"You were going to give me ideas for the perfect drink. That's what you were writing in your secret notebook, right? I know you like to challenge me."
She sighed. "Believe it or not, Bash, not everything is about you."
He feigned a shocked look. "It's not?"
She rolled her eyes.
"What are we talking about?"
Her best friends, Emma and Jane, grabbed seats on either side of her.
"Chelsea's hitting on me," Bash said.
"She is?" Emma grinned at her.
"I am not hitting on Bash. He's being ridiculous."
"She's writing love notes to me in her notebook and won't let me see them."
She shot him a glare. "Are you twelve? Stop it."
Jane looked over at her. "You're writing love notes?"
She was going to throw her drink at Bash. "No. I am not writing love notes."
"She doesn't want you to see them, because they're for me."
Emma looked at Bash, then at Chelsea, a questioning look in her eyes.
"He's full of it," Chelsea said. "And he's just giving me a hard time, because that's what he does."
Bash slanted her that look again, the one he'd given her that night a few months back. Smoldering. Filled with promise. The kind of look that made her squirm on her barstool.
"I have never given you a hard time, Chelsea." As if he hadn't just infuriated her, he calmly asked, "What would you ladies like to drink?"
Jane and Emma both ordered sodas, so Bash poured their drinks, then went off to tend to his other customers.
"He drives me crazy," Chelsea said.
"He's funny. And so hot," Jane said.
"He is not." Chelsea refused to acknowledge the way Bash's black T-shirt fit so snugly across his incredible chest, or the bulge of his biceps beneath the hem of the sleeve. Or his flat abs, or his incredible ass.
Not that she'd noticed. At. All.
"This is true," Emma said. "Why haven't you ever dated him?"
"Bash?" Chelsea slid a look down the bar at him, then at Emma. "Totally not my type."
Emma laughed. "I think Bash is every woman's type. Tall, great muscles, killer smile, and those eyes."
"Phenomenal butt, those tattoos, a goatee. We have discussed your standards being impossibly high, haven't we, Chelsea?"
Chelsea shifted her attention to Jane. "Like I said, he's not my type. I'll just leave it at that."
"And what exactly is your type, Chelsea?" Jane asked. "Are you holding out for royalty or something?"
She lifted her chin. "No. I've actually made a list."
Emma's brows arched. "A list? What kind of list?"
"A list of the qualities I'd like my perfect man to have."
Jane laid her hand on Chelsea's arm. "Honey. You do realize the perfect man doesn't exist."
Chelsea took another look in Bash's direction, then turned her back to him. "Yes, he does. The perfect man for me does exist. And trust me, it isn't Bash."
IT WAS COOL, DARK, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, PRIVATE in Clyde Ross's wine cellar, which was why Tucker Cassidy had brought Laura, his girlfriend, down here.
She'd had a lot to drink today, and when she drank, she got loud.
She was also pissed at him at the moment.
Laura pissed off, drunk, and loud? Not a good combination at the house of the owner of the St. Louis Rivers. Clyde Ross was his boss, and the last thing he needed was his girlfriend making a scene. He had enough of a bad-boy image without Laura making things worse by screaming at him in the middle of Clyde's very nice backyard garden.
"I'm not going to tell you again, Tucker. We're moving in together."
Yeah that so wasn't happening. "We can talk about this when I take you home tonight, Laura."
He'd brought her to the wine cellar in the hopes of cooling her down. Plus, they were alone here and no one could hear them. Okay, mainly Laura, who had a tendency to get on a roll once she had a topic in mind she wanted to discuss.
"We've been dating two whole months, Tucker. Don't you think it's time we make it official?"
It had been the most awful two whole months of his entire life. Okay, maybe not at the beginning. Laura was a knockout. Tall, with long dark hair and curves that just didn't quit and the best ass he'd ever seen. She was a cocktail waitress and they'd met one night when he'd been having drinks in the bar where she worked. They hit it off right away and had gone out, had a night of hot sex, and had started dating. She'd been fun, adventurous, great in the sack, and they had a lot in common.
