Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (15 page)

M
y perception
of Evan evolved another increment by the time we stepped inside the hospital. Who was this guy? He was in a chair surrounded by about a dozen pediatric patients of various pre-teen ages who could walk or wheelchair into the small library on the floor. The nursing staff raved about him. Pediatricians and pediatric surgeons loved him. And the kids, they adored him. I was glad I went along to watch, because I’d never have believed it if someone told me Evan Marshall had a single nurturing bone in his body.

I could tell from the look on his face as he greeted the kids that he was not pretending to enjoy being here. He wanted to be around them. The smaller ones were climbing into his lap, and the older children hung around nearby. They couldn’t get enough of him.

“All right, you guys. I see a few new faces around the room. I’m Evan. It’s nice to meet you.” He took a minute to get the name of each new kid before starting. “So…what do you want me to read today?” He leaned over to the small cart with a stack of books, flipping through them. At least six kids took their own books over to him, each of them pleading for their story to be read.

“One at a time,” he told them. The two kids in his lap slid off and sat on the floor with the others.

He took the colorful green book that the youngest child held out to him. “Oh, this is one of my favorites,” he said, holding it up for the others to see. “
The Giving Tree
. Let’s start with this.”

As Evan read, he glanced up from time to time to make eye contact with each child, as though they were the only person in the room. Children that age could be fidgety and distracted, but not with him. He held the kids’ full attention right up to the last word. By the time he finished, the ones up front reached up with a few other books. He picked an upbeat Dr. Seuss book next.

After an hour of reading, it was time to go. Most of them hugged him warmly, begging him to come back tomorrow. He promised to be back in a couple of weeks.

My mind was blown.

Again.

I stopped short as we were leaving the floor. My father stepped out of one of the intensive care rooms. I didn’t think I’d see him at all today. In a way, he didn’t see me at all.

“Look at this!” Dad pronounced, running his uninjured hand over his salt and pepper hair as he strode over to us. “Evan Marshall, wide receiver, SEC championship hero, bowl game dominator and NFL hopeful.”

“Hello, Dr. Woodward,” Evan said to him. “Good to see you again, sir.”

“Same here.” Dad showed him the cast on his right hand and smiled proudly. “Sorry I can’t shake your hand today. Blame it on that horrific Lions’ loss.”

“Sorry to hear about your arm. That game was a real shit show, wasn’t it?”

“It sure was, son. It’s a constant reminder of why I prefer the NCAA games a heck of a lot more.” Dad cast a side glance my way just then. Even from the side, his deep emerald eyes glinted with curiosity. “Samantha?”

“Hi Dad.”

I must have looked out of place standing beside an athlete in a sport he worshipped, after I had repeatedly stated that I detested football. “What are you doing here? You know Evan Marshal?”

“I gave him a ride here, Dad. I’m on the rehab team that’s helping him with his injury.”

“You are?” He couldn’t hide his confusion, but eventually he snapped out of it and lifted his clean-shaven jaw up from the floor to kiss the top of my head. “Well, that’s excellent, sweetheart. I’m delighted to hear you’ve had a change of heart about the sport.”

He returned his attention to Evan, and the two made small talk until someone paged my dad over the intercom. We said our goodbyes and got back to my car.

“Your father’s pretty cool.”

I pursed my lips. I didn’t want to lie. “He’s a great pediatrician.”

“No doubt. You two don’t get along too well, do you?”

I didn’t see that coming. “It’s up and down. Long story…too long to get into right now.”

“I get you. It’s okay. Hey, feel like getting lunch or something? I’m starving.”

“Sure. Me too.”

* * *

“
W
hat made
you want to join the athletic training program?”

We ended up going to lunch off campus. He’d found a diner he liked, and we were eating a couple of burgers and fries.

“Well…with my parents in the medical field, I guess my interest in helping people came from them. Plus I love baseball,” I told him, taking a bite of my burger.

