Not Daddy Material (Billionaire's Contract Duet 2)

It sounded standard and practical. It sounded exactly like what I should have done the instant the linebacker crunched my hand. But then I thought of Lennon. And how I wouldn’t have met her. How I wouldn’t be in whatever I was in with her if I didn’t end up in her OR.

“Go for it. I’m ready to get this hand back together.”

“Just lie back. Try to relax and we’ll begin.” Dr. Jones certainly didn’t have the same bedside manner as my surgeon. I closed my eyes and pictured her hair falling around my face. I tried to block out the stabbing needles poking through broken bones. I focused on her breath in my ear. The sounds she made when she clenched around my cock. God, she was everything I needed.

An hour later, Dr. Jones squeezed my shoulder. “I’m finished.”

I opened my eyes. “That’s it?”

He nodded, handing me an opaque white bag. “You have two weeks worth of syringes inside. They are pre-measured. I still think you’re rushing it a little if you expect to play in two weeks, but it’s possible.”

“That’s all I need to hear.” I hopped off the table. “Thanks, Doc.”

“I guess we don’t need to say anything else?”

I shook my head. “No. Everything is understood.” His career was as much at stake as was mine. One whiff of this and I’d be out of the league, and he’d lose every client he had, as well as his medical license.

I left his office, my hand numb, but my mind optimistic the Wranglers were back in contention for the Super Bowl.

14

Lennon

Twelve-hour shifts were long, but they felt like an eternity when I knew Wes was waiting for me on the other end. I scooted out of the hospital before one of the nurses could catch me and drag me back in to check on a patient. My pager was on. I was available for an emergency, I told myself.

I had enough time to peel off my scrubs, shower, and make it to Wes’s for dinner if I drove quickly and took a shortcut through the city.

For the first time since I had moved to San Antonio, I was kicking myself for not shopping. I’d worn the only sexy thing I had in my closet Saturday night. Other than jeans and a dozen tank tops, I was out of fashionable clothes. This man was used to going out with super models and cheerleaders. Every woman I had seen on his arm was paid to look amazing. Me, I was a surgeon. My fashion consisted of scrubs and a wide variety of yoga pants.

I shuffled through the hangers in my closet, knowing nothing was going to make me happy. I wanted to stun him. Wow him. Seduce him with another gorgeous dress, but I couldn’t make those clothes magically appear. I settled on a pair of fitted jeans and a tank top that hugged my breasts.

I grabbed my keys and left for his place. This still felt unbelievable. We had another date. I never did anything on a Tuesday night.

He opened the door, grinning so wide my knees almost buckled. How could one man ooze sex appeal like that?

“Hey, Doc.”

“Hi.” Every part of my body told me to throw myself on him and jump in his arms, but I held back. Even if I knew I was hopeless, he didn’t have to know it.

I walked over the threshold, feeling happiness surge through me to be back here again. I hadn’t seen him since my rush to work yesterday morning, and I already missed him. Thirty-six hours was a reasonable amount of time to miss someone, right?

The door closed. “You look beautiful.”

I spun on my heels to face him. “I’m out of black dresses.”

He ran a finger along my shoulder. “I think you’re sexy in everything.”

I blushed. The lines were good. I ate them up. “Are we going out?” I asked. When Wes called, I didn’t hear much other than he wanted to see me tonight.

“Do you want to go out?” He let his finger slide from my shoulder along my collarbone.

I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to kiss him and run my hands through his hair and feel his hard body pin mine to the table. I wanted his tongue and his hands and his cock.

“Yeah, let’s go out,” I answered. “Unless you think we shouldn’t.” I remembered wherever he went, he was photographed. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen with me, the non-super model.

“Why shouldn’t we? We both know the night’s going to end up the same way. We should eat.”

“And how is it going to end?” I challenged.