Page 4 of Hard Hitter

Zoey nodded. "I'll get his responses ready."

"Good. Quinn, go get dressed and let's get going," said Mitch. "Twenty minutes?"

Quinn pushed himself up off the counter, nodding and heading out of the kitchen to the stairs. At the top of the stairway, he spotted a slightly disheveled looking brunette making her way out of his bedroom. She smiled when she saw him.

Aw shit, he cursed inwardly. He forgot this one had slept over.Nice job, Case, I thought we learned how to avoid that ages ago.

He sighed and then put on his best smile. "Hey baby," he traced one hand lightly down her bare arm. "My agent and publicist just barged in. I'm sorry, I thought we'd have the morning to spend together, I'd even bought stuff to make breakfast."

That was a lie.

The brunette, Julia? Julianne? Jenelle?, gave him a sympathetic smile, "Aw, that's okay. I'll give you a call and we can do this again sometime."

"I would love that."

Another lie.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her and gave her a slow kiss- enough to make her feel special, but not enough to make her want to drag him back to bed. They pulled apart and she slowly headed down the stairs with a dreamy look over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip. Jesus, he should get an Oscar.

He rolled his eyes on his way to his bedroom. What didn't women get? If he's not a gentleman enough to walk her to the door, why would they think he's enough of one to give them a phone call?

He dressed quickly and brushed his teeth. He didn't have enough time to shave, so he was leaving the house a little more scruffy than usual. Running a hand through his dark brown hair, flecked with natural auburn highlights, he tried smoothing it down, then messing it up, then combing it, before giving up and grabbing his baseball cap and pulling it over his unruly hair. He had yet to eat breakfast and that was far more important than styling himself to perfection. If he had interviews and press conferences, there would no doubt be someone there to worry about his look for him.

Rushing around the kitchen he threw ingredients into a blender for a power protein smoothie, poured it into a cup and walked out the door, followed by Mitch and Zoey, who were both on their phones. As usual, an all black Chevy Suburban was waiting for them out front and they all slid into the back.

"She was cute," Zoey commented, hanging up and getting ready to dial a new number. "Did you tell her you'd call her?"

For a moment, Quinn wasn't sure what she was talking about but then remembered the woman whose name just wouldn't come to him. "I didn't have to, she said she'd call me.”

"We're on the way to get you a new number," Zoey scoffed.

"Worked out perfectly, didn't it?" Quinn cocked an eyebrow and then stared down at his soon-to-be old phone.

Zoey shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

Quinn simply shrugged.

"You probably don't even remember her name. Why don't you try finding a woman who's worth remembering?"

Another flash of blue eyes and long blonde hair, seeing her in the stands cheering him on at his high school baseball games, his jersey number painted on one dimpled cheek. A feeling like a brick dropping in his stomach brought up the memory he most regretted-graduation night. Quinn shook his head. "I don't do love."

Zoey gave him a challenging stare before sighing, resigning herself to continue her phone calls.

Staring at his phone, he thought about the fact that out of all the people who had called him that morning none had been his friends before his life changed, before all the glamor and the money, before being labeled a sports hero, a hard-hitting legend, or even earning the title "rookie of the year" six years ago. Not a single family member had contacted him, not that he had expected them to. He didn't really have much for family, and he had no idea if his mom even knew what he'd made of himself. Honestly, if his family had contacted him he would assume it was just for money, so he couldn't say he was upset they hadn't been in touch. The best friendships of his life hadn’t beencompletely left behind, but he’d lost touch enough to feel guilty when he thought about them. What would he give to hear from those friends again? To hear fromheragain?

Quinn sighed, looking out the tinted windows at the bright California sun. He had given all of himself to earn this life, to build himself up from nothing. He loved this life, really, he did. And even though he knew his injury was being blown into something bigger than what it really was, the idea of an injury having the potential to destroy his career made him sweaty and anxious. He was not ready to put this life behind him. Sometimes it just felt like something was missing. He pulled on his mirrored aviators, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes.

Back in his living room later that night, Quinn broke out his new phone and began the process of transferring the important contacts into it so that he could let them know his new number. They hadn't had time to do the transfer at the store, and he didn't really need his own phone when his publicist and agent were with him all day making phone calls and arrangements for him.

Mitch and Zoey were still with him, going over upcoming appearances, interviews, and doctor's appointments, and logging them into their schedules. Mitch came into the living room to debrief Quinn on whatever arrangements he had made.

"Good news," Mitch began. "We got your surgery scheduled- the morning after next! We got you put right at the top of Dr. Nichols's list and he will perform the surgery at 8:30 Sunday morning. The faster you get in, the faster you can recover and get back on the field."

Quinn's eyes widened. "That's great! So, I'll be able to play next season?"

Mitch grimaced. "Physical therapy is extensive for this procedure, but you will be able to get back out there," he added quickly, seeing Quinn's expression fall.

"How extensive?"

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