Plus, she liked baseball, and he played for the Rivers. Not that it was a deal breaker if a woman he dated wasn't a baseball fan, but it didn't hurt. She'd come to his games and she actually knew the game, as opposed to other women he'd dated who claimed to know the game but in fact didn't know balls from strikes or a curve from a fastball. In his mind, that was a goddamned crime.
But as the weeks progressed, he'd noticed she didn't hold her liquor well, and when she drank, she was not a fun drunk. She was loud, obnoxious, and she insulted his friends. She'd also grown more demanding of his time. Whenever they weren't together, she wanted to know where he was and how soon he was coming over. He didn't need a mother--he had a pretty great one already.
And now the past few times they'd been together she'd thrown down hints about the two of them moving in together. He was so not ready for that.
So now he had to redirect her and calm her down before things got out of hand.
"How about we check out Clyde's awesome wine collection?"
She pushed at his chest. "I don't give a shit about Clyde or his wine. I want you to make a commitment to me."
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He didn't want to do this here, but she hadn't left him much of a choice. "That's not gonna happen. We've only been dating two months and I'm not ready to live together."
She poked at his chest. "You know what? You're a sonofabitch. I thought we were heading somewhere. You led me to believe--"
He was going to have to stop her there. "I never made promises to you, Laura."
And now the tears. He'd seen a lot of those lately, too. Especially when she'd been drinking.
"I thought we were in love."
"I never said that, either."
She broke down then and sobbed.
Well, shit. He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry."
He didn't know how a woman could be so drunk, yet so accurate, but her knee hit his crotch at just the right angle, and he went down like a fighter getting a perfect punch.
Lights out. Only instead of a hit to his jaw, she'd KO'd him right in the balls.
"You're an asshole. We're done, Tucker. I'm out of here. I'll call a taxi to take me home."
He heard the click of her heels on the stone floor as she walked away.
He couldn't even breathe, let alone care that she'd just fucking left him on the ground.
Jesus Christ, that had hurt. His balls throbbed like someone had--
Well, someone had shoved a knee into them.
He lay there for what seemed like hours, but he knew it was only minutes before he managed to stagger to his knees. He found the wall, still struggling to catch his breath.
In a minute. He'd be able to stand in just a minute.
"Oh, my God. Are you okay?"
He heard a female voice.
Great. Just what he needed. A witness to his humiliation.
Then cool, soft hands swept across his forehead.
"Are you hurt? Did you fall?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You are not fine. You're practically hyperventilating. Tell me what happened."
His eyes were still closed and he was concentrating all his effort on trying to determine if his balls were still attached to his body. He did not want some female being nice to him.
Actually, he wanted nothing to do with any female. Possibly ever again.
He finally managed to stan
d--with the woman's help, unfortunately.
"Tell me where you're hurt," she said.
He shook his head. "I'm not hurt. Just go away."
"I am not going to go away. I'm a doctor and I can help you."
Awesome. This night was getting worse by the second. "I don't need a doctor."
"How about you let me be the judge of that?"
He finally managed to open his eyes and look over at his unwanted savior.
She was, of course, gorgeous. Which made her immediately untrustworthy, since he'd just vowed to never again fall for a beautiful woman.
She was average height, with short blond hair and the most intense blue eyes he'd ever seen. She also had the most perfect mouth--
Not that he was ever going to think about a woman in a sexual way again. Thoughts like that only led to trouble, and crushed testicles.
He leaned against the cool wall and closed his eyes. She slipped her fingers around his wrist.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Shhh."
Fine with him. Maybe if he didn't say anything, or look at her, she'd disappear.
But she didn't. She kept holding on to him.
"Your pulse rate is a little high."
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Not surprising since I just got kicked in the balls."
She pursed her lips as she met his gaze. "Literally or figuratively?"
"Literally."
"Ouch. I can't speak from experience, of course, but that must have been painful. What did you do to deserve that?"
Figures she'd think he was deserving of a knee to the groin. "Nothing. I had a drunk girlfriend who had it in her head we were supposed to move in together. When I tried to let her down easily, that was her response."
"Ouch again. Sorry."
