Authors: Sierra Hill
His facial expression turned from amusement to something darker. He was still seated on the bar stool, but his face was about level with hers. He leaned in closer and his lips nearly touched the sensitive shell of her ear. “Let’s just say I’ll make it worth your while.”
Rylie stood stock still, a little out of breath from his nearness. His broad shoulder had brushed against her breast when he’d leaned in and even through the material of her leather jacket and tank, her nipples responded immediately to the sensation of his touch.
“Hmm…so it would be a win-win for you, either way. The stakes aren’t very high then, are they?”
“Good point,” he mused. “I like my odds, though. In that case, what would you like the stakes to be?”
She hesitated, uncertain as to where to take this. She had to admit she was more than a little turned on by his overt aggressiveness, but she definitely didn’t want it to extend past this point. She wasn’t looking for a one-night stand or a quick
Wham-Bam-Thank you Ma’am
, no matter what kind of pull this man had over her.
Nope, not going to go there
.
So why she decided to say what she did stupefied her. “Tickets to an upcoming Patriots game.”
He didn’t appear the least bit fazed by her statement. He just held out his hand to her and shook in agreement.
“You’re on, little Miss Know-It-All. Now, let’s get this game started.” He turned around to get his friend, who had since been chatting with a leggy, buxom blonde woman. As he did, Rylie noticed that her challenger, still seated, had a leg brace covering his leg. She hadn’t noticed it up until now and he seemed oblivious to its presence. She’d have to remember to ask him about it after their little game.
His friend came around the bar stool and shook Rylie’s hand. He was tall and lean, extremely handsome in a boyish way and impeccably dressed. He seemed genuinely friendly, unlike the shark-like demeanor of her opponent. “Hello there,” he smiled warmly. “I’m Jackson. Pleased to meet you, Miss Hemmons. I understand I’ll be the referee in your little trivia match against this jerk-off.” He nudged his friend in the shoulder in a sarcastic gesture. Pulling out his phone, he entered his code and brought up an app. He turned his hand to show Rylie the display on his phone, indicating the sports trivia game they’d be using.
“Okay, who’s up first?”
Her challenger lifted his drink in salute to Rylie. “Ladies first, of course.”
She gave him a nonchalant shrug.
Okay, loser
.
Jackson thumbed through a few questions and selected the one he wanted. Looking up at Rylie, he asked. “Which Hall of Fame football coach started off his NFL coaching career with a one and sixteen record?”
Rylie couldn’t help but smile. Little did they know that she was raised by her father, a Pittsburgh Steelers’ fan. He taught her everything she knew about football and the history of the Steelers. Without hesitation, she gave him her answer.
“So easy,” she said, shaking her head in fake disgust. “That would be Chuck Noll, Pittsburgh Steeler’s head coach from 1969 to 1991.”
Jackson looked up from his phone with amusement and glanced first at his friend, who was looking a bit dumbfounded, and then back to Rylie, who smiled smugly at them both. She knew she was right and did a little victory dance in her head.
“That answer is correct.”
Her opponent, whose name she still didn’t know, sat in stunned silence glaring at her, his mouth gaping open. “Well fuck me, you’re a hustler. No way would any woman your age know that off the top of her head.”
What the hell
? Everything in that statement, along with his incorrect presumptions, brought Rylie’s blood to a boil. He was an egotistical ass to have the balls to say that to her. He was obviously a poor sport and didn’t like being shown up by a woman.
“Listen here, Pretty Boy,” she hissed, shoving her pointer finger into his very hard, brick-like chest. “You’re the one who started this game. So now that I know how you feel about women and sports, I will enjoy crushing your ass even more.”
Punk
, she said under her breath.
“Well, well, well. I think someone has a chip on her shoulder. Let me just help you in lightening your load while I knock it right off.” He took another swig of his beer and grinned over at Jackson. “Okay, Alex
Trebek, give it to me.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “All right. Which team holds the record for most Super Bowl appearances?”
