On the Surface (In the Zone) by Kate Willoughby Read Free Book Online Page A

of this would be on the internet very soon, if it wasn’t already. Some onlooker had probably snapped several pictures of Tim, his fist poised, about to make hard contact with that asshole’s face. Of course, Tim’s own face would be contorted into a mask of anger. He sighed, knowing he didn’t have much time before the shit hit the fan with management.
    “Holly.”
    Hearing his nickname, Tim turned to see Calder approach, holding out a fist. Tim bumped it and winced. His knuckles hurt like a son of a bitch. The autograph seeker might have been a whiner, but he had a hard fucking face.
    “Nice work,” Calder said. “Asshole had it coming.”
    “Thanks.”
    “But they will nail you for this, you know.” Calder meant the media, of course.
    Tim nodded in resignation. “Yep. I’m totally fucked.”
    “I’ll get on Twitter and do whatever damage control I can.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    Calder left, tapping away on his phone, and Tim caught a glimpse of the nurse. She’d come out and seemed to be looking for something.
    “Hey,” he said. “Are you all right?”
    She met his gaze, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. She was petite and cute. She had dark brown hair and big, round, blue eyes that could spit fire. He’d witnessed that already. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell shit about her body because she was wearing one of those shapeless nurse outfits.
    “I can’t find my hat,” she said. “Someone stole my hat. I paid thirty stupid dollars for that hat.”
    “I meant physically. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
    “No, I’m fine. I just want that hat.”
    Tim smiled. “You brought a hat for the signing?”
    She gave him a sidelong glance. “Something like that.”
    “Let me see what I can scare up. Maybe someone has one in their car.” He stopped. “Unless you want my hat.”
    A subset of fans collected pre-worn memorabilia. Most preferred the jerseys worn in a game, complete with board burns, sweat stains, even dried blood. Once, motivated by an admittedly self-serving curiosity, Tim had gone online to check out what stuff went for, and if anything he’d worn was up for sale. He’d found a jersey of his from ‘09 going for seven hundred. Not too shabby. But he wasn’t sure if this woman was into that kind of thing.
    He took his hat off and ran his hand over his hair. The cap was practically brand new. He’d only worn it twice.
    “You want to give me the hat off your head?” She wrinkled her nose. He took that as a sign she was not into owning a stray hair or two of his, like that weird woman who’d caused a minor ruckus in Chicago by sneaking into the dressing room and making off with, of all things, a bunch of the players’ hairbrushes.
    “Or I could get you a brand-new one. That’s the least I can do after you stuck up for me before.” He felt responsible for putting her in harm’s way. Sure, she had started it by mouthing off to that asshole, but if Tim had just signed the shit in the first place and not challenged him, nothing would have happened. “Or if you want a jersey, I could probably swing that instead, get some of the guys to sign it for you.”
    Her pretty brown eyes went wide. “Oh my God, that would be awesome.”
    Man, she had a great smile. He grinned. “What’s your name?”
    “Erin. Erin Collier.”
    “I’m Tim Hollander.” He put out his hand, but when she took it, she winced and pulled back.
    “Ow.”
    “Hey, you are hurt,” he said, taking her hand back and looking at her palm. He didn’t like seeing the scrapes, but at least she wasn’t bleeding.
    “It’s nothing really. You’re the one who’s hurt,” she said, turning the tables and examining his hand now.
    He noticed now that she smelled like coconut. It made him wonder what she looked like in a bikini. He could easily picture her frolicking in the surf with him. He loved the beach. That was part of the reason he’d relished this move to San Diego. As she checked his hand out for injuries,