Playing To Win Page 3

  It took a pain pill and a jack-off session to the thought of her to finally fall asleep the other night, and I’m not ashamed to admit it’s not the first time I’ve beat it to memories of Katie.

  But now I’m staring at her, pissed she blocked my number and disappeared. Hurt, still all these years later that the short time we spent together meant so little to her when I spent so much of it proving I wasn’t some dumb jock, player type. I’m more than a little irritated that the messages my brain is sending to my dick are clearly only the good ones. He’s standing up and taking notice, liking the beautiful woman in front of me, dripping coffee from her eyelashes and her chin.

  “Hey, Katie.” She only lets her friends call her that. It took three times meeting her before she stopped correcting me when I called her it.

  I notice she doesn’t do it now, although it might be hard for her to do while her mouth is gaping, opening and closing like a fish. I’ve rendered her speechless, and there’s a thump of excitement in my chest at the thought. Katie is never speechless. She’s bold and brave and knows her shit and what she wants out of her life. She’s strong and been through a lot of crap that would make lesser people crumble. I’ve always admired the hell out of her, long before I actually got the chance to meet her. She doesn’t know I lusted after her body well before I got to know her mind and heart.

  “Jude…” she says it again and finally her mouth works properly. “How are you?” she asks, stepping forward and wiping at her face. Her nails are painted a light pink that matches the tint on her lips. And like always, I’m drawn to her large, round eyes with light brown irises so bright I could stare at them for hours if given the opportunity. “Your knee, I mean. I saw what happened.”

  “Partial MCL tear, full ACL. They’re saying I’ll make a full recovery.” My voice thickens. The fear is there that they’re wrong, and it’s not until I’m face to face with this woman, I can feel that fear threaten to bubble over.

  I can’t let that happen. She hasn’t earned the right to see me be weak and scared, even if all I want to do is throw my arms around her, yank her to my chest and slam my mouth to hers. Damn it.

  Five freaking years. My reaction to her shouldn’t be so barbaric.

  I push off the counter and one of my crutches falls to the floor. My good leg wobbles and I curse, unable to bend down and pick it up. I’m so damn tired of being helpless and this is only the beginning.

  “Here, I got it,” she says and she’s rounding the desk.

  “No,” I snap at her, and hate that, too. But she freezes and behind her, the redhead I loudly heard screeching my name earlier is practically hyperventilating. I give her a look that attempts to calm her down, the fake and practiced smile that shows I’m still a human, just a human who plays hockey. Based on the noise that escapes her throat, it does the opposite.

  “Mr. Taylor?” I turn toward the new voice, the guy walking my way in a polo shirt the same as Katie’s with his hand extended. “Logan Cooke. I’ll be taking care of you today. How are you?”

  “Call me Jude, please, and I’m good. Or could be better, I guess.” I gesture to my knee before shaking his hand and once he lets mine go, he swipes up my fallen crutch.

  He’s older than me, not by much, and seriously… this guy is the best there is? I expected someone older. Someone… not so good-looking. When his gaze slides toward Katie and the redhead, I glance at his hand and to the dark black ring on his left hand.

  Married.

  Thank fuck. A pressure eases in my chest as he smiles at Katie.

  He’s no threat.

  It shouldn’t matter.

  I’m not wanted.

  Still, I like that his smile toward Katie isn’t anything more than professional. His brows furrow. “Everything okay here?”

  “Yeah.” Katie shakes her head, reaches up and fidgets with her ponytail. “Yeah, we’re good, Logan. Just, saying hello. Making conversation with Jude.”

  “Yep,” the redhead squeaks. “We’re good. All good.” She’s bouncing on her feet and I grow more uncomfortable by the moment. It’s not that I don’t see screaming fans, it’s just, usually not by women so much older than me. It’s kind of freaky.

  “Avery,” Logan says, shaking his head. Clearly this isn’t the first time she’s behaved this way. “Chill. Go take a break, yeah?”