With his face pinched slightly and his lips drawn tight, the man sat in quiet contemplation, fiddling uncomfortably with the tie around his neck. While still angry, Rylie felt something stir inside her as she watched him loosen his tie. She had an image of him yanking the tie off and wrapping it around her wrists to pin her down as he lay his body down on top of her.
Whoa. Stop it
.
“I’m thinking the Cowboys.” His forehead scrunched up in anticipation,
as he waited for the answer.
Jackson made a buzzing sound, indicating he was wrong. “Bah.
That is incorrect, sir. Miss Hemmons, would you like to guess?”
Rylie knew the answer, but wanted to enjoy watching him squirm. She brought her finger to her mouth, gently patting her lips as they parted ever so slightly. His eyes seemed to want to devour her mouth. “Hmm…let me think…”
Her competition began humming the
Jeopardy
theme song as he leaned over her shoulder. “Hard one, isn’t it?” he asked, capturing her hand and bringing it up to his own mouth, where he placed it to his lips and kissed.
Her eyes grew large, shock registering at his boldness. Creasing her brow, she yanked her hand back and rubbed it on her jeans, giving him an evil glare. He just grinned, his eyes
pinning her in some sort of hypnotizing stare, making her feel a little weak and lightheaded. She needed to end this game as quickly as possible and get the hell away from this man.
“It’s
both Dallas and Pittsburgh. They each have been to the Super Bowl eight times. The Steelers won six championships altogether.” She turned back to the bar and picked up her drinks, desperately wanting to make her get-away. “And with that gentlemen, I think you can pronounce me the winner of tonight’s trivia.”
She stepped forward, flipping her head back over her shoulder to give them a tight-lipped smile. “It’s been real,” she smirked.
Turning on her heel, she began to walk away, but decided to get in one last word. Smiling coyly, she glanced back at the men, who were staring in confusion over her departure.
“Oh, and Pr
etty Boy. Do me a favor? Never underestimate a woman again.”
She
heard a low whistle from behind her as she walked toward Sasha, who was standing in the center of the group, empty drink in hand, watching all of this unfold.
Sasha pounced the minute she was in earshot. “What the hell was that all about? It looked like you were going to get lucky with those two, at first, but now I’m surprised you didn’t throw our drinks in their laps. What got you so riled up? Must’ve been interesting conversation.”
Rylie handed Sasha her drink, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, her back toward the bar where they still sat. “Yeah, well, I should’ve thrown my drink at him. He was an egotistical asshole.”
The rest of the night she spent drinking and talking with her friends, and occasionally she glanced over to the seat at the bar where the man was sitting. Each time she did, his eyes seemed to meet her gaze and she’d quickly glance away. At some point in the night she looked to find him speaking with her friend Mark and a woman, laughing at something they had said. Looking once again a short time later, she noticed he was gone. Feeling a bit relieved, but somehow disappointed, she left the bar around midnight to head home to bed, where she tossed and turned the entire night through.
Now nine hours later, Rylie only felt exhausted and temperamental as she entered the therapist lounge in the clinic, where Sasha glanced up from the computer screen and smiled.
“So glad you could join us today. I was worried you’d up and left us to go after that guy at the bar. Damn, from what I could tell, he was H.O.T. I’d never seen him there before. Did you get his name?”
Rylie shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the wall hook, crinkling her nose up as she spoke. “He was just an asshole who thought he owned the world. And didn’t know shit about football, either. Complete tool.” Even though she said the words out loud, something in the back of her head screamed, Liar! She had felt an instant attraction to this man; some visceral and nakedly instinctual reaction to his entire being.
“Too bad, because he was devastatingly handsome. And to my knowledge, you haven’t had a good lay since…well, never.” Sasha chuckled, sitting back down to peruse the stacks of files on her desk. “Oh well, can’t go crying about your
dismal love life now because we have a full schedule today, starting with your favorite patient, Miss Eugenia.”
