Playing To Win Read online

  I growl at her. She’s too damn smart for her own good and mine. I don’t like having two satisfying endings shoved in my face. “I’ve never said I want a boring life, nor do I require a white fence.”

  She laughs and picks up her glass. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Call in sick for the next few weeks?” I laugh as I say it. I’m not usually so afraid. I’ve seen Jude in action before though. He chased me for weeks to get me to go out with him. He put in effort and that was when he was busy with hockey and finals and everything else in his life. What in the heck could he do now that he doesn’t have the game to focus on?

  “So you’re going to text him back tonight and tell him you want to see him?”

  “Maybe.” Which means yes. We should at least talk so our awkward tension doesn’t affect the office and his therapy.

  It’s not like I can date him. Even though he’s not my patient, I can still lose my license getting involved with one, and Logan was quick to point that out yesterday when he talked to me after Jude left.

  “How’s Garrett, anyway?”

  After college when Lizzie went to Oxford to study, Garrett stayed back in Chicago. When she returned, they reconnected, but he had some long-term girlfriend. He and the girl broke up eventually, but he and Lizzie have always stayed friends. He plays goalie now for the Chicago Storm. He’s been a backup until this year and he’s doing fantastic according to his stats. It’s a rebuilding year for Chicago and while they’re usually a playoff-assumed team, this year they’re sitting right in the middle of their division. But Dubiak’s saved a lot of games for them.

  “He’s good. Busy, loving the game and stressed about failing, but he’s all right. They have a game next week he’s said I can have tickets to.”

  Her eyes slide toward me and narrow.

  “I’ll pass.”

  I don’t need to see another hockey game. The last one I saw was when Jude won the game winning goal and tossed me the puck.

  I’m ashamed to admit that puck is still tucked in a box in my closet.

  “Please?”

  I’m still thinking of the memory of that night and shake my head to clear it. Perhaps it’s time I finally try to move on from Jude. I know him from hockey. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy one game. Besides, it’s not like he’ll be there.

  “Okay. I’ll go. Saturday?”

  “Seven p.m., baby.”

  We change the subject back to our favorite, trashy reality television about couples stuck on an island and when the second bottle of wine is half-gone and Lizzie’s fighting a yawn, she orders an Uber and packs up.

  Before she leaves, she bends down behind the back of the couch, grabs my phone from the cushion and tosses it into my lap. “Call him. Text him. Do whatever you need to do to give him a chance or put him behind you. It’s been five years, Katie. It’s time to shit or get off the pot.”

  With that lovely imagery, she scuttles out the door before I can call her on it.

  Friends. I’m not sure whether they’re good for me or not.

  Lizzie’s right. I hate to admit it. I’ve cleaned up the living room, filled my glass with the last of the wine, and I’m staring at my phone.

  I’ve dated since college. I’ve brought men home and I’ve had a couple relationships last a few months. All of them fizzled out rather quickly though. I hate to think it’s been my fault because I’m so hung up on a what could have been with a guy I really, barely knew that I haven’t been able to give men I meet now a fair chance.

  It’s time to either put Jude Taylor in my rearview or see if there’s something there.

  My phone shakes as I swipe the screen, opening my phone and waiting for the facial ID to go through. My phone is still trembling in my grip when I pull up my text messages and open the one from Jude.

  I debate for only a second before sending a simple hey how are you feeling? text. It’s only ten o’clock, but with his injury—both head and knee—and I’m sure the pain killers he’s still on, he could already be asleep.

  My phone pings before I can set it down and wait for him.

  Thought maybe I’d have to hunt you down in the library again.

  And I’m good. Tired. Sore. Hating sitting still, honestly. But I’m okay.

  I read his two texts and I’m smiling. That’s exactly what he did and I can’t help but type back.

  Lizzie can buy her own beer now, you know.

  Besides, we’re not in school anymore. We’re not kids anymore either.

  The night he hunted me down in the library, he’d bribed the information from Lizzie by buying her beer. I still can’t believe she folded so quickly for a case of Bud Light.