“Interesting.” He pointed at the side of my face. “You, uh, have some mustard, right…” He took his napkin and stretched his hand across the table to dab the side of my mouth. “Right there. All better.”

“Thanks. Sorry…I don’t usually inhale my food…I didn’t realize how famished I was.”

“That’s okay. I like a girl who could handle a big, juicy burger, and a—”

“There we go.”

That impish grin rose up on his face again. “What? I was going to say a man-sized meal.”

“I’m sure you were. You missed your calling. I think you’d be a serious contender for…hmmm…I can’t think of a career that would quite fit your smart mouth.”

“Whatever.”

“How about stand-up comedy, or becoming a lawyer?” I said, smiling. I was getting used to him. “No, wait! Any job where they tolerate verbally abusive bosses.”

“Ha-ha. I’m in stitches,” he deadpanned. “Who’s got the smart mouth now?”

“I’m just saying…”

“Who knows, maybe comedy is all I’ll be fit to try by the time the combine rolls around.”

I stopped sipping my soda at that comment. “Why are you worried? You’re already on the official invite list.”

“I’m more worried about my legs failing under me than anything else. I’ll bring my A-game, but…I’m sure you know it’s easy for my A-game to look more like it’s at the B or C level coming back from this injury.”

“You’ll get there and you’ll ace it,” I assured him. “You, Slade, Mo, Chris, all of you. And you’ll be more than ready. You’re recovering beautifully.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You know who else on the team is going to the combine? I thought you didn’t care about football?”

“Yeah, well, I did a little research.” I laughed and did my best to get over the mild embarrassment.

“Amazing. Your dad must be proud.”

My silent objection to his statement must have registered on my face.

“What is it? You hate your old man that much?”

I drummed my fingers on the table, staring out the window. “You asked why I wanted to go into athletic training. It ties into the way I don’t like football and why my father and don’t see eye to eye on a few things. It’s a hot mess of reasons, actually.”

He didn’t ask for details or counter what I’d said. He just kept eating, studying my face while he waited for me to continue. Or not.

“Does the name Wallace Woodward sound familiar?”

“Not really, no.”

“That should be my punch line, but I figured I’d lead with it. It’s my dad’s younger brother. He was drafted into one of the northern NFL teams when he got out of college in the mid-90s. He was a running back, about four years younger than my father. They’re northern boys, from Vermont originally. He would have been a lifetime ball player, like a lot of kids who end up going pro, except he got hit too hard in the first season. My dad always said Uncle Wallace ran faster than a bolt of lightning. Some idiot gave him a dirty hit halfway through a game, took his knee out.”

Evan winced and blinked his eyes shut. He could relate.

“Times were different back then. Half-assed physical therapy was nothing unusual. Coaches wanted their good men off the bench and in the field. My uncle was back in the lineup, playing way earlier than he should have been. He blew out his knee in that very same game. His career was over. They sent him packing and barely gave him a decent severance.”

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry that happened.”

“Thanks. My father never let it go. By the time this happened to my uncle, Dad was already doing his medical internship at a hospital. I’m pretty sure he would have ended up in a different career if this had happened earlier in his education. Dad’s addicted to football, but every time he watches, he relives the nightmare of his brother. Dad’s a very angry man. Deeply hurt that his brother got the short end of the stick. Yet he keeps watching the sport. It’s so frustrating, the way he gets absorbed into the game while it poisons him at the same time. My mom has begged him more times than I can count to quit watching so he can move on, but he won’t stop. So he’s got a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on. At the hospital and when he’s not watching football, he’s awesome. Loving, caring, generous, kind. That all stops when a game is on.”

Evan seemed alarmed, like he was forming a question I suppose most people would think to ask exactly what he was thinking too.

