The Soccer Player and the Single Mom (Quail Hollow) Read online

  “Look, Evan’s going to clear me, so you can stop with this PA nonsense. We’re not gonna need it.”

  “Scott Gillie?”

  He waved to the nurse who’d called for him and reached for his crutches, hoping and praying this would work. “Come on, let’s go get that ‘all clear.’”

  “You go ahead.” J.B. handed him a folder containing the team trainer’s notes and Scott’s X-rays. “I have some work to do.”

  There was something in his voice that made Scott pause. He started to ask what J.B. was up to, but then a toddler nearby sneezed, and that got him moving once more. The last thing he needed was to get cleared to play, only to come down with pneumonia.

  “Fine, but we’re tabling this discussion. Hopefully, indefinitely.”

  After explaining to the nurse that there was no Scottie Jr. joining them, he followed as she led him back to an examination room. Once inside, she motioned for him to take a seat in one of the grown-up size chairs rather than try to climb onto the elevated, cushioned patient table. Fine by him. He’d had enough climbing this weekend trying to navigate the stairs in his grandmother’s two-story. Two trips up and down those creaking old steps, and he’d taken to scooting up backward on his butt and dragging the damned crutches along.

  Stupid injury. He should have known better than going head-to-head with Philly’s aggressive sweeper on that last shot. Should have backed off, taken the safer bet with one less step, and tried curving the ball off his right foot instead of his left. But the playoffs were coming, and he’d gotten greedy. So instead of taking the smart shot, he let his desire to make the highlight reel steer his decision. Now here he sat, sidelined.

  “I’ve seen children do unusual things to get a lollipop,” Evan said, walking in as the nurse was stepping out, “but this might take the cake.”

  Scott grinned at the appearance of his old friend. It was still strange to see Evan’s dark skin set against a white lab coat instead of their college team’s crimson and cream uniform. A touch of gray had sprouted in the hair at his temples since last he’d seen him, but the warm smile hadn’t changed.

  “Ha, I wish it was an act.” Scott rose on his good leg and pulled his old friend into a brief hug. “Good to see you, man.”

  “Likewise. So, what happened? A defender finally take you out?”

  Scott nodded. “Philly’s got a beast in the backfield. He’s faster than he looks.”

  “Meaner, too, apparently. How long have you been down?”

  “Three weeks. Original diagnosis was an MCL sprain. Team trainer said to stay off of it for three to four weeks then ease back into my routine. When I went in Thursday for my re-check, he told me to hold off two more.”

  “Something tells me you weren’t happy with his decision.” Evan nodded toward the oversize folder on the desk beside him. “Mind if I have a look?”

  “Please. I’m in need of a professional second opinion.”

  His friend chuckled. “You know the median age of my patients is eight, don’t you?”

  “Eight or eighty, does it really matter?”

  “Actually, it does.” Evan took the X-rays from the folder and clipped them to a light board on the far wall. “Tell me about your pain.”

  “Not much there anymore,” he lied. “Bothers me a little in the mornings. I’m sure it’d go away if I could start conditioning again.”

  Evan moved closer to the light board, then stepped away to review the folder’s other contents. After a moment, he returned to the board.

  “How long did the trainer have you on restrictions?”

  “Three weeks, four tops. Now, all of a sudden, he wants me to hold off another two. Crazy, right?”

  “More like covering his posterior.” Evan tapped a pen to the backlit X-ray. “You’ve got a healing hairline fracture at the top of your tibia.”

  “What?” Scott bolted from his seat and hopped his way to the board. “No, it’s just a scratch in the film. Or a piece of hair. My agent’s going bald, he sheds on everything.”

  Scott swiped a hand across the film. Swiped again. Licked his thumb and scrubbed at the mark. It didn’t move.

  “As much as I’d like that to be the case, old friend, it’s not. My guess is your trainer missed it the first time around and caught it on the follow-up films.”

