Lady and the Champ by Katherine Lace Page A

table while I rub oil over your arms, your legs, your ti —”
    “Stop it, Austin.” Damn it. It’s pathetic how weak I sound. I clear my throat to make my voice stronger. “You’re out of line!”
    “You know what you should do? You should just get it out of your system. Fuck me.”
    “ What —”
    “Fuck me oh, once or twice or maybe five times, and then you’ll be able to concentrate. It’ll be better for you, better for me… I’ll get better care because you won’t be thinking about my dick the whole time you’re rubbing me down.”
    “That is the worst idea in the history of ideas.”
    “I see what you mean.” His tone is thoughtful, which is probably a bad sign. “It might take more than that. I mean, once you get the D from me, you’re going to want it all the time. That could really interfere with my recovery.”
    Okay, I’ve had it.
    I stand, yelling into the phone now. “You know what’s interfering with your recovery? Your inability to follow directions, and your fucking obnoxious personality. I do not ‘want the D’ from you. Do you really even want to get better?”
    “Of course I do.” He sounds a little taken aback, and I get some satisfaction from that.
    “Then you get ice on that goddamn leg for twenty minutes at a time every four hours until our next session. And you take your meds and do your goddamn exercises, you understand me?”
    “Yes, Doc. I got it.”
    “And don’t think you can skimp on any of it, because I’ll be able to tell.”
    “Yes, Doc.” Now there’s an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, but I’m so pissed I don’t care.
    “Next session, we’re meeting at the practice facility.”
    This seems like a fair compromise—they have everything I need to properly treat him, but it’s neutral territory.
    “That okay with you?” I make it clear in my tone that it had damn well better be okay with him.
    “It’s fine,” he answers.
    I could leave it there, but I’m not done. “And for God’s sake, act like a grownup. This is a professional relationship. Get your head out of your dick.” And I stab the phone screen and hang up on him.
    That felt good. Maybe I’ve finally figured out how to deal with him.
    Then my phone buzzes. I pick it up to see a text message.
    Do you really think my dick is so big my head would fit in it?
    Oh my God. I delete the message, determined to ignore him. But the phone buzzes again.
    You’re really hot when you’re mad.
    I roll my eyes, my hand tightening on the phone as I delete this one, too.
    You should yell at me more. I think it helps. I feel better already.
    I fling the phone onto the couch and stomp into my bedroom.
    There’s no way I’m going to survive Austin Sherwood.

6
    Austin
    I ’m about to get myself into a shitload of trouble. But that’s okay, because it’ll be worth it in the end.
    If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Chloe in the last few days, it’s that she’s hella hot when she’s pissed off. Which of course makes me want to piss her off as much as possible.
    “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be recuperating?”
    I glance at Orrin, who’s suiting up for practice next to me. It hadn’t occurred to me until late last night that the team was practicing today. It had taken another few seconds to realize I’d been ordered to meet Chloe at the practice facility at the same time team practice was going on. I could have called her and changed the time, but where was the fun in that?
    I shrug in response to Orrin’s comment. “Eh, it’s not that bad.”
    “You sure? Cause you looked like an elephant stomped on you when they took you off the field. And Coach said you were going to be out for the playoffs.”
    “Y’know, Walters, I’m a grownup. I think I can decide if I should be at practice or not.”
    He shrugs, still giving me the side-eye. I focus on what I’m doing. It actually hurts like hell to get my pads on, though not as badly as it hurt doing the exercises Chloe left for