  There’s a several minute pause where I sip my wine. My foot taps on the bed and my skin itches. Was I too rude? It’s true though.

  When my phone pings again, I’m not sure I want to see it, but I look anyway. It’s Jude, and I can’t ignore him. Even when I tried my hardest.

  I missed you. I tried calling you when my plane landed. Garrett wouldn’t give me Lizzie’s number so I could talk to you. I missed you and I was pissed off. We needed to talk. I wanted to.

  His texts come in rapid fire like he’s trying to stop talking but too upset. I can picture him, braced leg stretched out on a couch, propped with pillows. His hair is messed after he scrubbed his hands through it all day, something he does when he’s frustrated. His jaw is probably clenched tight and his blue eyes so light they remind me of ice are most likely narrowed on his phone.

  My eyes burn. At the memory. Waking up after the best night of my life. The fear in his eyes mixed with the complete excitement.

  We said goodbye, Jude.

  I didn’t want it to be goodbye, Katie.

  A lump lodges in my throat and something warm assaults my spine and travels south. Complete unbidden desire bursts hot at the apex of my thighs. I can hear the tenor of his voice. That confident and urgent tone he used when he wants his way. When he’s being so serious.

  I’m speechless for the second time in two days due to him. I hadn’t realized he would have wanted to continue something.

  But would I have taken that jump?

  Before I can struggle up a response because I have no fucking clue what to say to him, another text comes.

  Fuck. Don’t run off. I want to talk about this in person. Dinner tomorrow?

  Please.

  It’s time to figure us out. Put him behind me and move on. Or see if there’s something worth taking a risk on.

  I work until 6:30. My office can’t know.

  I’ll bring dinner to your place? Would that be easier for you?

  Dozens of little gray dots appear and vanish. I’ve drunk half of my wine before I get another reply from him and then I’m more confused than ever.

  I’ll be here. Text more tomorrow.

  Goodnight Katie. Sleep well.

  It’s impersonal. Drastically different than what he’d said earlier.

  But still, I’ve gone this far. I text him back okay and tell him to sleep well too, and then I toss the rest of my wine down my kitchen sink and clean up before heading to bed.

  Something tells me tomorrow’s going to be a long, frustrating day and I need to be rested and prepared for it.

  6

  Jude

  I’m practically jumping out of my athletic pants by the time Paulie pulls up to Lake View Physical Therapy at one o’clock the next afternoon.

  She texted me back and I got pissed off at her all over again even if I started it. But damn it. She had to have known. Our goodbye in her apartment hadn’t been goodbye. If I remembered correctly, which I was one hundred percent sure I did, her exact words before I slammed my mouth to hers in the doorway, anxious to get going, were good luck, Jude. You’ll do great.

  In girl speak, that might mean goodbye. But to me? The fuck it was. But when she mentioned not saying anything about our dinner tonight at her job today, I froze.

  What the hell for?
<
br />   I’m not her patient, so what’s the problem? Plus, I’m only here for a short time. Unless she’s still intent on keeping me friend zoned and I’m not about to let that happen. I can respect her request to keep my distance at her job. That’s a no-brainer anyway. Not exactly like I’m going to shove my tongue into her mouth and my hand in her ponytail even if it’s all I’ve been thinking about since Wednesday.

  Khakis on a chick should not be so damn sexy, but I can’t erase the image or the idea of getting to take them off her, strip them down her hips… slide my hands down her thighs.

  “You need help, Jude?”

  I whip my head in the direction of my open door and cringe internally. Who knows how long Paulie’s been standing there, waiting for me while I think of undressing Katie.

  Awesome.

  I hand him my crutches because it’s still a pain in the ass to get in and out of the SUV while holding onto them. “Thanks, Paulie. I appreciate it.”

  He holds them out for me and waits to step back until I’m steady on my feet. I can’t exactly tell much of a difference in my knee, but it’s only been two days. I might be able to bend it a couple more inches and Logan had told me I wouldn’t have to wear the brace for long. It’s best to be bending it as much as possible to strengthen the ligaments in my knee. I can’t wait until I can get the itchy fucking thing off.