  Icy cold dread wove down Scott’s spine. A fracture sounded like more time off the field, which he couldn’t afford. He was so close now to making the national team selection that he could taste it. Plus, him spending more time on the bench would allow the fresher, younger guy filling in for him even more playing time. If that kid proved his worth on the field, it might not be just the national team Scott lost out on, but a starting spot of his own.

  “So…what does that mean?”

  Evan leaned back against the countertop with arms folded across his chest. “It means you need to stay away from the field for another three to four weeks.”

  “Three to four weeks? Hell, Matt only recommended two!”

  “Ah, but the team’s paying him to get you back on the field. I don’t have the same board members to answer to.”

  “Board members?” Scott palmed his cap just above the brim. “You think they don’t care about my health? If anything, they’d want me in mint condition so I can last that much longer.”

  Evan shrugged. “Sure, if you were twenty-one or twenty-two. But you’re twenty-eight, Scott. They are trying to get the best of you now because they’re not counting on you to stick around another ten years. Quite possibly not another five.”

  Scott frowned. Aging out in professional sports, like paying taxes, was inevitable. Which was why he had to get back on the field and reach the national team before his time was up. He’d made his mother a promise long ago and refused to let one bad tackle stand in his way.

  “I plan on playing for at least five more years,” he grumbled. “Play until I can’t.”

  “Then you need to take it easy for another three to four weeks minimum.” Evan raised a hand to block Scott’s brewing rebuttal. “Rest now so you can play later, or play now and risk cutting your career short. You wanted my professional opinion, and now you have it.”

  “But the playoffs—”

  “Are still several weeks away. The team’s front line is deep; they’ll be fine without you.”

  Precisely what he was afraid of. “Thanks,” Scott muttered.

  “If I were you, I’d get out and enjoy the time off. Reconnect with friends and family, then come back each of the next three weeks for rechecks. If your knee is healing faster than expected, I’ll give you the green light and send you packing. Otherwise, stay off the field.”

  Like hell he would. Maybe it was a good thing J.B. hadn’t come back here. “Sure. Though, it’ll be tough to make those follow-ups after I head back east.”

  “Do you really think Edna will let you leave, knowing you have all this free time on your hands? Not that I would tell her, of course. But you know how word does get around.” Evan winked.

  Scott stared at his friend in disbelief. There were laws against sharing information like this, weren’t there? Then again, this was Quail Hollow—you couldn’t sneeze without half the town knowing it. “You wouldn’t.”

  “See you in a week for fresh X-rays.” Evan pushed off the counter and gave him a pat on the back as he angled for the door. “Oh, and Scottie? Be sure to get your lollipop at checkout.”

  With a scowl, Scott headed back into the lobby to pay for whatever this waste of time had cost him. Talk about a plan backfiring. What he’d hoped would get him back on the field sooner had just gotten him stuck in town for another three to four weeks.

  That thought alone made him cringe. While he loved his grandmother to pieces, between her badgering and that annoying Pomeranian of hers using Scott’s feet as chew toys, he was already running low on patience. Even so, him leaving without any real reason to rush back would break her heart. He couldn’t do that to her.

  And w
hat was he supposed to tell J.B. that wouldn’t instantly launch him right back into this idea of finding Scott a personal assistant? He didn’t need help and definitely didn’t want it. He wasn’t five years old. Then again, Quail Hollow was a far cry from Columbus, and Edna didn’t drive. Crap, did they even have Uber here?

  He made it to the front desk just as the receptionist was answering yet another phone call. Stellar. With a sigh, he turned toward where he’d left J.B. and found the seat empty.

  Scott spun to scan the waiting area for his agent, praying he’d stepped outside. But no, of course he hadn’t. He’d stepped across the room instead and taken a seat beside cute mom and her kid. Surely, he wasn’t moving ahead with this personal assistant idea of his, not before he’d even heard the outcome of today’s appointment.

  As Scott watched, a business card exchanged hands.

  Oh no you don’t.