“In case you’re wondering, he’s not violent to us. It’s him and the TV that have a love-hate relationship—throwing things, cursing at it. I can’t tell you how many of them he’s broken over the years. But he keeps buying new ones. Isn’t that sad? I don’t even know how he can be like that and be a pediatrician, you know? You have no idea how happy I am that he doesn’t go to many live games. He’d probably end up banned from going.”

Evan didn’t seem too surprised by that last part.

“I became interested in athletic training to help make sure disasters like that don’t happen again. I don’t want athletes to get a raw deal after they’re injured…and I guess the selfish part of me doesn’t want some kid growing up afraid of Sunday afternoons either, but for football…it just hits too close to home, you know?”

I don’t know why, but my eyes filled up, stinging with the threat of tears wanting to fall. I blinked them back. Evan pushed his chair out and dragged it closer to mine. I held my breath as he reached his hand up to my jaw, cupping my cheek and brushing his thumb against my bottom lip.

“I’m sorry something so devastating happened to your uncle…and I’m damn lucky to have you taking care of me.”

Before I could thank him, his lips were on mine for a brief kiss.

“Let’s go. You should get home and relax,” he told me as he pulled away.

Folding my paper napkins over my plate, I grabbed my purse and took his extended hand, completely at ease as we walked hand in hand out the door and across the parking lot.

I
t was
nine at night and I was ready for bed. It was as pathetic as it sounded too, but I was tired, mostly from having to delete over eighty text messages from Austin that had piled up over the last few days. The frustration from this week’s slew of texts got me to the point where I hardly looked at my phone anymore. I weighed the option of changing my number, but then I’d have to come clean to my parents about why. Taking in a long sigh, I plugged the phone into the charger and pulled the covers up my legs for an early night. Just as I switched off the bedside lamp, Kristy walked in.

“Hi. Aren’t you supposed to be over at the sorority by now?” I asked.

She walked over to her closet and pulled out two black dresses. “No.
We
have a party to go to, darling. Get your ass out of bed. You’re going, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I’m really not in the mood, hun.”

“Too bad. You’re coming.”

I sat up in the bed. “Seriously, Kristy. Look at me.” I pushed the hair out of my face. “I need a haircut…bad, and my eyebrows need waxing…” I stretched out my hands to show her my nails. “And see these? I can hurt someone with these unkempt nails.”

She went over to her bedside drawer. “I can fix all of that in under an hour. Guaranteed.”

“But I
really
don’t feel like it.”

“That’s exactly why we’re going,” she said, throwing me one of the dresses. “Here’s what’s going to happen in the next forty-five minutes. You will let me shape your eyebrows, trim and paint your nails, and give you a hot up-do. After that, I’ll do your makeup…and you’re wearing this sexy, deep v-cut, backless, skin-tight, fuck-me dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.” She smiled and pointed at her closet. “Pick any one of my heels. Not that you need it, but I want you looking and feeling seductive from head to toe so we can party in style, get drunk, and pick up a good-looking guy for you. Someone sexy and ripped, who’s all hands and won’t use his mouth to talk.”

I groaned. Kristy had that willful look in her eye. I knew her well enough to know she would roll me out of the room in my pajamas if she had to. Giving her a death stare, I dragged myself out from under the covers and picked up my bathroom supplies, heading to the shower.

* * *

I
was sold
on the idea by the time we stepped into the chilly night air and drove over to the party in Kristy’s cherry red BMW convertible. Heads turned when we found our way past the crowd on the large wraparound porch and got inside. They weren’t turning for me. Although tonight I cleaned up rather nicely, Kristy was the stunner, and walked around as though she owned the place. Drinks were in our hands and a few guys were at our sides before I could make out what music was playing.

Kristy took my hand and smoothly moved to the music, navigating each room, giving a token nod or greeting to people as she passed by. It was her people. Her crowd. Her sorority sisters. Yet as the music pounded and the alcohol warmed my belly, they felt like my people too. I allowed myself to get swept up in the movement and energy thrumming around us, forgetting everything about school, football players, baseball, my stalker, my career, family, everything.