  “I can go grab some lunch during your appointment.”

  My appointments are forty minutes and I ate lunch before I came, but I’ll be hungry after. My body and metabolism haven’t gotten the memo I’ve become a couch potato instead of working out all the time. I don’t even want to consider all the weight I’ll have to take off and muscle I’ll have to put back on once I get my leg back in working order.

  “Yeah, that’d be great. Something simple, please. And I’ll pay for it.” I hand him my card and slide my wallet back into my pocket, balancing on a crutch.

  He takes off and I hobble inside, crutches clinking with jerky movements. It’s getting a lot easier to move around on them, but I plan on setting them on fire the moment I no longer need them.

  As soon as I’m at the check-in desk, I’m already searching for Katie. I find her almost immediately, her back to me at a computer, a patient on the same bed I laid down on the other day. She’s put on a little weight in the years since I’ve seen her last, but they’ve settled in all the right places. Like her ass. She’s so damn hot, always has been, and one of the things I like best about Katie is that even beautiful, she’s never acted like she knows it.

  I see it in a lot of women less attractive than her, caked with makeup, showing off assets I prefer not to have shoved in my face. I might be a guy, but I wasn’t raised to be a dick, and frankly if my mom ever saw me looking at a woman’s tits, exposed or not, she’d slap me.

  I like the way Katie’s modest. I also like the way she smiles at her patients, like she’s doing now with a woman who’s doing similar stretches I’ve spent the last two days doing.

  She smiles and laughs with her patients like they’re her friends, and that is surprising. From what I remember of her, she tends to hold herself back from people. She’s guarded usually, but not now. I take the time I have while Logan finishes up with his current patient and watch her work like I’m an addict, jonesing for a fix of my next high.

  When Logan approaches me, he stands directly in my line of sight, brows raised like he’s caught me.

  “Ready for me?” I ask. He can think what he wants about me. As long as he helps my leg heal, I don’t care what he thinks of me personally.

  “Let’s go, Jude.” He directs me back to a table similar to where Katie was, and we start stretching. The appointment goes on similar to the last time. He questions my pain level, measures the angle of the bend in my knee. He stretches me. Massages my knee. I bite back cursing and punching him in the face, and forty minutes later, I’m sore and pissed and annoyed there isn’t more progress and frustrated that it seems like Katie intentionally kept herself out of my line of sight the entire time I was here.

  I barely see her at all while Logan works on me until I’m again checking out, handing over a sheet of paper and she’s talking to a new patient coming in.

  “Excuse me,” she says, and places her hand on her patient’s shoulder. “I’ll be right with you. You can start the treadmill though. Same pace as last time, okay?” The woman, looking around my age, nods and drops her purse behind a wall where a row of treadmills and bikes sit and gets to work. “Hey.”

  She says it to me, but her eyes are everywhere else.

  “Are you going to ignore me every time I come in here?”

  “It’s not that… it’s… complicated? I can explain tonight.”

  “You allowed to be alone with me?”

  I want her alone with me. Even if I can’t touch her. I want her somewhere she can finally look me in the damn eyes when she talks to me without looking guilty.

  “This is work.” She lowers her voice. “I can’t screw that up. And everyone knows you right now even if they’re pretending not to. Now, dinner?”

  “Yeah.” She has a point. Just because I can’t get as close to her as I want doesn’t mean I need to be a jerk. “I’ll text my address. And I’ll cover food. I just want you.”

  Her cheeks flame pink and I’d correct myself, because I didn’t mean it like that. But her blush is cute.

  Plus, it’s going to leave her thinking about me, so I don’t bother.

  I’ve already sent a message to Paulie. My ride is outside, so I jump back on my crutches. “See you soon, Katie.”

  “Bye, Jude.”

  I head outside, remembering the blush on her cheeks, the gleam in her eyes and the sexy sway of her hips. Paulie brought me food and it smells incredible, but it’s not at all what I’m hungry for.

