Feeling brazen, she drew her arm back and threw the dart at the board. She didn’t take the time to aim or think about the instructions Robert told her, and the dart missed the board and landed in the wood next to it for the second time tonight.
“Whoa!” Robert’s friend said again. “That was cool, but I think I’m going to step away now.”
“Leave the shots,” she said. The night made her adventurous and bold, and she was sure it had something to do with the gorgeous football player standing next to her.
Robert took the tray from his friend and set it down on the table, pushing the darts aside. “I don’t think you should throw any more of these tonight, especially with this many shots on the table.”
She couldn’t agree more.
Over the next 20 minutes, they talked and flirted. Amber still never let on that she knew he was a pro football player, and he never bragged about it. And she loved that about him. He was sweet and handsome and unpretentious.
“Another shot?” he offered, but she declined.
She knew her limit. She’d already had a second one, and she needed to make sure she made sensible decisions tonight, no matter what her hormones were telling her.
“I shouldn’t either.” He put his shot down. “I gotta use the restroom. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. OK?”
She nodded. Guilt kicked her in the back of the head for leading him on, but she couldn’t help herself. He was Robert Blade, and she may never get this chance again. With a burst of fearlessness and overconfidence, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. Hard.
At first, he jumped a little, surprised by her sudden movements. But as soon as he realized she was going to kiss him, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers eagerly rotating it in a small circle. His hands traveled up her back like a trail of lightning, followed by a roll of thunder that exploded in her chest. She felt it all the way down to her toes and breathed heavily. She still tasted the alcohol on his breath and it amped up her intoxication—or maybe it was just this man that heightened all of her senses.
When their lips parted, her heart beat so loudly she could hear it over the noise in the bar, and she could barely breathe.
He gave her a charismatic smile that could melt stone and ran his fingers across her cheek. “Don’t let anyone steal you away while I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be back in two minutes. I promise.”
She gave him a soft smile, trying to camouflage the array of emotions coursing through her, and waited until he was out of sight before she ran out of the bar without looking back.
The Bucks had the ball. It was the fourth quarter, and it was still unclear which team would take the win, so it gave Robert the extra push he needed to run faster. He followed Torres, legs galloping with wide strides, creating space and protecting his quarterback. He was on the 30-yard line when Villalobos took down Oklahoma’s center, and the pair landed right in Robert’s path. He thought he was going to run into them, but, at the last second, he leapt in the air and sailed over them, landing hard but never breaking his stride. His heart pounded, and his body buzzed with adrenaline as he heard the crowd go wild. With his hands fisted and his arms pumping, his legs moved faster and faster as he guarded Torres. At the 20-yard line, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oklahoma’s lineman running straight for Torres. No. Fucking. Way.
They collided like two freight trains, driving the air from Robert’s lungs in a whoosh. As he fell to the ground, another player’s shoulder slammed into his ribs, and the three of them landed in a heap. The moment Robert hit the turf, a shooting pain cut through his knee and ran up the back of his thigh like a trail of fire. He let out a long, drawn-out groan that sounded more like a wounded animal than a noise a human would make. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolled onto his back and cradled his injured leg toward his chest, cupping his knee in his hand. The movement, although excruciating, meant that at least he could rule out a break, but it didn’t mean his injury wasn’t major. He could still have a hairline fracture. A torn meniscus or ACL were more likely, or he could have ripped his hamstring right off the bone, because that’s how much pain radiated inside his leg. At 32-years old, this could be a career-ending injury for him, a fear that had plagued him for the last couple of years.
The game came to a halt, and the team rushed to where Robert lay splayed out on the field.
“Blade!” Worry made Martinez’s voice pitch higher. “Don’t move. Just be still.”
“The medics are on their way,” Lewinski added.
Robert couldn’t do more than moan in reply. He finally opened his eyes and saw his teammates peering down at him, worry plastered across their faces. He imagined the replay on TV, showing the impact and fall on a loop, zooming in on the horrific grimace on his face, over and over again, and he hoped his mom wasn’t watching it. He knew his dad was.
“Let me through!” Coach’s gritty voice shouted. Torres and Sandler moved out of the way, and Coach knelt beside Robert, brows pinched together and his expression extra scowly. But Robert knew it was all out of concern. Coach Victor Gaston was like a father figure to the team and loved his players with all his heart, even though he rode them hard.
“Take it easy, Blade.” Now that Coach saw the pain on Robert’s face, his usual tough-as-nails baritone took on a softer tone. “Stop trying to move.” He put his hand on Robert’s shoulder to get him to stop rolling. “Is anything broken?”
“I don’t think so,” Robert groaned. He could hear murmurs from the fans trickling across the field, probably asking themselves the same question. He couldn’t see them because his teammates were still crowded around him and blocking his vision, but he imagined they were on their feet trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on and assess his injury from afar.
“Just relax,” Coach instructed, patting Robert’s shoulder. “Take a few deep breaths. You’re gonna be fine.”
The commanding tone of Coach’s voice and the surety of his words made Robert believe it was true. It comforted him and lowered his anxiety about how badly he injured himself, but in the back of his mind, Robert knew how potentially serious it could be.
The medics arrived and took a quick check of Robert’s vitals, asked him about his pain level, which, at the moment, was a 10, and then put him on a stretcher. He wanted to walk off the field, or at least try to stand, but no one, especially Coach, was letting that happen. Robert hated being escorted off the field this way because it made him feel vulnerable. Human. Less than stellar.
As the medics carried Robert out, he heard the fans start to cheer. He lifted his head to get a glimpse of the crowd and saw they were mostly all on their feet cheering for him in a massive show of support. It didn’t matter if they were Bucks’ fans or not. They were all football fans and rallied together when a player got hurt. It gave Robert a much-needed morale boost, and he left the field with his thumb raised in the air.
The moment Robert entered the Hospital for Special Surgery in Paramus, a sense of relief calmed the anxiety rolling in his gut. The doctors were the best of the best, and he trusted them completely. If anyone could fix his bruised and battered body, it was them. But that didn’t entirely ease the worry that had him on edge. He was used to pain and had more sprains than most, but he’d been lucky enough not to tear or break anything—yet.
Robert was well acquainted with Dr. Mendelson, the team’s designated orthopedic surgeon for the last six years. The man knew every part of Robert’s body that had suffered from the sport. He even fixed Robert’s little finger when he sprained it slipping on the ice outside his home two years ago.
Robert was grateful for the familiar face and skilled hands, even if they were causing him stabbing pains right now. It felt as if someone were driving a nail through his leg and pulling the muscle away from the bone, but he steeled his jaw and tried not to flinch as Dr. Mendelson flexed his knee during the examination. He prayed that it wasn’t serious and that he didn’t require surgery. He couldn’t be sidelined with an injury this early in the season.
