  I turn to Connor. “You got a deal.”

  Chapter Four

  CONNOR

  “There is no way in hell I’m leaving here in a wheelchair.” I eye the wheeled contraptions with contempt.

  “It’s hospital policy.” Ratchet’s face is implacable. “The last thing we need is a liability case on our hands.”

  “No.” I keep my tone even, determined not to lose my temper.

  The nurse mutters something about hard-headed athletes under her breath and turns to consult with the doctor in hushed tones.

  I slide a quick look at Ella. She looks exhausted. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her lips are pulled tight. I feel ridiculous for asking her to do this. But at the same time, I’m glad she’s not going to be here alone all night. I hate that she has no one to look after her.

  The nurse turns back to me. “Fine.” She waves one of the wheelchair-wielding attendants away. He returns a few minutes later with two sets of crutches. I raise my brows at the head nurse. She stares back while her lackey goes to help Ella off the bed.

  “He’s not using one?” she asks.

  “Hell no,” I respond before the sour-faced nurse can answer.

  “Well, then I’m not either.”

  I look at her in irritation. “Why the hell not?”

  She ignores my incredulous look and addresses the nurse instead, “There’s no need. My ankle’s not any worse than his is.”

  Not true. Now that my foot is taped up, it feels fine. But Ella’s expression is obstinate.

  Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this. “Fine. I’ll take a crutch.” I can dump it the moment I get out of here. She takes another.

  At the hospital exit, two sets of automatic glass doors separate us from the outside. It’s quiet. Maybe we got lucky, and the paparazzi aren’t paying attention tonight. The rain has mostly let up, but a light drizzle remains.

  “Ready?” Am I a shit for asking her to do this?

  Ella’s hesitance is obvious as she looks at the door. I don’t blame her. This request is asinine. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  “Connor.” Dan’s tone has warning laced through it, but I hold my hand up, silencing him. I wait, prepared for Ella to change her mind. Whatever she decides, I’m not leaving her here on her own. I open my mouth, about to tell her that when she tilts her head and studies me. I’m not sure what she sees, but she nods, as if she’s coming to a conclusion of her own rather than acquiescing to Dan or me.

  “Fine, let’s do this already.”

  Relief fills me, more than it should. I am a total ass.

  We head to the exit. Dan follows, almost crammed against our backs, ready to block Ella in case she decides to charge back into the hospital.

  We’re through the first set of sliding doors when a flash goes off.

  “Shit.” Dan’s hand wedges between us and extracts the crutch from my loose grip. “Take this,” he barks, shoving it at her, throwing us both off balance.

  We teeter like two bowling pins, and I only just manage to grab Ella before she topples over. I spin around, shielding her from the flashes with my back.

  The fuck? “Dan—“

  “What?” Ella gasps at the same time, now fumbling with both crutches. Mine is too long and unwieldy in her grip.

  “Pretend it’s yours,” Dan hisses to her.

  “Are you kidding me?” I snarl, snatching it away from Ella.

  “No, I’m not kidding,”

  I’ve had it. “No, I’m not doing this to her—“

  Ella seizes the crutch again an
d heaves out an irritated sigh, her gaze swinging back and forth between us like an angry schoolteacher. “The things I do…” she mutters on a big exhale. And here she is, saving me again.

  I frown. My ego isn’t so frail it can’t take a few hits.

  We cross the final threshold into the street. I ignore the screaming reporters and focus on hustling Ella into the waiting SUV.

  Chapter Five

  ELLA

  Somewhere between the robbery, the hospital, and the paparazzi our roles have reversed and I am in Damsel-In-Distress mode for real, all weak-kneed and ready to swoon from exhaustion. The ride does nothing for my head, and it's all I can do not to throw up. Closing my eyes, I chant. One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, don't barf on the floor. Five, sixxx...

  A gust of air at my hairline jolts me awake. I realize I’m leaning on Connor’s shoulder and stiffen. "Sorry.” I push up.

  “It's fine.” Connor loops an arm around my shoulder and urges me back against him. I hate to admit it, but I'm grateful. I slowly relax, letting my bones unfurl as I’m enveloped in the scent of rain and musk.

  We soon pull up outside a double-wide brick brownstone on Charles Street in the West Village. A stoop of ten steps leads up to the door, but they may as well be a hundred. “Don't you have a penthouse somewhere? Isn't that a celebrity requirement?” I grumble.

  The obnoxious man chuckles. I direct my scowl at him and then at the offending steps. He flexes his biceps, moving towards me as if to help, but I disabuse him of any such notion with a glare. His hands clench and I swear his teeth grit in an attempt to stop himself from sweeping me off my feet. Meanwhile, the hospital ward is sounding more and more appealing. For one, infinitesimal second, I even consider escaping to my parents' house in New Jersey.

  One step up. Wheeze out. Then the next. Connor follows, braced to catch me. It's somewhat reassuring to have him there, just in case I topple back. Right now, I feel like death and I'm fighting him on principle.

  After breaks on steps three and seven, I'm a sweaty mess in front of the door, standing still and breathless. Connor puts his hand lightly on my back and looks down at me. A lump finds its way to my throat and I swallow when his gaze travels to my mouth. Heat sparks, heavy in the air between us. My lips part slightly, but I can’t tear my eyes away. In another scenario, I could be mistaken for a high schooler waiting for her handsome first date to kiss her at the end of the night, while parents spy from behind parted curtains. A horn blares and I jump. Connor’s grip tightens and he glares down at Daddy Dan in the SUV now peeling away.