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“Yeah. I do. Damn good pitcher too. He didn’t have the additional nerve damage I do either. And the rehabilitation is extensive. We’re talking months I can’t try to get back on a team. I may end up having to walk away from the game whatever road I choose.”
“But surgery could get you back on the field? Maybe even better than ever?”
“I’m a free agent, Summer. No guarantees,” he repeated, finally releasing her hand. This time she let him. He reclined on the mattress and threw an arm over his eyes. The towel gaped, nudging him ever closer to indecency, but somehow she refrained from remarking on it. Or staring.
Much.
“What is guaranteed in life? Nothing. So if PT’s not getting the job done, you try the surgery. What’s the worst that could happen?” Worry edged back into her voice, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. “Could the surgery leave you worse off?”
“It could. The odds are small, but they’re there. Or it could take me longer to come back from it than they think, and by the time I’m back in fighting shape, no team will look at me.”
She scoffed. “Big time Deuce Dixon, forgotten that easily? No fucking way.” She rushed on, not giving him time to argue. “You could get better. Those are the odds you need to focus on. If you’re in pain, what option do you have? Do you really want to live like that?” She pushed at his rock hard thigh and smothered an appreciative sigh. Someday she’d get a stack of coins to check out the whole bouncing quarter theory. She’d start with his tight as hell butt, then move on to his entire body. “Do you really want to have to resort to oral sex when a good fuck will do?”
He dropped his arm and opened one eye balefully. “Resort? Oh, church girl, you disappoint me. Besides, as I recall, you were concerned you couldn’t…take me otherwise.”
“So I’ll get a dildo. A big one.” She shrugged it off, knowing full well the chances of them having sex often enough to warrant her worrying about his size were slim to fuhgeddaboutit.
His chuckle made her sigh inwardly. She didn’t want to get off-topic. This was a serious conversation and she had genuine concerns about his health and wellbeing. But from the amusement playing around his mouth, they were done discussing it.
She gave in and climbed on top of him, playfully straddling his waist. She slid her palms up his still damp chest and started singing “I Love Rock and Roll” in a husky, sleepy voice that wouldn’t win any awards—other than his slow, sexy grin that thrilled her more than any Grammy.
“Oh, and just so you know, you didn’t disappoint me,” she murmured, keeping her face completely sober until he poked her in the ribs and made her dissolve into giggles.
He rolled her on her back, and she found herself staring up at him, blond hair tumbled around his head, mouth soft with a smile, while his hard, heavy body ranged over hers. The towel opened more and the hardest, heaviest part of him pressed against her bare thigh, eliciting a moan she couldn’t hide.
“Sleep,” he murmured, tickling her again, more gently this time.
“Okay.” Disappointment weighed down the assent, making him chuckle. “Thank you for telling me. Though I’m kind of amazed you did, big stoic guy that you are.”
“I didn’t want to, God knows. But your safety could be compromised if I didn’t come clean, and I won’t have that on my conscience too. You deserved the truth.” Soft fingertips stroked her cheek. “You deserve so much more than what I did tonight. A dressing room in some crappy club…” He trailed off and shut his eyes as if the thought pained him.
Well, bullshit to that. Screw keeping her language clean. She’d moved past that when he’d nailed her on her dressing room table. She had bigger problems—like him thinking she hadn’t loved every second of being with him. Wherever, whenever. However.
Rather than say that though, she chose a question with at least a passing chance of a positive response. “Do you want me to come with you to the doctor?”
He didn’t answer for so long that she turned her face away. Obviously she’d overstepped. One-time lovers didn’t rate as companions for doctor’s visits. She knew that, but she’d thought that maybe since they were friends, it would be different. Guess not.
“Why would you want to?” He shifted away, taking his side of the bed. He’d given her pillows, but not himself. “I’ll be fine. You can sleep in. I’ll take you back home after my appointment.” He turned off the light.
End of conversation. End of them.
She faked a big yawn and rolled over to face the opposite wall. The gulf between their backs felt about as big—and cold—as the Adriatic Sea, but hell if she kn
ew how to close it. “Okay. Sleep well.” She pressed her cheek into one of her pillows and forced out the rest. “Good luck tomorrow.”
If he replied, she didn’t hear it before she fell asleep.
Chase woke to the sound of crying.
It wasn’t morning yet. Judging from the darkness of the sky outside the window, they had a couple hours yet. He leaned up on an elbow, then swiftly realized that wasn’t a good idea as pain streaked up his arm. Fucking hell. He rolled on his back and stared at Summer, the movement of her shoulders beneath the covers stunning him into inaction. So much for thinking he’d been dreaming about her crying.
Was this another bad dream? Or was she actually awake?
Only one way to find out.
Carefully, he shook her shoulder and swallowed his instinctive desire to bundle her up in his arms. Since when did he have instincts like that? It had to be because it was Summer. His little sister’s best friend, who happened to be wearing his T-shirt and smelled like him and shifted into his embrace without a word.
She was soft, so soft. And warm. He held her because he didn’t know what else to do. She hadn’t stopped crying and the tears soaked his chest, each of them striking with the force of an anvil.