  He started for the trio but was interrupted by the receptionist’s voice.

  “Ready to check out, Mr. Gillie?”

  Scott turned back and forced a smile, hoping the woman would make it quick. He needed to get across the room and break up whatever deal his meddling agent was making. There would be no personal assistant. The sooner J.B. understood that, the better off they’d both be.

  …

  Felicity stared at the business card in her hand, trying to wrap her head around what was happening. In the course of twenty minutes, she’d discovered her current place of employment had unexpectedly closed, her health insurance would likely be ending, and now this yahoo from out east somewhere wanted her to play nanny to his injured—and extremely good-looking—soccer star client. It was almost too much to handle.

  “Look, Mr. Bradley, I appreciate your offer, but I don’t know the first thing about being a personal assistant.”

  He raised a brow, looking to Tyler. Okay, so yes, she was personal assistant to her son 24/7, but that was different. He was six and could still be sent to his room for misbehaving. What punishment could she possibly offer to an uncooperative soccer player?

  She mentally retracted that question as her mind instantly headed down the “my libido has been in a coma for far too long” path. There would be no lip service, no sending anyone to bed, and definitely no spankings where Scott Gillie was involved. In fact, there wouldn’t be anything in her future involving Scott, because his future and hers were not meant to intersect. She needed to focus on finding work—long-term, permanent work, not some short-term babysitting deal.

  “Seriously, Mr. Bradley, you don’t know a thing about me.”

  “Please, call me J.B. And what I saw at the reception desk when I came in was evidence enough. I need someone like you, someone who can take charge and keep her cool under pressure.”

  “Is your client that difficult to work with?”

  He smirked. “Let’s just say he and I don’t always see eye to eye on everything. Like him needing a personal assistant, for example. Scott’s always been very independent; he likes to handle things on his own. But I worry he’s doing too much and it’s delaying his recovery time.”

  Felicity glanced toward the reception desk to find Scott standing there, balancing on those crutches while fumbling to retrieve something from his pocket. She had to give him credit—crutches were a bear. She’d had a pair herself back in middle school. “Is he in a lot of pain?”

  “He says he isn’t, but I’m not so sure. I’ve seen him wince a few times just this morning. Though, if he’d fill his pain medication prescription, he’d probably feel a lot better than he does.”

  She bit back a response, knowing full well prescriptions like that could often do more harm than good. “Well, hopefully he isn’t. And I do hope you find him a great personal assistant, J.B., but I’m afraid I’m not it.”

  “But, Mom,” Tyler whispered at her side.

  She slid a warning look to her son, who’d been practically humming with excitement since the moment J.B. had approached them. He loved all things sports, though his exposure had been limited to backyard play and watching events on television. Oh, and the computer—if there was a stat to be had, Tyler probably knew it. He just didn’t yet have the coordination, or she the finances, to play in organized sports.

  Scott had clearly racked up some major stats of his own, because Tyler had been gushing about the man since the moment they’d sat down. At first she’d only listened with half an ear, her attention on the news and heart in her stomach. But now that Scott’s agent was sitting here offering her a job, Tyler’s excitement was sending warning signals.

  If Scott was as big a deal as her son made him out to be, working alongside him could be a gamble. With celebrities often came drama, and that was not an environment she wished for her son. Felicity shook her head.

  “The answer is no. Besides, Scott doesn’t even live around here. There’s no way I’m pulling you out of school so we can play servant to him for a few weeks.”

  “But—”

  “Actually,” said J.B., wincing as her dark gaze slid back to him. “I’m advising Scott to remain with his grandmother here in Quail Hollow for the remainder of his recovery time. My hope is that disconnecting him from all that’s happening in Columbus will allow him to better focus on his recovery.”

  “So kind of you, J.B., but my focus is perfectly fine right where it is.”

