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We’re back to square one playing a game of who blinks first. It slipped, and I caught it just in time. He probably isn’t in love with me. I’m his first girlfriend. The gears in his brain are working overtime right now, but I don’t blink.
Tackett blinks before he runs his lip-balmed lips over mine. A hint of peppermint. “If Archer and Megan agree to it and look over the contract, I’ll do whatever you want.”
ChapterNineteen
TACKETT
Boyfriend massages are the best. That’s what Talynn called it last night because she massaged more than my back. But I’m out of the house early so I can see Brenda, the Sharks athletic trainer. Nothing feels right. My butt and leg hurt too. I’ve always been healthy, so this worries me.
Brenda examines me while she asks me questions. “When do you think it happened?”
She has me on my back first, and when she raises my leg, I grab the edges of the table and grit my teeth.
“When I dove for the ball against the Torpedoes. You know, trying to give the fans a show.”
“And why didn’t you tell me as soon as you came into the dugout?”
My hands fly out. “I don’t know. I felt it at the moment in my leg and back but thought it would work itself out. I don’t get injured. I’ve never been injured other than a broken finger in little league. Not even a single ankle sprain.”
“Do you need help flipping over?” she asks as she steadies her hands at my side just in case. I just had two days of sex with my girlfriend in the shower, on the bed, and on the couch, so I think I can flip over. But when I do the pain shoots up my leg into the base of my spine.
Maybe it’s not a baseball injury.
“You have a mild hamstring pull, and you’ve probably jammed your back. In addition to working with me, I want you to see a massage therapist for the next two weeks. I’m guessing you don’t have a problem with that since your girlfriend’s one.”
The wordgirlfriendstill makes me as gooey inside as a cinnamon roll. She walks to her printer grabbing papers from it. “These are for you. This is for her, with an explanation of your injury.”
“Oh, and I’m putting you on one week of rest.”
When I put up a fight she assures me that this injury could get much worse if I play with it. Reluctantly, I agree. We’re currently nine games over 500 and leading the division.
Jayson:I hear you’re going to be a TV star.
Me:I doubt it. Megan isn’t going to go for it.
Jayson:Are you kidding me? She’s a financial analyst. It comes down to money.
Me:But now she has to look beyond the money and do what’s best for the team.
Jayson:Do you wanna talk? Something’s wrong.
Me:Are you looking into a crystal ball? You’re so annoying.
Jayson: Annoying because I’m right. Are you and Talynn okay?
Me:Yeah. I’m out for a week, pulled hamstring. It’s killing me.
Jayson:Ahhh. You’ve never sat the bench. You’re a bench warmer.
God, I can hear him laughing through the phone. He’s right. I’ve started every game in my entire life, and it does not sit well.
Me:Go to work.
Jayson:The benefits of being a self-made millionaire. Follow the orders of the trainer.
He doesn’t like to say billionaire—he thinks it sounds pretentious. But he’s a tight-ass billionaire. I’m self-made but a few zeroes short of a millionaire unless I make it to the big league this year. I pick up a five-million dollar bonus if I make it this year. I click the phone off and slide it in my bag.
After the game, I pick up Talynn for dinner. She looks over the paper Brenda gave me and begins conjuring up her massage therapy protocol. Her eyes dance as she talks about compression, effleurage, and petrissage. She tells me what each means, and even though I know, I let her continue. Talynn is a confident person but when she uses scientific words, it makes me forget about the injury because all do is focus on those pink-stained shiny lips.
