“Okay, let’s start over,” I gulp, irritation racing across my forehead. “I have exactly two months to have this one hundred percent. I have less than that to prove to the Arrows owners that I am worth a contract.”
“I understand that.”
Waiting for him to continue his thought, I stand and roll my shoulder back and forth. By the time I’m on my tenth rotation, gritting my teeth through the fire, he still hasn’t responded, and I’m about ready to lose my shit.
“So . . . I’m hoping we can be at one hundred percent by, say, Christmas? End of January at the latest. I need substantial rehab by Thanksgiving, Houston. We need to make that happen,” I insist.
A wide, cheeky grin stretches over his face, his head shaking side-to-side. I’m not sure what he finds funny about this, but if I could raise my arm far enough, I’d be tempted to throw punches.
“Lincoln, listen. Your shoulder needs stretching to regain your range of motion. Once we have that we can build up your strength in several ways. But right now it also needs rest.”
“I don’t have time for rest.”
“Spoken like a true athlete,” he snickers. “You do have time for rest. Give your body time to heal itself. We’ll do the work in here, but when you’re not, you have to let it do its thing.” He walks in front of me, looking me right in the eye. “So tomorrow, no lifting. No stretching. No throwing a ball. Don’t even jack off too hard. Nothing. Do you hear me, Landry?”
I start to fire back, but his gaze steadies.
“I know you’re used to pushing through the pain and making shit go on your schedule, but that’s what got you here. To me. The expert.” He gives that a second to sink deep into my psyche. “Are you following along?”
I grab my hat off the floor and slam it on my head. “I hear you,” I grumble.
“Good. See you in two days.” With a little wave, he and his attitude problem head to his office.
I turn towards the elevator. I need out of here before I explode and damage this thing further. I doubt it would help my shoulder or my relationship with Houston if I picked up a dumbbell and sent it soaring out of the tenth-floor window.
The door dings and I enter, taking a spot next to a woman in a grey skirt and white shirt. She’s cute with her curly hair and golden lips, and she clearly likes what she sees, but I’m so pissed off by this two-day bullshit, I can’t even find it in myself to flirt. That might be the most shocking thing to happen to me all day.
Since when do I not flirt?
That’s it. Graham was right. This injury has affected my brain.
I’m dying.
“Ground floor,” I say with a hint of a smile, trying to find the philanderer I know is lurking somewhere inside me.
She uses a red fingernail to punch in the number. “You’re Lincoln Landry, aren’t you?” She pulls the clipboard she’s carrying towards her body, her lips stretching into a dazzling smile.
“That’s me.” I watch the floor numbers drop, feeling her watch me. The air like the dugout before a game in July—stale and hot with the promise of more if you’re willing to make it happen.
I’m not. Strangely.
Yup. Dying.
The door stops and chimes as it opens.
“See you later,” she breathes.
The doors make the grinding sound that happens right before they start to swing closed. And then, just like that, everything changes. I see her. Danielle Ashley, the fiery little raven-haired beauty that gives as good as she gets.
Oh, how I would like to know how true that is.
She’s holding the hand of the little boy she was with the last time I saw her. He threatens to touch her with a very blue, drippy hand and she tries to look at him sternly, but it doesn’t pass as anything more than adorable. They both look up just as the doors begin to close.
Her steps falter, her eyes go wide, as the little boy’s light up with recognition.
“Lincoln Landry!” he squeals, tugging the hand she’s holding until he’s free.
The doors inch closer and closer, the window of visibility narrowing as they prepare to shut me in and whisk me way. Not happening. Not after I’ve thought of her every hour since I left here yesterday. Not after I had to jack off three times to visions of her bent over, her riding me, and me caging her into my mattress while I bust it deep inside her tight little body.