Why hadn’t I come out with her before? It felt like one loud and lofty internal reset, and when the guys near us closed in and began to dance with us, I went with it.

“I told you this was a good idea!” Kristy shouted in my ear.

“Okay. You were right!” I agreed.

She passed our empty drink cups to the guy writhing against her ass, and full cups were in our hands in less than a minute. I was on my third drink before I got curious about whoever it was dancing behind me. I gave Kristy a head nod so she could check him out.

She raised her eyebrows. “He’s pretty hot.”

“Yours too!” I said, probably a little too loudly. That was the beer sinking in.

Just as the guy behind me moved around to face me and bust a move, a hand belonging to someone else touched my arm from behind. I turned to look, and a smile crept up my face.

Evan.

Why was I smiling like a teenaged fool? Biting my lip, I grazed down from his relaxed grin to his tight black muscle shirt and all those tattoos down his arms. He ran his fingers from my upper arm down to my hand, lacing his fingers in with mine and drawing me close. I went willingly. That was me, not the alcohol. I tilted my head as he lowered his toward the side of my face.

“This is a real surprise. I never pegged you for a party girl.”

“I’m not.” I smirked, inhaling his cologne mixed in with his unique masculine scent that already had me light-headed and floating into his chest. “You’re into these sorority get-togethers?”

“I’m here with Mo.” He nodded over to Kristy, who had replaced the first guy with Mo, and was getting rather cozied up to him.

I turned back to Evan and nodded. “Nice.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Maybe later,” I told him, wrapping his arm around my waist now that my defenses had been bowled over by the atmosphere, the music and my improved mood.

For a split second, he had an awestruck response to my forwardness, but soon our bodies connected with the music, his hands on my hips, mine around his neck, neither of us interested in talking. I turned and leaned my back into his chest, loving the heat radiating from his body to mine, and his hands roaming around my hips and midsection. We danced, drank some more, and I may have kissed him at some point.

“I should probably call it a night,” Evan rumbled into my ear after about an hour, a few more drinks and a lot more songs. “With the physical therapy on my leg, and all.”

I’d forgotten all about that. “Yes, of course. I should be going too.” I looked around for Kristy, noticing I was in a haze. “You go ahead. I’ll get my roommate and leave in a bit.”

He nodded. “Sure. I’ll wait, just in case she left with Mo.”

I lurched around from room to room, steadying myself by hanging on to convenient walls, tables, and people, looking for any signs of Kristy. She was nowhere. Heading outside, I went around to the side of the building where she had parked. Her car was gone too. Evan was leaning against his car at the front of the house. “No luck, huh?”

“No.” I pulled out my mini-pouch tucked inside my dress, yanking it up by the straps that hung around my neck. Checking my phone inside it, I saw her text that she was leaving, but Evan would take me home. That was an hour ago. “Are you okay to give me a ride home?”

“Sure.” He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. “Hop in.”

I didn’t. I stepped over to him, rested my head on his chest and stared up at his gorgeous face. “Come up to my dorm room,” I slurred. “I’m… ready…I want you… make love to me.”

“Wow. Well… as much as I want to have you, I think you’ve had too much to drink, Samantha,” he stammered, turning me around and gently guiding me to sit in the car. “I’ll get you home now.”

“No,” I said to him when he got inside, putting a more concerted effort into sounding more like myself and less like the corner drunk. “I really want this.” I was aiming for his shoulder but I ended up poking the side of his seat. “I’m not kidding. I choose you. You get to be my first.”

He seemed entertained. That was not the reaction I was going for. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. If you can walk a straight line when we get over to your dorm, I’ll stay the night. Deal?”

“I’m a little tipsy, but sure. I can do this. It’s a deal.”

The trouble was, I was way past tipsy, and more than buzzed, and somewhere in the area code of hammered and plastered. Then I found out there was yet another stage of inebriation. Passed-out-wasted-chick drunk.