I was tired and annoyed, but the hot water felt good. I dried off with a towel and ran when I heard my phone buzz.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Doc.”
I immediately blushed. “Hey.”
“Are you going to watch the game tonight?” he asked.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Are you telling me I haven’t converted you to a football fan yet?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” I giggled. He sure had one convincing way to make a woman want to know everything about the sport.
“Okay, I’ve got to go, but it starts in twenty minutes. I’ll be on the sideline, of course.”
“You better be.” I knew I sounded stern. “Oh wait, before you go. Good news, Dr. Evans said he’ll take you on. You’re no longer my patient.” I held my breath, waiting for what Wes would say. Did things change today? Did it still matter to him?
“That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard.”
“Then, this is still…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. We hadn’t put a label on it. There wasn’t a definition for what we had started together. It was new.
“Yes, this is still.” He laughed. “Baby, I’ll call you later. I’ve got to walk out with the team.”
“Good luck. I hope you guys win.”
“Thanks.” He hung up and I hugged the phone to my chest. So this must be what cheerleaders in high school felt like when they pulled for their boyfriends on the field. I was always the one at the library, never at the game. But somehow, I had turned into that girl. The one who was going to watch her man at the football game, even if he was on the sideline tonight.
I poured a glass of wine and turned on the TV. Other than yesterday, this was the first time I was making it a point to watch an AFA game. It was weird. I felt kind of nervous, even though he wasn’t playing. I felt the butterflies lift off when I saw the camera pan to him on the sideline. Damn it. He wasn’t wearing his sling. What the hell? I knew I wasn’t his doctor anymore, but I explicitly explained he had to wear it at all times if he wanted to heal those bones.
I was startled when I saw a beautiful brunette sidle up to him and shove a microphone in his face. She looked like a super model.
“I’m talking with Wes Blakefield, Wranglers star quarterback. Wes, we’ve heard some things about your hand. Can you clear up the rumors that you won’t be playing in the play off games?”
He flashed a gorgeous smile at her and I felt a pit of anger. Was he flirting with the sports reporter?
“Hey, Becky.”
She smiled. “What do you want to tell Wranglers fans?”
“As you can see, no cast, no sling. I’m just taking an extra week for precautionary measures. Wranglers fans don’t need to worry.” He rubbed the side of his sculpted jaw. “Easy sprain to recover from, and I have the best doctor looking after me.”
I eyed him through my TV screen. Easy sprain my ass—I had kicked butt on his surgery. There was nothing easy about putting someone’s hand back together.
“What do you think about Cosech starting tonight?” she asked.
“He’s been working through the drills and running these plays all season. He’s ready. And I’m really happy he gets a Monday night start.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew none of that was true. Wes was pissed the other guy was on the field instead of him, but at the same time, I was amazed at how convincing he could be. Becky sure seemed to believe him.
“Thanks for taking a minute for me, Wes.”
“Anything for you, Becky.” He tapped her on the back before turning toward his team’s bench.
I knew I was shooting daggers at my television screen, and I didn’t care. Professional flirt didn’t even begin to cover what he was. I settled onto the couch to watch the game. The first quarter was about to start.
13