Authors: Melanie Scott
“Will you…” She hesitated again. Then took a breath. “Will you be able to play again?”
“The doctors are being noncommittal. The words
early days
keep getting used. Hard to tell.” He’d torn his ACL and come back from that. But he’d been ten years younger then. And ACLs didn’t take months of therapy. And now it was likely that his right ankle would be weakened from the sprain. It was, of course, the same leg as the knee he’d hurt earlier. Same hand, too. Apparently the right side of his body had done something to piss the universe off.
According to Lucas, it would be nearly the start of spring training before they had a good idea of his prognosis. Whether he’d be able to play major league again.
His good hand curled. He didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t going to think about it.
Time for a distraction. Right now, Milly was his best shot at one. Looking at her was definitely distracting. In a good way. But if he was reading the situation right, she was only here to do what Finn clearly wasn’t man enough to do and apologize. He studied her a moment, and their eyes met. She blushed, pink flooding her pale skin in a rush.
Interesting. Maybe Finn wasn’t the only reason she was here. Before she’d found out who he was, before Finn had interrupted them back in the bar, Milly the economist had been into him. Team Oliver, not Team Finn. The question was how to find out whose side she was on now. He tilted the bag of candy toward her. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”
Was he imagining things or did her cheeks go even pinker?
“No, thanks.” She smiled as she shook her head. And for the first time all day, he felt vaguely good.
“Not a gummy girl?” He smiled back, hoping to keep her smile going.
“I am. But I already ate half a bag of Reese’s Pieces on my way over here.”
His attention strayed to the curve of her mouth. It was painted with soft pink. Freshly painted? Had she messed up her makeup eating chocolate? What would Milly the economist taste like if he kissed her now? Sweet like chocolate? Salty like peanut butter?
Well, no time like the present. If she turned out to be taken he could at least dull the pain with his next dose of whatever the heck it was they were going to give him instead of morphine.
“Do you mind if I ask what exactly your relationship with Castro is?”
She tipped her head to the side, one hand straying to the gold loop in her ear. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Complicated as in crazy-ex complicated or something else?”
Her laugh rang out across the room. Damn, he’d forgotten just how sexy that laugh was.
“Ex? You thought Finn and I were—”
“He seemed pretty possessive at the party.”
“He’s just overprotective. I’m kind of his de facto big sister.”
His eyebrows rose even as a ridiculous sense of relief—she wasn’t one of Finn’s exes—flooded through him. “How does that work?”
“His actual big sister is my best friend. We grew up together. But I moved to New York after college and she’s still in Chicago. So now that Finn’s here, I’m kind of the big sister on-site.”
“Isn’t he old enough not to need a big sister keeping an eye on him?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it’s a hard habit to break. And Em—his sister—is a worrier.”
He understood worrying female relatives. He’d only just managed to talk his mother out of camping in the hospital foyer instead of staying in a hotel. It had taken the combined charms of Lucas and Maggie and Alex to help him pull that off. Luckily Heather, his youngest sister, was about three weeks away from making him an uncle for the fifth time and not allowed to fly out from San Francisco to visit him. And Leah, his other sister, was out with Heather, being aunty. He was pretty sure they’d be bugging him via Skype as soon as he was set free from the hospital.
And if Castro’s sister was a worrier, then she had reason to be. Castro had been traded by the Cubs to the Saints at a bargain rate. Cheaper than his talent warranted. Ollie hadn’t quite gotten a direct confirmation out of Maggie that there were other issues at play, but the baseball world was small and it hadn’t been hard to get the dirt that Finn had a taste for partying and a dislike for listening to the advice of his teammates that hadn’t endeared him to his previous team. Habits he hadn’t given up in the six months he’d been with the Saints. Ever since that first clash at spring training, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted Oliver’s spot. Now he might just have gotten his wish. “So you were at the party as a babysitter?”
She pulled a face. “No, just came along because he asked me. I thought it would be fun. It’s been busy at work—”
“At … where was it again?”
“Pullman Waters,” she said.
The name was vaguely familiar. “Investment bank?”
