CHAPTER1
Obsession isn’t pretty.
Neither is craving.
With an endless daily drive in his gut to win a Super Bowl, Premier NFL defensive end, Bowen Sullivan, was used to the burn.
Yet even more powerful was the unyielding desire to grab his orthopedic surgeon’s medical assistant by the hair and drag her into his cave to kiss her until she promised to have his babies.
Okay, he’d do more than kiss her.
He’d fucking get on his knees, spread her legs, and...
His train of thought was interrupted by the question from the object of his affection/obsession.
“Are you getting too hot?”
“I’m fine.” He gritted his teeth, trying not to imagine what her body looked like under those light-blue scrubs, trying to will his cock to stay quiet, since he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.
One would think he couldn’t be hot in this state of undress, but those people had never had an unholy combination of heating pads, TENS units, kinesiology tape, and acupuncture needles stuck in them at the same time.
“Glazier doesn’t require you get all your alternative therapies at the same time,” she commented, marking his usual body diagram on her clipboard.
“It’s faster this way, Roy,” he answered. The pads were for his shoulders post icing, the tape on his knees, the TENs on his ribs, and the needles in his ankle.
Another part of him wanted to ask why they called her Roy. No last name. No first name.
Who named their daughter Roy?
Worse, she acted like she didn’t even notice him. How could she ignore a shirtless, six-foot five defensive end composed of two hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle with black tattoos covering his arms, legs, chest, and back.
Her boss, the towering, bald Dr. Joel Glazier, came around. “How’s he doing? Any loss of muscle mass?”
Roy consulted the clipboard. “Nope, he might have lost a tenth of a percentage of body fat based on his calipers and the displacement tub.”
Glazier, who stood a good six foot five inches, almost as tall as Bowen, screwed up his face. “Are you eating the omega-3s like I told you to? Cartilage and ligaments do not grow back. We can only strengthen what we have.”
“Yes, I eat so much fucking salmon I’m almost a bear. Sorry about that, Roy.” This humiliation was unending. A notoriously hard swearing football player to the point Coach Stefengold had officially cancelled all media inquiries to Bowen. Yet he apologized for the word ‘fuck’?
“You hear that, Roy? Write it down. He’s a bear. My surgery on his shoulder was a success.”
“Yes, sir. Patient experiences delusions of carnivora.”
This was one reason why Bowen couldn’t get enough of Roy. She was funny, sarcastic, and unfazed by the male posturing around her.
“Be thankful you didn’t end up with a repair and a burn rehab like I do plastics. They replace your skin with codfish on those. Patient experiences delusions of… what genus do we call fishes?”
“Gadusis cod. Salmon aresalmonidae,” she answered without consulting her phone.
“Can always count on you, Roy. Have you looked over the surgical schedule for tomorrow? Make sure theradiographs, MRIs, and old fluoroscopy studies are at their assigned room beforehand. Tech Lincoln had better be on my team. I’ll take it out on you if she isn’t.”
Bowen bristled at the last part. Roy twirled her clipboard in her hand. “I’ll be ready,hepe, as requested.”
Glazier didn’t miss Bowen’s reaction and pulled out a few acupuncture needles from his ankle. “Seriously, this shit isn’t necessary. Motrin and ice probably help more. Remember, preseason is over. We’re in the hunt. You got to treat your body like a fine-tuned machine. Write that down. He’s a machine.”
“Yes, sir. Machine. Do you want it in phonics? Mash-een?” Roy’s eyes were twinkling.
“I should staple you to my next patient,” Glazier growled.
