The Playbook (a Secret Baby Sports Romance) by Avery Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

craved his touch again?
    I looked up to find him watching me intently, and I instantly blushed. Glancing back down, I fidgeted with my notepad and pen. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way with him right in front of me! I was a professional, with a client in the room, and all I could think was how nice his arms had felt around me. Like they belonged there.
    “So do we just stare at each other or what?”
    I cleared my throat and pulled out a file, already labeled with his name in bold print.
    “Of course not, Mr. Maddox, it won’t be that easy. I am Lucia, the team’s performance therapist. Performance therapy is a relatively new field, so if you’re not familiar with how this works—I don’t believe your previous team employed one—I will go over a few of the basics, okay?”
    “Fine by me if we can be quick.”
    His desire to leave made me bristle, and I sat up in my chair, urging myself to make stern eye contact. “I will be scheduling times with you to find out how you are with a number of things, namely how you are fitting in with the team and if you are experiencing any issues. And just so you are aware we do not condone bullying of any kind, hazing, or discrimination, so if you or anyone on your team is caught doing so, there will be consequences for your actions.”
    “Did I just step back into high school?” he teased, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter.
    I gave him my best no-bullshit look, hating the way he made me feel—like I should be stripping off my clothes before him. His teasing nature could rattle anyone, pulling them off-track, but I was going to show him that I was not so easily flustered. At least that’s what I told myself. “This is a serious matter, Mr. Maddox, and I expect you to treat it as such.”
    “Sure,” he replied, leaning back in the chair. “Go ahead, Doc, therapy me away.”
    I fought the urge to throw something at his cocky smile. “We’ll start small. Is there anything you would like to discuss? Are you anxious after your move?”
    “Am I really here to discuss my feelings?” he asked with a sharp laugh. “Well, fine, today I am feeling like shit, Doc. Don’t suppose you have an aspirin, do you?”
    “That’s not what this is about,” I said tightly, hating those that didn’t take this seriously. I had come onboard to make a difference in their lives, to provide them an outlet with someone open up to—anything that was driving them crazy and affecting them on the field. Most of the players were under a great deal of stress, trying to balance work and their home life under intense pressure and scrutiny. I wanted to be there to listen and offer advice, to give them the resources they needed to be successful, and most importantly help them succeed and focus when it mattered during games.
    But most of them didn’t give me a chance to offer even the slightest bit of advice. Most of my time was spent trying to coax even one word out of them. Clearing my throat, I regarded another jokester in front of me. “I am sorry you are feeling bad. Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much.”
    “Fair point,” he grinned. “But it was fun, wasn’t it? Do you ever have any fun, Doc?”
    “We aren’t here to talk about me,” I replied, folding my hands on the desk. I wasn’t going to comment aloud, but last night, for a brief moment, I had experienced a taste of fun. I just hated the fact that it had been with him.
    “And I don’t want to talk about me,” he said, rubbing his hand over his hair idly. “This is a complete waste of time. I could be out training right now, not talking about my childhood and shit.”
    My ears perked up and I leaned forward. “You would like to talk about your childhood?”
    His face grew pale and he immediately shook his head. “Hell no, I don’t want to talk about my childhood. I’m done.”
    I watched as he rose from the chair and started to leave, and panic started to set in; I was about to lose another one—Coach Hanshield