  She nods and rushes by Katie, giving her a squeeze at the arms and a wicked smile I don’t care at all to interpret. Katie’s cheeks turn a deep red and I’m still staring at her. Her gaze is on the floor, the equipment scattered through the room, Logan, the windows… anything and everything but me.

  “So.” Logan claps his hands together and gets my attention. “You two okay?” His question is low, full of implication.

  “We were friends in college, Logan. That’s all.”

  Friends. The fuck we were. Friends didn’t make love the way we did. I hadn’t even known what that was, or why it felt so different in that moment until it was too late to talk to her about it more. But we sure as hell weren’t only friends.

  Her eyes come to mine, soft and wary, almost pleading. I force my jaw to relax and nod. “Yeah. Friends.” I let that linger, my own implication clear in the thickness of the word and am rewarded with her cheeks darkening again.

  “Okay then. How about you and I get started, Jude, and see if we can get you back on the ice sooner rather than later, deal?”

  It’s the most important reason I’m here. The only reason I’m here. But it still takes me awhile to answer, to pull my focus off Katie, still avoiding me. We’ll talk later.

  She owes me that much—the conversation we never got to have.

  “We’ll talk soon,” I tell Katie, and grab my crutches. My knee is throbbing, and I flinch as I put the slightest amount of weight on it. “I’m not leaving until I get your number, friend.”

  There’s a bite in my tone, partly from pain, partly from her and all the things she makes me feel.

  But goddamn it, it’s absolutely asinine I can still feel so much for her all these years later and in such a short amount of time. At the very least I’m going to have to put her in my past for the last time.

  “Okay, Jude,” she says and it’s so soft I barely hear her.

  I nod and follow Logan to where he takes me to a table, helps me sit on it. He fixes some pillows behind me and then I’m bombarded with questions about the surgery, my pain levels, what I’m able to do since. I’m only half paying attention, my attention mostly on Katie as she greets and smiles at her next patient, a young kid, not quite a teen but close. She points him to the bike and goes to a computer, putting her back to me.

  Logan, on the other hand, turns into a sadistic asshole I have to resist punching in the face more than once as he removes my brace, starts bending my knee. He takes measurements of angles and how far it bends, asks even more questions about my pain level now and when I tell him it feels like someone’s trying to rip my nuts off after one particular tortuous stretch, he only laughs.

  “Sounds about right. Good news is that feeling will improve, yeah. Saw the game. You know you’re lucky, right? Slamming into the boards was bad enough.”

  “Selkin’s a dick,” I grit out and hiss in a breath. He has me laying on my back with a stretchy band wrapped around my ankle. I’m supposed to bend my knee, tug my ankle toward me, but I can only move it inches before my knee feels like it’s going to explode. Fuck. I didn’t expect this to be easy, but I didn’t expect my leg to be so damn useless either.

  Logan laughs at my response again. He won’t be laughing when I wrap these bands around his neck and choke him. I usually don’t have an anger problem, but I’m not feeling exactly kind right now.

  In my peripheral, Katie is still smiling, talking to the kid who’s now doing some jumping and turning exercise. He’s grinning and whatever he says to her makes her laugh echo through the room.

  And now I have to fight against going hard while Logan is pressing my ankle, helping me str
etch, all because of Katie.

  “So, you and Kate were friends?”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Met in school.”

  “You don’t look at her like she was your friend.”

  My gaze snaps to him. He’s not being a dick, pointing out the obvious, probably. There is no way the tension and awkwardness between us was friendly. “What’s your point?”

  He helps me off the bed, hands me the crutches and guides me to a machine to help bend my leg some more. It’s similar to a weight machine I use at the gym where I have a pad at the back of my ankles. The weights change to a light setting and I’m supposed to push it back with my bad leg only. I squeeze the handles at my sides, seething as fire shoots to my leg. I’m only dealing with ten pounds.

  I am fucked.

  “How long does this recovery usually take?”