She nodded. “Yes. Small. We specialize in Asian markets. And that’s all I’m going to say or you’ll fall asleep.”
“Didn’t we have this conversation once before?” he asked. “I remember telling you that a sensible man wouldn’t fall asleep on you.”
Right before Finn had barged in and ruined the moment.
Her cheeks went pink again, then her expression turned intriguingly regretful. But regretful moved to apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she said again. She looked at his hand, a not-quite-well-enough-hidden wince crossing her face.
Pity. He didn’t want pity from her.
What did he want, then? She’d just told him she was practically Finn’s family. Which meant that as distracting as she was, she also came with complications. There was no love lost between him and Finn. A situation that wouldn’t be improved if he made a move on the guy’s de facto sister or whatever the hell she was.
He shook his head, wished he could clear his head. The morphine or whatever the hell it was they’d been given him might have stopped working on his hand and ankle, but it was still doing a number on his brain. Still, foggy or not, he wasn’t much inclined toward sparing Finn’s feelings. He liked this girl.
“What exactly are you sorry for, Amelia?”
“It’s Milly.”
“Nah. You look like an Amelia. Millys are fluffy. You’re not.” he said, then wondered where the hell that had come from. This was why he hated morphine. Loosened his tongue a little too much.
She grinned. “They have you on the good drugs, don’t they?”
“Nope, haven’t had anything for hours.”
Concern chased the amusement off her face. “Why on earth not?”
“I don’t like morphine.”
“Oh good grief. What is it with athletes and the need to prove you’re Superman?”
“Well, they tend to frown on most drugs in the MLB. Better not to get used to them.”
“You just had surgery. I’m guessing that means no baseball for you for a while. You should take the drugs.”
He desperately wanted to agree with her. But he wasn’t going to give in. No drugs. Lucas had offered him a nerve block earlier, but he’d said no. “But I have you to distract me. And you haven’t told me what you’re sorry about.”
“Right now, I’m sorry you’re too stubborn to take drugs. I imagine that hand hurts quite a bit.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Which was, unless he was mistaken, a Cartier Tank. Classy. Expensive classy. Amelia was doing all right on Wall Street, it seemed.
“I need to go,” she said. “Visiting hours will be over soon.”
“Soon, not yet.”
She shook her head. “It’s been kind of a long day. I still have some work to do when I get home.”
“I’m sure I’m more fun than Asian economies,” he said.
That earned him half a smile. “Maybe you are. But Asian economies pay the bills.” She bent to pick up her purse, clearly intent on making a getaway now that she’d done her duty.
“That’s all I get? Gummy bears and an apology and a five-minute visit?”
Amelia froze half bent over. “Excuse me?” She fumbled her purse as she grabbed for it and it fell to the floor with a solid thunk. Heat flooded her cheeks as she grabbed for it a second time. What the hell did he mean by “that’s all I get”?
“Well, your de facto brother is kind of responsible for my hand being screwed.”
She straightened with a jerk. His eyes, still wild and dark, were studying her. It was unfair, she decided, that even in a pale-blue hospital gown, with stubble darkening his jaw and dark circles under his eyes, Oliver still looked all sorts of good.
But she couldn’t think about that now. No, now she had to work out if he was teasing or if he was actually mad at Finn and thought she owed him something.
“There’s chocolate-coated pretzels and salted caramel bark in there,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned.
“I don’t want candy, Amelia,” he said.
“It’s Milly,” she corrected. For the second time.
He tilted his head. “Finn called you Milly.”
“Lots of people do.”
“Amelia suits you better,” he said. “It’s pretty. Like you.”
Pretty? He thought she was pretty? For a moment everything went kind of foggy and swimmy. Then she remembered where she was. “Are you sure you’re not on drugs?”
He shook his head. “Nope.” And then he hit her with a version of his smile that wasn’t quite as full wattage as it had been in the club but was still annoyingly charming.
Holy crap. He really thought she was pretty. The room suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.
