“I promise.” He couldn’t hold back his grin.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she said, pointing at him for emphasis.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” He grabbed her finger long enough to stop her and glanced at her satisfied smile.
He could think of just one way to wipe the smug grin off her face. He leaned forward, brushing a long, lingering kiss over her lips before turning around and walking out. Leaving them both wanting more.
ROPER WALKED OUT OF THE office of the team’s orthopedist, the best in the city, and barely felt the cold winter air. He’d gone from a euphoric high, leaving Amy with a stunned expression after that kiss, to this. He’d just gotten the results of an MRI he’d had taken last week and the news wasn’t good. Despite his workouts and physical therapy, his strength wasn’t returning as quickly as he’d hoped. The MRI didn’t show anything that would impede his progress, but the doctor also said that sometimes healing didn’t occur at the pace a patient wanted. He’d have to listen to his body or risk further damage.
The doctor was warning him. Spring training might start late for him.
Or not at all.
Roper had seen many players who never bounced back after surgery, and in his case, he wasn’t coming off a stellar season to start with.
Mentally he’d needed good news today. Promising news. He hadn’t gotten it.
“A delay ought to go over well with the already-pissed-off fans,” he muttered, kicking uselessly at an empty coffee cup littering the sidewalk. On the city streets, nobody spared him a second glance.
Someone talking to himself wasn’t unusual here. He was just lucky there were no reporters around to let the world know he was losing it.
At least, since he’d seen the team doctor, he didn’t have to call his coach. The doc would do it for him, which took one load off his shoulders. Roper had a couple of hours before his physical-therapy appointment, so he headed home to unwind.
As he passed the front desk with a wave to Stan, the doorman, called him back.
“What’s up?” Roper asked Stan, who’d been on the day shift ever since Roper had bought the place two years ago.
“Another delivery for you.” He held out a box with a familiar scrawl.
“The guy doesn’t give up,” Stan said, lifting his cap and scratching the top of his head.
Roper began to shrug, and the immediate soreness reminded him of his already shitty day. “He’s a Renegades fanatic who doesn’t think I’m earning my keep. At the moment he’s got a valid point.”
Stan frowned. “Maybe if he showed you some
support, you’d get your groove back faster.”
Roper appreciated the man’s backing. “Thanks. Not much I can do but ignore it.” Still, the thought of how much he’d disappointed the fans, his teammates and himself gnawed at his gut.
“I still don’t like that he knows where you live.”
Roper forced a laugh. He didn’t like it much himself, but again, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Half of New York City knows where I live. It’s not a national secret. But I appreciate your concern.”
“Yeah, well, it just doesn’t sit right. I mean, the guy doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. He just sends you things that don’t fit in the mailboxes and have to come through me. You need to get these things screened.”
He waved at an older woman passing by. “Afternoon, Mrs. Davis,” he said.
“Hello, Stanley.” She smiled warmly and kept walking.
“Anyway, I don’t like it,” he said, turning his attention back to Roper.
“It’s his way of getting my attention.” As if Roper could or would ignore the upset-fan letters still trickling into the stadium addressed to him.
“Why don’t you open it down here? That way I can get rid of it for you afterward,” Stan offered.
Roper recognized his curiosity but also his point. Who wanted more reminders of his shitty season hanging around his apartment? “Why not?”
Stan pulled a box cutter from beneath the desk. “Do you want the honors?”