  “For an athlete of your caliber? A few months before you feel back to normal. Longer to be back in competitive-ready form and that all depends on every individual’s body.” He types something on the computer screen he’s standing at, glances around the room, and comes back to me. “About Kate. I don’t mean any disrespect. She’s a hard worker, a good girl. She’s damn smart and an excellent therapist. I like her. She’s good people, that’s all.”

  “We had something. Didn’t last long. I was called up to the pros. Not more much to it than that. Besides both of us being surprised to see each other today.” I don’t know why I’m telling this guy anything. I don’t know him, and I usually don’t trust strangers. Hopefully physical therapists operate under the same doctor-patient confidentiality and he won’t end up selling anything I say to gossip blogs. But I can tell he cares about Katie, so I’ll give him the minimal I can.

  “This going to be a problem? You being here with her? And before you ask, right now, I’m concerned about your recovery. That’s my job. Later, I’ll ask the same to Kate, but I know she’s professional.”

  “It’ll be fine.” Also, I like that to him, she’s not Katie. Even if there could be a plethora of reasons why, I like that I’m the guy that gets her nickname. I know few do. I finish the set he gives me, wishing I had some pain pills in my pocket. My entire leg is burning and it’s only the beginning.

  By the time I’m done, I have a bag in my hand containing a foam roller I’m supposed to use beneath my leg, my own set of bands even though I already own dozens of them, and sheets of exercises to do four to six times a day. I’m at the appointment desk, scheduling out weeks of sessions, three a week for the first three weeks. Nine guaranteed times I’ll get to see Katie.

  It’s not enough.

  I’ve already called my driver the team has hired for me until I’m more mobile. The app we use shows he’s ten minutes away. Katie is finishing up her session with the kid, who keeps beaming up at her as they talk. He’s working hard too, listening to everything she says. I take the few minutes while the woman behind the desk inputs all my appointments to watch Katie at work.

  She’s beautiful, even dressed in a pair of khaki pants that shouldn’t be flattering but they still manage to hug her ass and curves perfectly. The logo on her shirt is right above her full breasts. She wears little makeup, but I don’t think she ever wore a lot to begin with. Katie’s always been someone I believed to be comfortable in her own skin and it was one of the things that attracted me to her.

  And if I’m honest… I still am.

  Months. I can spend months here. Winning her back. Getting to know her all over again. We can figure out the rest, but first I just need to know if that connection I always felt burning so brightly between us in college still exists.

  My SUV pulls up outside and I text my driver, Paulie, letting him know to wait a few.

  The kid’s mom stands as Katie brings him over to her and they talk about his own knee injury for a bit before she smiles down at him. “Don’t worry, kiddo. You’ll be back on the court in no time.”

  “Thanks, Miss Carter.” I’m pretty sure this kid is experiencing his first “older woman” crush based on the smile and his blush.

  His mom comes to the desk to make their own appointments and I scoot down, closer to Katie. She glances around the room, almost hesitant, but there’s nowhere for her to run.

  Not from me. Not again.

  “I’d like your number.” Her number might be the same, but it doesn’t matter if she has my number blocked because mine is new.

  “I think maybe we should keep this professional, Jude.” She bites the inside of her cheek and looks away.

  I could give her that. Move more slowly. I’ve already tried that with her and look where it got me. My dick hardening at the sight of her, my chest feeling too damn tight, and my head a mess.

  “I’m going to be in town awhile, Katie. And I want to see you. As friends, old friends, if that’s all you can give me.”

  If she catches the sarcasm in my tone over us being friends, she doesn’t show it. Instead she chews her cheek again and nods. She reaches over the counter and grabs her business card, scribbles down a phone number. “Okay, Jude. Friends.”

  Friends my ass. I’m such a liar.

  I take the card and give her a break, telling her we’ll talk soon before I hobble out of the office on my crutches and straight out to the SUV where Paulie opens my door, takes my crutches and waits until I’m seated uncomfortably in the back before he hands them back to me.

