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And yet, here I sit, staring back into the threatening brown eyes of some chick drowning in faded layers of clothing. She looksstale. If a person can look stale. Her skin is creamy white and free of makeup, her eyes set with deep circles beneath them. She piles her mess of dirty blonde hair on top of her head, almost as if she's trying to look this bad or something.
But if anyone in the league knows someone who can limit time off the field and get players back to their positions, you can guarantee the good word will spread. So, here I am.
Ashton Connely was the third best wide receiver in the league. Playing for the Denver Broncos, I'd been actively watching his records, and he was killing each and every one of them. It was a horrible day for their team when he fell to a torn ACL. Surprising everyone, he went out of the league to a privately owned sports physiotherapist for his healing.
Dylan Crawford became sort of a name in the game after his recovery became known. He was on the field in record time, looking better than ever after a horrific injury that should have dismantled his career. It was astonishing, to say the least. He seems like a good man. At least he did when I saw him at the recent home game. A happy guy, always smiling, even during dreaded interviews. I respect his professionalism. Definitely a hard worker for sure, as most men in our profession are.
Regardless of Ashton’s success, there's only one goal for me at the moment. One end in sight. Getting myself back onto the field in less time than it took him is the only thing that matters. To my knowledge, there's only one way to do that, and it’s through this stale, bitchy woman who basically told me to fuck off already.
When the young man approached me yesterday and introduced himself as Jaden, I just about threw my fist into his face for no other reason than because I could. I wasn't here to waste any time. The drive alone took an hour out of my schedule, which already pissed me off. I was crabby and in pain, and there for Dylan and Dylan alone.
My mom called my cell phone from home stating Dale was at the hospital waiting to give me a ride, but little did they know I’d already left the city to get started on my comeback. Waiting on the floor of the gym, I’d heard muffled arguments in the office space. My anger rose again. As soon as this chick approached me, drowning in ugly sweats, her hair in a messy nest on top of her head, I about headed back to my truck to drive it through the place just to level it out for no other reason than I was frustrated as fuck. Until she introduced herself as Dylan. I had no idea Dylan was a girl.
What I didn't need was another chick drooling over me while I focused on healing and recovery. I rarely work with female trainers strictly because of this. I'm not in this for the plethora of women throwing themselves at the chance to fuck a football star. I'm here to smash records and become the best of the best, and of course, to play my heart out forher. Until my knee decided to fuck off on me.
I hate how badly I need this chick for recovery. But I'm pretty sure she's into women. She has to be, right? Surprisingly, she didn't immediately linger on my physique or get tongue-tied talking to me, which was new. Usually women get flustered in my presence, their necks and faces heating with the desire for what they know a man like me could do to them in bed. They've seen me move on the field, knowing my athleticism directly translates into the bedroom.
Maybe it could work. At least, that's what I thought, until she opened her pretty little mouth.
She's a total bitch. A control freak. A fucking dictator. I can feel it. I know the type. Fighting her attraction through curse words and nasty looks as if it’ll work. I bet she's the butch in her relationship, telling her woman how to act. Snapping on her in public. I can see it now. Arguing over leaving too high a tip for the service that wasn't up to her standards, just like a woman angry at the world would.
After a night of no sleep and uncomfortable pain, I drove to the gym earlier than my scheduled first appointment, just needing to get out of my condo. My mind kept sinking into dark places. Places I knew I might never return from if I sat still and let the unbearable sadness drown me. I had to keep moving. The faster I got back on that field, the higher the chances she’d get better.
Standing in front of me again with her scuffed-up Nikes and faded black sweatpants, I slowly trail my gaze up as she crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the side. Her mouth is flapping, but luckily I can't hear her annoying voice. I smile and point to my earbuds and continue stretching.
Assaulting my ear, she rips the earbud from it.
“The fuck?!”
“What are you still doing here?!” she asks loudly.
If she thought she was going to get rid of me that easily, she’s an idiot. I look around the place, seeing only one other large, sweaty man on the stair-stepper who's unfortunately making the place reek of foul cheese. He eyes us closely.
“I'm stretching.” I glare up at her.
Her hands are on her hips, one still holding my earbud, making her sweatshirt dip dramatically at the waist. She must have some sort of tight frame beneath all that homeless-looking material.
“Can I have that back?”
She sighs, looking away before back at me. “You can't stretch like that. You're swollen.”
I look down at my knee, which does appear to be a tad puffy and warmer than usual.
Shaking her head disapprovingly, she says, “You need to protect your healing graft.”
“My who?”
Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly holds out a hand for me. I can tell her kindness pains her. I love it.
I take the hand and she pulls me up with little effort as I simultaneously assist myself. I fly forward into her and she catches me.Jesus, she's stronger than I thought.
She gasps a little, her chest pressing against mine as I grab onto the backs of her arms to stabilize myself. Yeah, definitely something under there. Two nice, hefty round things.
“We need to work on your stability,” she says, huffing in frustration.
I look down at her, not realizing my lips have dropped open. But I can't stop staring at the color of her eyes from here. They're not just brown like I'd originally thought. They're more of a warm amber, with these gold and green flecks surrounding the dilated pupil. Why are her pupils dilated?
“Are you on drugs?”
