Page 6 of Pressure Point

“Dude thinks he’s Zlatan though,” Chance commented, her ears perking up at the uncommon name.

“Zlatan?” she asked, feeling a surge of confidence out of nowhere. “As in Ibrahimovic?”

“You know who Zlatan is?” D.B. questioned, peering down the table at her.

“I do! I attended a lecture at physical therapy school all about him and his ACL injury. One of the doctors at the University of Pittsburgh that was on his medical team is friends with one of the professors at Emory, so he came and shared all about it. It was fascinating.”

The whole table came to a halt, each one of the guys looking at her like she’d walked into this bar naked. She had no idea what to do, so she just kept talking.

“He said that it was the most incredible thing. It was an injury that really should have killed his career, especially considering how old he is. But it didn’t. Apparently his knee was in incredible shape—I mean, other than the whole ACL tear thing. But that it was still just as strong as a young player half his age and that for someone who has been playing football for has long as Zlatan has, he shouldn’t have a knee that looked that good. So, because of all that, they had an easier time repairing the ligaments and then were able to create a very specific course of physical therapy that focused on…” she trailed off, realizing that they were all just still staring at her, confused looks and slack jaws increasing with each new player she looked at. “And I’m rambling….”

She snapped her mouth shut, a wave of embarrassment washing over her for the word vomit that just spewed out of her. Of course these guys didn’t want to hear all about the inner workings of an ACL repair. Even saying ACL was probably enough to give these guys nightmares. Why didn’t she know when to stop? She needed something else to talk about. Anything else.

“Alright, guys, beer’s here!” Talia said, squeezing herself back into the group.

Saved by alcohol…

“Hola bonita,” Dash said, winking at Talia as she unloaded the trays.

“Hi, Dash,” Talia smiled back. Dash’s whole face lit up at her greeting, and Avery's heart sank. He’d never looked at her like that, and watching these two now, she doubted he ever would.

For the first time, Avery took a moment to look at Talia. She was pretty—really, really pretty—but in a soft, natural way. With long, wavy brown hair, olive skin, hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle their greeting at you, and curves in all the right places, it was no wonder that Dash was drawn to her. As much as she wanted not to be jealous of Talia, Avery couldn’t help it. She didn’t need to look at herself to be reminded that Talia was everything Avery wasn’t. Her chest was all but flat, and she had zero definition between her waist and hips, making her look more like a stick figure than a real-life woman most days.

“Here’s your wine,” Liam said, handing her the glass. His big, long fingers grazed against hers, knocking her from her cloud of jealousy. She was happy he was back. His presence was oddly comforting as she dealt with her sudden rush of envy.

“Thanks.”

“So, I, uh…” he started to say, but was cut off when the rest of the table busted out in a roar. Avery turned to see what caused the commotion, to find Gunnar and Britt “Cowboy” Callahan, the team’s Technical Director, approaching the group. Another wave of nervousness rolled through her, and she stepped in closer to Liam, hoping for more of that soothing feeling he provided. She had no idea what it was about him that made her feel this way, but with two of her bosses now standing here, and undoubtedly the big boss on her way, Avery was incredibly grateful.

“Everything okay?” he whispered into her ear.

“Yeah, I just already kinda made a fool out of myself while you were gone, rambling about an ACL repair. And now the bosses are here, and I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“You have nothing to worry about with those two. They’re pretty laid-back. Although, I’m not sure talking ACLs is their idea of fun either.”

“I didn’t mean to. But they mentioned Zlatan, and I attended a lecture about his surgery and how—”

“It was a clean repair because he had the knee of a guy half his age?” Liam said, finishing her sentence.

“Yes! How’d you know that?”

“Mum’s an orthopedic nurse. She followed the whole thing very closely.”

“She is?”

“She started out general practice, but with a former professional footie player for a husband and five boys who all play the game, she quickly found knowing about our bones was a good idea.”

“How cool!” she exclaimed, realizing her nerves had been replaced by excitement over what Liam had shared. Once again, he’d known just what to do to ease her anxiety. It was like he was magic somehow. Maybe he was. Maybe she had found her own Irish leprechaun. Except instead of being pocket size and wearing a green suit, he was six feet five and wore cleats.

“Lads,” Gunnar greeted them. “And ladies.”

“Y’all, I just gotta know one thing. I understand why the ladies are here, but just what made the whole team decide that a sports bar for women was the best place to celebrate our first win?” Cowboy asked, his Texas twang peeking through. The mischievous look on his face made Avery want to laugh, but she took a sip of wine to try and hold it back. Maybe Liam was right, and she didn’t have any reason to be nervous.

“Because this is where the chicks are,” Chance answered him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Cowboy said.

“I might have also promised free food if they won,” a tall, dark-haired man said, appearing next to Talia with a large tray full of appetizers. Just like all the other servers at Bunz, he was dressed in nothing but a pair of very well-fitting jeans, with a backside that looked like you could bounce a quarter off of it, and a rippled stomach that looked like the mogul hill at the Olympics for all the planes and ridges it had.