  Then I pull out my cell phone, add in Katie’s number, and send her a modified version of the text I sent her the very first time she gave me her number.

  I still want to kiss you. When can I see you again?

  5

  Kate

  “Sometimes I think you need a good slap upside the head.”

  “Thanks, Lizzie.”

  She huffs and flops back into my couch. Her glass of red wine is in one hand, and she tosses my cell phone I just gave her on the cushion between us.

  “Well you deserve it. I mean, you barely told me anything about you two when it was going on way back then, and you’ve hardly mentioned his name since.” She shoves a brightly red painted fingernail in my face and frowns. “You need to learn how to open up more, you know?”

  I’m aware of my weaknesses. Growing up the only child of a nineties version of a hippie, I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends. I spent more time living out of my mom’s car than I did an apartment. It wasn’t until I was in high school and we had settled in central California that I refused to leave when my mom had the urge to roam. It took me months to convince her to give me a few years at a normal high school. She could travel all she wanted, but after sixteen years of living off whatever crafts she made and sold at fairs, and whatever else she did to earn money, I wanted the stability.

  I wanted a normal life.

  It’s still the thing I crave most.

  Needless to say, that kind of lifestyle didn’t lend itself easily to sleepovers and well-rooted friendships and I spent more time afraid of telling people we lived out of my mom’s car, afraid I’d be taken away from my mom, than I did discussing cute boys and whatnot.

  “We talked about it,” I grumble. Her point is made.

  “Please. If I hadn’t been diddling Dubiak back then, I hardly would have known you ever saw Jude and we were roommates.”

  “Please, for the love of everything holy and unholy, never use the term diddling Dubiak again.” I sip my wine as she laughs.

  “You know what I mean. And now you’re telling me five years later he sends you the exact same text? Come on, Katie. That guy always had it bad for you and clearly he hasn’t forgotten a thing.”

  “And in a few months he’s headed back to North Carolina and I’ll still be in Chicago. It’s the same story. We want different things.”

  “If you weren’t my best friend, I’d think you were stupid.”

  “Thanks, Lizzie. That’s nice.” My wine is going down too fast tonight. I’ve been staring at that text from Jude since he left the offices yesterday. He hasn’t sent another
one. If he’s waiting for my response, I have no idea what to say. Only that I know I’ll see him again tomorrow, so I have to do something. It’s possible I’ve gone Avery-level psycho and have memorized when his appointments are in hopes I can rearrange my own schedule to avoid him. Or have lunch with him after.

  One option makes me look weak and stupid. The other makes me look… I have no idea what asking him to lunch would make me look like. But it’s probably a bad idea.

  The stupid text is why I begged Lizzie to come over tonight and why I’m breaking my no-drinks during the week rule.

  She leans forward, taking a hefty swallow of her own before setting it down on my coffee table. I pour her a new glass without needing to ask if she wants one.

  “Listen. And I’m not going to tell you anything you don’t already know. Jude Taylor is the best forward in hockey. He and Jason run that damn team and he’s up to be nominated for captain soon. He’s in the perfect position to set himself to be a career-long player in Charlotte. That’s the stability you always say you need, Katie. So you move and get a job. It’s not like they don’t have physical therapists and pro teams there. You can do it. I’m pretty sure with the way he was so hung up on you years ago, and the fact he clearly remembers you so much by that silly text, you tell him what you need out of life, Jude will bend over backward giving it to you.”

  Something uncomfortable flutters in my chest. It sounds beautiful.

  It’s not a dream I can allow myself to hope for. We barely know each other anymore. Risking falling for Jude all over again is the farthest thing from stable.

  “And if he doesn’t recover from his injury?”

  “Please.” She rolls her brown eyes. “That’s like saying the sun won’t rise tomorrow. You’ve followed him. You know what he’s capable of and he’s young. But so what? So he doesn’t return to hockey. What does he do then? Finish his degree? Get a job? Isn’t that the boring, white picket fence life you want anyway?”