Page 18 of Iowa Intellect
All of my good intentions sail right out the window when Brock breezes into the training room. I struggle to breathe as if he somehow consumes all of the oxygen in the large room, even though I know that can’t possibly be the case.
Although I don’t want to, I stare at him as he approaches. He looks as cocky and self-assured as ever, and he is making direct, unflinching eye contact with me.
When he gets close enough to only be heard by me, he murmurs, “I missed you this morning, Penny Killer.”
His casual mention of our rendezvous, combined with that ridiculously cute pet name, causes the already strained air to clog in my lungs.
When I cough in surprise, he pats my back. Just that simple touch is enough to have my entire being completely focused on the physical connection between us.
He leaves his palm on my shoulder for an extended moment. Warmth emanates across my shoulder blade and down my spine, even though my silk shirt and white lab coat separate us from having skin-to-skin contact.
I’m definitely too attached to this man, and I need to put a stop to it right now. Summoning every bit of my strength, I step away from him and his delectable touch.
Doing my best to ignore the surprised, hurt look that immediately arises on his face, I say in a clipped, all-business tone, “Good Morning, Brock. How much does your head injury hurt on a scale of 1 to 10 today?”
My attempt to be brisk and professional clearly takes him aback because he shakes his head and looks at me as if I’ve just dumped a bucket of mud over his head.
After a long pause, he says loud enough for the other players in the room to hear, “It’s down around a 3 today, Doc. You know my noggin is as tough as they come.”
Stepping closer, he says for my ears only, “So, that’s how we’re going to play it? Distant and cold at work, and then wild and insatiable at night? I’m into it.”
He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at me, and it’s all I can do to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Instead, I say in a hushed tone, “We’re not playing at all. Last night was obviously a big mistake, so we need to just move on and forget all about it.”
“Forget about it?” He sounds completely bewildered by the suggestion that I thought would make his day.
Softening my harsh tone, I remind him, “This will make both of our lives easier.”
“Not mine,” he answers immediately. “Is this truly what you want?”
Before I have a chance to respond, Lilian, the executive assistant from upstairs saunters into the room with even more confidence than Sparkly Pacifica displays in the water. The other players’ gazes travel to the tall and curvy, blond bombshell.
Even though he clearly belongs with someone more like Lilian than me, Brock keeps his eyes purposely trained on me.
He’s obviously awaiting a response to his question, but Lilian puts a stop to my intention to answer in the affirmative by saying in her breathy, high-pitched voice, “Dr. Wilson, Benny would like to see you upstairs right away.”
The men, other than Brock, let out a collective “Ahhhm,” sound as if I am in sixth grade being sent to the principal’s office, rather than a grown woman being summoned by the team’s owner.
Since the big man upstairs is not known for his patience, I quickly follow the other woman out to the elevator. As it whisks us up to the top floor, I can’t help but wonder what this could possibly be about. Unfortunately, I’ve never heard of anyone being called upstairs for good news.
19
BROCK
Ican’t concentrate at practice at all. If Caroline is somehow in trouble with the team’s ownership because of our night together, I’ll never forgive myself.
It doesn’t make any sense that they could know about that already, though. I haven’t told anyone about our magnificent night together, and I can’t imagine that Caroline has either––especially since it could put both of our jobs in jeopardy.
But the team ownership has practically unlimited funds and unbeatable resources. If they want to know something, I’m sure it’s no challenge for them to get whatever information they seek.
Perhaps they had one of us followed?The mere idea of that inappropriate intrusion into our personal lives makes me shudder with anger, but I wouldn’t put it past them. People with that much power and money tend to think the regular rules don’t apply to them.
Of course, Caroline and I broke the clearly defined rules by sleeping together, but that was spawned out of unmatched passion and true feelings. If the team owners are having us followed, that invasion of our privacy comes from an unwarranted need for control.
We are both consenting adults. As long as we aren’t hurting anyone, I don’t see why our employer should have any say in our personal relationship.
I’ll be happy to tell them that––loudly––if it turns out that this is what Caroline’s summons upstairs is about. But I can’t go off half-cocked and turn this into something it’s not. They may have called her up for a medical issue or something else completely unrelated to our magnificent night together. That would be piss-poor timing, but it is one explanation that makes sense.
The wait seems interminable as I try to convince myself that this can’t possibly have anything to do with me.
