Free Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by Bella Love-Wins Page A

for the next five days if you want to start the rehab exercises. Or do you want to re-injure yourself when we do get to that point?”
    “Don’t give me a hard time, all right?”
    “The way I see it, you’re making it difficult for the both of us. Is anyone around to help you inside?”
    He shook his head. “All my buddies are in class right now.”
    “Come on. I’ll help.” I leaned over for him to throw his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed…even if I throw my back out in the process.”
    He grabbed his crutches and got them in position. “Save your back. I’ll manage.”
    “Stop. You can’t do that, don’t you get it? Any weight you put on your hips or legs can make the strain worse.”
    “I did manage to get myself into that meeting this morning, you know.”
    “Yes. We all know you have an ego the size of Mount Rushmore and you want to prove to yourself that you can do it. You can, Evan, but if you overdo it before you even start the physical therapy, you may as well kiss your NFL chances goodbye.” He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips into a scowl. “Good. Now that I have your attention, let me help you inside.”
    He cocked his head, still grimacing. “Dammit. All right.”
    He placed an arm over my shoulder and I slowly supported his solid weight. I had to will my knees to not go weak from being this close to him, and to ignore those little electric impulses shooting through my body. I had to fight my own thoughts of what it was like to be with him, to understand what made him tick and maybe see these famous lady-killer skills of his in action. What an inconvenient time for my hormones to kick in and remind me what they were meant for.
    Thank goodness the steps to the porch were less than ten feet away. After we got inside and he was settled yet again, I found a chair in the living room. I dragged it beside his bed to finish what we’d started earlier.
    “Maybe we got off to a bad start,” Evan offered when I took a seat.
    I flipped through his file to the approved recovery plan. “I’d say.”
    “How about a truce?”
    “It depends.” I looked up from my file, already doubtful that was possible.
    “On what?”
    “On whether I’m gonna find you anywhere but in this bed the next time I show up here, for starters. While I’m at it, it also depends on whether you plan to be rude and stubborn for any other phase of this plan.”
    “I can do the bed rest but I ain’t apologizing for how I am. So I’m rude…and a bit stubborn. I’m also in a hell of a lot of pain from these crappy meds. Plus you people want me lying in bed staring at the ceiling and dwelling on that pain for five days straight. I have to live with that, so I guess you’ll have to deal with me being in a shitty mood.”
    “And a dick.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “You heard me.”
    “Fine. I’m a dick. Live with it.”
    “Forget about the truce too, right?”
    “Whatever. Now, what else are we supposed to talk about today?”
    This situation wasn’t going to improve. I needed to face the facts and simply focus on the work. I shook my head, pulling put a copy of the plan for him to read along. “Let’s just review the damn plan and I’ll get out of your hair.”
    “Fine,” he grunted, snatching the document out of my hand.
    I took an emotional timeout. He was an ass, but he was right that I was the professional in the room. He owed me nothing. I was here to get a job done. Taking a long breath to find my center, I observed him as he read. That when it dawned on me. Resting the file at the side of my chair, I got up and pressed my hands into the mattress at the foot end of the bed.
    “What are you up to now?” he asked, putting the papers down beside him.
    “Think about before your injury when you’d wake up in the morning. Did you have any aches and pain?”
    “Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe. Why?”
    “How old is this mattress?”
    “Two or three years.”
    “What about your pillows. Pass me