Rylie groaned in dissatisfaction as she obediently accepted the file she’d been handed. Starting out the day with Eugenia Bickford would be like pulling out her hair, strand by strand. To say it was a painful experience was an understatement. And Rylie wasn’t sure she had the patience for her first thing this morning. Seeing her expression of defeat, Sasha motioned to the kitchen area. “I already have the coffee brewed, so go get some and grab a banana.”
Sasha returned her attention to the top folder on the desk and scanned the contents. “I also have the file on the new patient starting today. The torn meniscus and ACL,” she said, reading through the medical details she’d received from the surgeon. “It happens to be one of Mark’s patients. I hear they’re friends from school and apparently he was even at the party last night. Mitch Camden is his name. He just had the arthroscopy last week and Mark referred him to us to continue his physical therapy,” Sasha stopped for a second to regard her friend who had just finished her first cup of coffee. “And Ry, with my current workload and patient levels, I need you to take this one.”
There was no way Rylie could ever say no to Sasha. She owed her too much for all she’d given her over the last five years, the least of which was her friendship. Before meeting her, Rylie had had very few female friends or any female influences, for that matter. She had grown up a tomboy, raised by her emotionally distant father and wild older brother. And her mother...well, she hadn’t seen her since she was four years old. The only women in Rylie’s life up until college were the few women her father, Dan, had dated during her adolescence. Other than that, she relied only on what she learned through TV and movies on anything that the world considered to be feminine or girly.
And Sasha was the epitome of girly. She was a tried-and-true fashionista, who taught Rylie the fine art of designer clothes shopping and apparel. At age twenty-eight, Rylie had finally traded in her sensible sports bras for Victoria’s Secret lace push-ups and her canvas Converse for Kate Spade’s. Even the occasional Badgley Mischka heels could now be found in Rylie’s closet thanks to her best friend. Sasha was a fierce flirt to boot, who enjoyed her men and flings as much as she did a fine bottle of champagne. It was Sasha who had coaxed Rylie out of her introverted shell, bringing her along to parties and clubs and introducing her to her own group of close friends. The time she’d spent with Sasha over the last five years had given Rylie the opportunity to see the world through a woman’s eyes, not through two opinionated jock men who had raised her.
The one thing that hadn’t changed was Rylie’s innate ability to hold her own against any man in a game of Texas Hold ‘
Em, a beer drinking contest, or a fantasy football league. Only now, she wore 7 For All Mankind jeans and lace panties to do it.
“Don’t even mention it. Of course I’ll take this one,” Rylie said, reviewing the notes on the patient chart. “ACL and torn meniscus are a piece of cake. He’ll be out of here in less than eight weeks.”
“Excellent – that’s what I’d hoped you’d say. I know some of your other clients can be a bit challenging.”
“Hey, what are friends for? Plus, you’re my boss, so I kind of have to do what you say, right?”
“True. Very true.”
Rylie smiled, feeling her mood improve slightly. As she began in on her second cup of coffee, Claire, the receptionist, popped her head in around the door corner.
“Rylie, your nine-fifteen and nine-forty-five appointments are here. I’ll have Mr. Camden complete his new patient paperwork and show Ms. Bickford back to the whirlpool.” Before she exited the doorway, Claire said softly so as not to be overheard by anyone but the two in the room, “Just a word of warning, Rylie. This guy is
GQ
hot.”
“Thanks C. I’ll be right up.” Turning back to Sasha, she sighed, shook her head and grabbed the files. “Well, off I go. See you around lunch time.”
Heading out to the front reception desk, she barely rounded the corner when she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her heartbeat spiked. Her muscles tensed. And her mood grew dark.
Seated in the waiting area, leg straight out and confined tightly in a knee brace, a pair of crutches lying on the floor next to him and wearing a smug look she wanted to smack off his gorgeous, arrogant face, was none-other than Pretty Boy from the bar.