  If my legs worked properly, I’d be pacing my rented apartment like a teenager anxious for his first date. Instead, I’ve done all the cleaning I can possibly do even though Gina came by earlier. My fridge is stocked with the prepped meals my team hired to keep me eating healthy and then dozens more fruits and vegetables. The pantry is filled with the junk food I specifically requested from Gina.

  I grab a bottled water from the fridge and fan out the list of takeout menus I printed off earlier. On our one and only date in college, I took Katie out for Italian. It was nicer than most college kids went to eat, but that didn’t matter to me. What mattered was having good food and a decent place to be with her, to learn more about her.

  Outside Italian, I have no idea what she likes or dislikes so I plan on waiting to order anything until she can get here. Which I’m hoping should be any minute. I have no idea where she lives now. If she has a roommate. Hell, I don’t even know if she lives in Chicago where rent is astronomical or if she commutes from a suburb.

  I texted her my address earlier and she replied saying she’d see me later but didn’t give me a time to expect her. It’s almost seven-thirty so I’m hoping she’ll be here any minute. All this hobbling around my apartment has left my knee screaming at me and I need to rest it, but if she gets here as soon as I sit down it’ll be a bitch to get back up.

  My phone pings with a text, and I scramble to get it, almost knocking a crutch over in my hurry to unlock my screen.

  Almost there. See you soon.

  I text back quickly. Apartment is unlocked. Come on in. What would you like to eat?

  I text out a list of the places I have menus for and crumple the papers in my hand and around the handle to one of my crutches. Then I slide my phone into my pocket and go to the door, flicking the locks open. If she can get in, I can be on the couch, and as much of as an asshole that I feel like not being able to greet her at the door, my knee is on fucking fire.

  By the time I’m on the couch, groaning in pain after lifting my leg to the coffee table, propping it up with a pillow, I dig out my phone.

  Mexican. Tacos. Guacamole.

  If you’re asking about food, the
answer is always tacos.

  I laugh at her reply and un-crinkle the two Mexican menus I’ve got. Then I pull up my DoorDash app to see which is closer.

  I end up ordering probably way too many tacos and too much guac, but the woman has a point.

  It’s always tacos and guac. Wish I could rinse it all down with a beer, but that’s a no-go until I’m off the heavy pain meds. Thankfully, I’m only taking one a day, usually at night to help me sleep. The last thing I need to have happen in addition to my head and knee is to get hooked on pills.

  I do however, add a stop to the liquor store for some wine in case Katie wants any. She wasn’t a big drinker back in the day, but I want some on hand. Mom took the rest of what she’d brought with her when she went back home last week. Probably so I didn’t get the idea to mix alcohol with my meds.

  A knock hits my door and I throw my arm over the couch and twist so I can see her as she enters.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Katie. Come on in.”

  My living room and kitchen are wide open, the only thing separating the spaces is the kitchen island that can fit six bar stools around it, so as soon as her head pokes through the doorway, she sees me on the couch. I grab my crutches to stand. Regardless of the pain I’m in, only a lazy ass man doesn’t stand to greet a woman.

  “Oh, hey. Sit, sit. You’ve probably had a long day.”

  I’m a guy who’s always wanted to impress her, but thank God she gets it. Of course she does. She knows more about my injury and recovery than I do. I sit back down, groaning from the pain and in moments she’s in front of me, resettling my leg on the coffee table, fixing the brace.

  I can’t feel her hands on me through the brace and the pants I’m wearing, but I can’t take my eyes off of them.

  Long, slender fingers. Her light pink polish is now chipped at the tips.

  “You okay?” she asks, still mostly bent over my leg.

  “Yeah.” I can barely grunt out the word. Her sweater has a deep V-neck and I can see straight down it to the simple white bra. She has on a black and red checkered scarf, unwrapped, that brushes over my thigh as she stands. “Thanks. And I feel like a dick for not being at the door for you.”