Aspen rushes to me. “Ryker, what happened?” She helps me stand and I wobble on one leg. “Something bit me.”
“Can you walk?”
I put my foot down and wait for the stabbing pain, but it doesn’t get worse. I nod, hobbling to shore with her under my arm, helping. Once on dry land, I sit down and she inspects my foot.
“It looks like a stingray got you.”
“Should you pee on it, or something?”
She freezes while cramming our towels into her bag and stares at me, both brows raised. “Ryker, it’s not a snake bite.”
“Well, how the hell do I know?” I chuckle through the throbbing, although it’s not unbearable. Dislocating my shoulder during a game hurt worse than this. She rushes to grab everything and then runs to the shoreline to retrieve my ball.
“That was an impressive throw.” She beams as she stuffs it in my bag. That was nothing. If she only knew.
“That was a more impressive catch.” I’m certain had this stingray not tried to kill me, I would have kissed her.
Kissing is not shagging.
Within minutes she has me on the boat and headed back to the hotel. Oh, shit. “Whiskey, where do you plan on taking me?” I can’t have this incident reported. I throw my head against the seat, thinking. Coach will flip his fucking lid if he finds out.
She glances over from behind the steering wheel. “I was taking you to the hotel doctor. Thankfully, the barb isn’t lodged in your foot.”
“Do you think he can look at it in my room?”
“Why must everything be a secret, Ryker?” She pins her inquisitive stare on me. “Are you hiding out here?”
Yes.
I nod and her body stiffens. “But not like you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
I hold my hands up. “I’m not hiding from the law or anything like that. I’m just…” I pause. Having someone look at me as a person rather than a money sign or ulterior motive has been refreshing. But if I have any chance of her keeping this secret, I need to say something. “… I’m supposed to stay out of the press. I’m supposed to be lying low.”
Her gaze jumps to my foot. I’m moving it back and forth as the pain intensifies, creeping up my leg.
“Is it getting worse?”
“No,” I lie. Her lips purse and she shakes her head. “Listen, I’ve been hurt so many times, this is nothing.”
“Fine. I’ll drop you off at your place and bring the doctor to you.”
I wince, grinding my teeth. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.”
She lets me deal with my injury in silence the rest of the way. As soon as she pulls up to my hut, I hobble over and up to the platform to a chair. I never thought five stairs would be the death of me. I watch as she runs and fills a trashcan with water. She’s not very careful as water sloshes out from the sides.
“Put your foot in it.”
I do what I’m told, slipping my foot in but only make it to my big toe. “Oh shit! That’s scorching hot! Are you trying to burn me too?” I pull my whole leg out of the bucket.
She dips her finger in, swirling it in a circle and glances up at me with an incredulous expression. “Really?”
With my damaged ego, I grudgingly sink my foot in the hot water. “The pain made it hotter.”
“The hot water will help it. Keep it soaked until I come back with the doctor.” She rests her palm on my knee and flashes a sweet smile.
“You got it, nurse.” I’m not ashamed to milk my injury if she stays.
I watch her hop down into the boat and speed off. It’s a good thing she brought an actual boat today instead of her canoe. The pain intensifies with her not here to take my mind off it. I lean back on the cushioned chair and rest my eyes. Aspen catching my ball flashes behind my eyelids. I can’t help but smile. She doesn’t hesitate or flinch. She plants her feet and never takes her eyes off the ball. Fuck, she’s perfect.
And she caught the damn ball.
“It looks like you’ll live,” she says, sitting in the other cushioned chair on my patio. She hugs her knees to her chest and smiles at me. The doctor just left and yes, I will live.
Three more hours of burning water. I’ve had a quick lesson on stingrays and why I should always shuffle, never jump.
“You have an excellent throw,” she says, trying to change my bummed mood. My hands clasp in my lap and I twirl my thumbs, debating if I should tell her. On one hand, women fall at my feet knowing who I am and having her on her knees looking up at me… I can’t say that wouldn’t make my fucking year. On the other hand, I like her feisty personality. She’s making me work to win her over. I squeeze my eyes shut. What the hell? Win her over? I can’t forget what this is.
Temporary. There is no need to win anyone over.
“I hope I do, it’s worth a few million dollars.” I wince at the cockiness in my voice. Even I’m embarrassed by it. Do I typically say shit like that? “I’m a professional football player,” I add to help ease the shitstorm I just spewed.
“Well, that makes sense now.”
I study her face, waiting for her eyes to glaze over with either dollar signs or infatuation. Instead, I see her. Whiskey. In that silent moment that our eyes lock, we’re each searching for something.
An impossible something.
She clears her throat, breaking contact. “How’s your foot?”
“You don’t have to stay.” The words fall off my lips and I instantly regret them.
She straightens in her chair, and her expression shifts to hurt. “Do you want me to leave?”
Hell, no.
“No, but I don’t want you to stay because you feel guilty.”
She shifts her toes to the ground and leans forward. “I do feel bad. I took you out there.” The warm breeze picks up and whips her hair through the air. As if she couldn’t get any sexier, it’s like someone turned a fan on for a Sports Illustrated photo shoot.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you wouldn’t have caught the ball,” I tease, even though it’s the truth. I wouldn’t have been jumping up and down.
She gasps. “What! You’re blaming me because of that?” She stands up and walks over to me, sticks her finger down in the bucket to test the temperature. She gestures for me to take my foot out so she can refill it. “Did you realize that maybe you’re overpaid when an island girl can do your job?”
Her banter is refreshing. I need a woman like her to keep me on my toes. I hear the sink turn off and she comes back out. Smart-ass puts her finger in the bucket to show me it’s not bad. I roll my eyes, sinking my foot again.
“I bet you used to run all over these boys playing socc… football.”
Her grin grows as she recalls a memory. “Dante used to hate when I wanted to play. His friends stopped telling him when a game was happening, afraid I’d tag along.”
I can imagine her kicking ass to prove girls are as good as boys. Those were always the girls I was attracted to. I’m not sure when that changed. No, I know when it was. When beautiful women with fake huge tits would do whatever the hell I wanted them to do. I lost my craving for strong women because I had an abundance of weak ones. It was easier to deal with them when I was putting all my energy into building my football career.