“You’re not a closet masochist, are you?” she said, desperate for something to fill the silence between them. Then she heard the words that had actually come out of her mouth and wished the boring gray linoleum tile floor would open up and swallow her.
Oliver laughed, and the sound was even better than his smile. “Are you asking if I’m kinky, Amelia? Isn’t that a little forward for our second date?”
“This is hardly a date. Let alone a second one.”
“I don’t know. First you flirted with me in a bar, now you’re hunting me down in my hospital room. Face it, you can’t get enough of me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one who’s trying to talk me into staying. Maybe you’re the one who can’t get enough of me.”
He laughed again. “Maybe so, Amelia. Which brings me back to our original topic. Or it will after I tell you that I’m definitely not a masochist. But I am a professional athlete. We already covered how the league feels about narcotics.”
“And we already covered that you’re probably not playing professional baseball for a while,” she retorted.
The smile dropped from his face as quickly as a door slamming shut. Idiot. Why had she said that?
“No. Not this season.”
Or maybe never again? She looked again at the bandaged hand resting on his lap. She had no idea how bad his injury was, but severed tendons sounded pretty damned serious. Oliver was a first baseman like Finn. He needed his hands. What if he never played again? God, what if driving Finn home had ended Oliver’s career? What would that mean for Finn? For both of them?
Could Oliver sue Finn? Was he the type of guy who would sue? He didn’t give off asshole vibes, but he was a professional athlete. He had to be earning serious cash. Finn might just have been part of the cause of that income stream vanishing completely. Though surely if anyone was to blame it was the asshole who’d been driving the Hummer.
Or her, for not making sure Finn had switched to coffee back at the party. She squelched the horrible surge of guilt back down. She’d been squelching it ever since Em had called her to tell her Finn was in the hospital. It had been an accident. No one was to blame. And Oliver wouldn’t blame Finn.
“Which brings me, Amelia, to the question of your particular offering.”
“Offering?” she said, having lost track of the conversation as her mind came up with worst-case scenarios.
“Gummy bears.” He shook his head at her, smiling that damned smile again. “Like I said, gummy bears just aren’t going to cut it.”
“They’re not?” Amused was good, wasn’t it? Amused meant “Not about to announce that he’s going to sue Finn for everything he owns.” Which possibly would be a disappointing lawsuit. Finn wasn’t exactly focused on providing for his financial future. She’d tried dropping him recommendations for financial advisers in the past. She’d given him names of people she knew and trusted. But he’d never, as far as she was aware, contacted even one of them. Finn so far seemed happy to spend his money on fancy gadgets, including a yellow Porsche that was a textbook hyped-up boy’s toy, designer clothes, and overpriced booze in all the latest cool clubs.
“No.”
He was looking at her again. Watching with those dark eyes. She felt exposed, naked. His expression seemed to tell her that was exactly how he wanted her.
“What d-do you want?” She heard her voice catch slightly, heard the weird breathy tone, and wanted to sink into the floor again. She needed to get ahold of herself. But all she could think of was what she might do if he answered,
I want you, Amelia
. Possibly something dumb like crawling up onto the bed and kissing him. Jock or not. There was no denying how sexy he was.
“I want…” He paused, watched her a moment longer before a smile flickered over his face. “A distraction.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Perhaps both.
“I’m sure this hospital is willing to provide endless hours of entertainment for its VIPs.”
“You might be surprised,” he muttered. “But that wasn’t the kind of distraction I meant.”
She folded her arms. “Oh? Perhaps you should spell this out for me, Mr. Shields. What exactly is it you’re expecting me to do for you?”
“Give me a second chance.”
She blinked. That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “A second chance to do what, exactly?”
“We were interrupted, back at the party.”
Here came that swimmy feeling again. Like she needed to sit down and take a few deep breaths. Bad idea. She stayed where she was. He was just another guy. She could handle him. “Sort of,” she agreed. She waved a hand at the room they were in. “But I get the feeling that you’re not in any condition to be trying to sweep anyone off their feet right now.”
His smile was lopsided. “Are you casting aspersions on my abilities, Amelia?”
“No. Just being practical.”