  Felicity jumped at Scott’s voice behind them. While his words were polite, the undercurrent of anger in his tone was undeniable. If there had been any doubt lingering in her mind about turning down Mr. Bradley’s offer, Scott’s statement had just snuffed it out.

  J.B. seemed far less bothered. “Did he clear you?”

  Scott frowned. “Not exactly.”

  Yep, definitely the difficult and stubborn type. Thanks, but no thanks.

  “Tyler Shaw?”

  Felicity bit back a sigh of relief and waved to the nurse who’d called his name. “That’s us. Best wishes with your recovery, Scott. And J.B., I hope you find the right person for the job.”

  “Double.”

  She froze, halfway out of her seat. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t you think we ought to talk about this first?” Scott said from between clenched teeth.

  J.B. ignored him. “Whatever you’re making now, I’ll double it.”

  “Oh, Mom’s not making anything,” Tyler said. “They closed her factory this morning.”

  He pointed toward the television screen, its tickertape message still reading Stinson automotive shuts down, town in shock, and Felicity wanted to find a giant rock to hide under. “Tyler.”

  “Then I won’t just double it, I’ll triple it.”

  She stared at J.B., unable to breathe, unable to think. Triple her salary for a whole month? That wouldn’t just help pad her savings account to cover their expenses while she searched for a permanent new job, it would allow her to move forward with the rental house she’d just put a deposit on.

  Felicity looked from J.B. to a fuming Scott and then to her son. The hope in his eyes nearly brought her to tears. She hated where they lived now, the duplex’s walls paper-thin and the backyard no more than a swatch of grass beyond a six-by-six–foot concrete patio. Sure, they made the best of it, but he deserved more. So much more. A better home, better life, was one “yes” from being theirs. Could she stand working with a handsome grump for a month to make her son’s dream a reality?

  Maybe a better question was, could she live with herself if she didn’t?

  It’s just temporary, she reminded herself. Practically free money. She’d be jeopardizing her and Tyler’s future if she walked away now. Felicity summoned what courage she could find.

  “Okay,” she said, avoiding Scott’s fiery gaze. “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Two

  “I can’t do it.”

  Felicity sat, head-in-hands, at her cousin Lauren’s kitchen table, struggling to keep it together. What had she been thinking, agreeing to work for J.B.? She didn’t know the first t
hing about being a personal assistant. And what was the other stuff he said he’d be sending her way as filler work? Spreadsheets to clean up, or some such nonsense?

  Nonsense, just like this entire arrangement. She’d let her emotions get the best of her, and now she was stuck.

  “Of course you can,” Lauren said. “How difficult can being someone’s personal assistant be? Compared to your last job, this one ought to be a piece of cake.”

  Felicity snorted. “You didn’t see him, Laur. He was furious when I said yes. Scott Gillie hates me, and I haven’t even worked with him a single minute.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s mad at the situation, not at you.” Lauren pushed back from the table, the chair lightly scraping across her tile floor. “Thirsty? We’ve got a while before the bus comes.”

  “Sure.”

  Footsteps sounded, followed by the clink of ice into two glasses. Liquid was poured, bottles capped, and then Lauren was there, depositing two tumblers of lemonade on the table with a frown. To Felicity’s, she’d assuredly added a “healthy” splash of vodka. None for her as she was technically on the clock—during the week, Lauren watched a handful of kids ranging from three to six.

  “So, back to Stinson. They just…closed? No warning, no severance packages, no nothing?”

  “Nope.”

  “That shouldn’t be legal. People have families to raise. Bills to pay.”

  Felicity took a long drink from her glass, grimacing at the small fire it lit in her throat. “Tell me about it.”

  “Those bastards. You guys should go after the CEO, sue him for all he’s worth.”

  “Right, like we’ll ever see another cent from there.”

  “Damn.” Lauren sighed. “Well, then, it’s good you’ve been saving up for the deposit on that rental house. I know you hate the duplex, but there’ll always be another—”

  “My savings are gone. I put the deposit down on Saturday.”

  “Oh.”