He shrugged. "Not your fault."
She rubbed her hands together. "I should examine you."
He let out a laugh. "Honey, no offense, but the last thing I want is any woman near my balls tonight. Or possibly ever again."
Her lips curved. "You say that now. You'll change your mind once they feel better. And you need to let me take a look and feel them to make sure your girlfriend--"
"Ex-girlfriend."
"Okay. To make sure your ex-girlfriend didn't seriously injure you."
"Uh, no. I'm okay."
She put her hands on her hips. She had nice hips, showcased in a white, lacy sundress, which showcased one very cute figure. Not that he was into noticing that kind of thing at the moment. Or ever again.
"Who's the doctor here? Me or you?"
"You. Or so you say. This could be some conspiracy. You could be a friend of Laura's setting me up for round two of let's-destroy-Tucker-Cassidy's-manhood night."
Now it was her turn to laugh. "I can assure you I have no idea who your girlfriend--"
"Ex-girlfriend."
"Right. I can assure you I am not in league with your nefarious ex-girlfriend."
"I like that." He finally had something to smile about.
"Like what?"
"Nefarious. It fits her. But you're still not getting in my pants."
"Playing hard to get, Tucker?"
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
"I see you're starting to feel better. That's a very good sign. But no, I'm not showing you mine. I am going to look at yours, though. And in your weakened condition, I'm pretty sure I can get into your pants."
His balls still throbbed. What if Laura had broken them? What if he was unable to have kids? Not that he wanted any--right now. But someday ...
"Okay. Fine. You're really a doctor?"
"I really am. So drop 'em and let's take a look at the goods."
He reached for the zipper of his pants. "If I had a dollar for every time a woman said that to me ..."
She snickered, came over, and he caught a light citrusy scent. He breathed it in, the best thing he'd smelled all night. It smelled like renewal, like starting over.
Which was ridiculous because he didn't even know the doctor's name. But if she fixed him, she'd be his savior.
She cradled his ball sac in her hand, then examined his dick. There was something about having a woman so close to his goods that should be exciting as hell. But he wasn't getting hard. He hurt too damn bad.
"A little red and swollen, but she didn't break your penis."
"Well, hallelujah."
She tilted her head to the side and gave him a wry smile. "Right? She hit you pretty hard, though. Your testicles are swollen and red."
She took a step back. "You can pull your pants up now. You're going to be sore for a couple of days. But I think you're going to be fine."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He zipped up. "I hope your husband or boyfriend doesn't mind you inspecting my stuff down here in the wine cellar."
"No husband. No boyfriend. I'm a resident at Washington University here in St. Louis and way too busy for that."
"I see. So who are you here with?"
"Oh, my father is Clyde Ross." She held out her hand. "I'm Aubry."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The boss's daughter. This night couldn't get any worse.
"Oh. I didn't know that. I mean, I knew he had a daughter in medical school or something. I don't know why I didn't make the connection."
"No reason for you to. Nice to meet you, Tucker. I've seen you pitch. You're pretty damn good."
"So are you, Doc. Thanks for the once-over."
"You're welcome. I actually came down here to grab a bottle of wine for my dad." She wandered off as if she knew exactly where she was going, plucking a bottle from the rack before turning to face him. "Got it. Shall we go upstairs, or do you need more time to reflect on your evening?"
"No, I think I've spent enough time down here."
He followed her toward the stairs, hoping like hell Aubry was discreet enough not to tell her father what had happened to him.
But there was something he needed to know, so he stopped and turned to face her. "One question."
"Sure."
"Did you make me drop trou because it was medically necessary, or because you wanted to get a good look at my dick?"
One side of her mouth curved up in a sexy-as-hell smile. "Tucker. I'm surprised you'd ask that question. I am a doctor, after all."
She turned and headed up the stairs.
Which wasn't an answer at all.
The night was starting to look up.
But his balls still hurt like hell, and after the debacle with Laura, and the fact that the doc was Clyde's daughter, he should definitely avoid Aubry Ross.
Or ... maybe not.
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Jaci Burton, Quarterback Draw
(Series: Play by Play # 9)
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