Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys) by Susan Arden Page B

not from the same world. That wildcat’s voice and fiery, honest eyes had him stumbling when Corinth had blurted out the sentiment that had made him reel. Then, and more so now, as though the direction of his life was no direction at all. Hollow and meaningless, a piercing reminder he wanted to avoid but ran headlong into in again and again as the words came tumbling from Corinth’s moist pink lips. He’d lobbed the comment back into her court with a jackass remark about having a life and it was the pain in her beautiful blue eyes he’d fleetingly witnessed that had him by the balls. She was at UCLA. A huge ass school. One he’d never been to, and what were the chances he’d ever find her? He recalled her ID. It had said she was in the marketing department. The whole idea of looking for a beautiful, mouthy needle in a university haystack was insane. But he’d done shades crazier. He made a mental note to look up UCLA’s marketing department and ask around on the team. There was bound be another player who would know someone with a contact there.
    He repeated his question. “Would you like something? A treat, maybe?”
    “Brett, just yourself. I miss you. It’s been three weeks.”
    “Couldn’t be avoided. Had to get ready for this game. Worth it, considering we lead the division and might actually make it to the Super Bowl.”
    “I figured you’d be focused on training. We’re so excited and keeping a running tally of your stats. A couple more games and you’re there.”
    “Keep your fingers crossed.” He kept everything crossed…fingers, toes, legs, arms. A Super Bowl would mean a large bonus. And a win would domino into a much larger contract for the next year. Heck, for the life of his career. At twenty-six, if he nursed his shoulder, he’d be lucky to get at least six or seven more years. He needed more and had relented, advising his manger to get on the ball finding endorsements.
    While other players bought vacation condos and all sorts of toys with the sky’s the limit mentality, Brett had other concerns. The cost of around-the-clock care for his mom meant he needed to secure not only his future but hers, considering she didn’t have anything beyond what little the government provided. No retirement, and she’d already gone through the small inheritance from his grandparents. His mother was cared for by registered nurses in an upscale apartment setting within a modern medical facility. But it cost. Nearly a quarter of his annual salary, but he refused to move his mother to something less costly. He’d seen those places when his grandmother had to go into hospice. The smell and the feel of loneliness and grief was overwhelming. He adamantly refused to do that to his mother when his accountant made the suggestion last month.
    “I don’t want to tie up your time. I suspect you have some training scheduled for the morning.”
    He scratched his hand down the stubble on his cheek. “Yeah. I do need to get going.”
    “I love you, Brett,” his mom said, her voice wavering. “I’m so proud of you.”
    His chest constricted. “I’m proud of you, mom. See you soon.”
    He hung up and fell back on the bed while his shoulder throbbed unmercifully. Seriously, he needed to get his game on and stop futzing around. What had Raquel, his physical therapist, said a million times? Ice, ice, ice and more ice. So simple, and yet he’d be damned, but he fought her advice this last go round. He needed his therapy routine with bands and light weights, or any routine really. Earlier in the month, he’d taken two weeks off for physical rehab while feigning a family emergency with the team. At first, it had felt like he was wasting his time, but shit, he’d witnessed the results in two weeks and no one suspected he’d sustained a shoulder injury. As far as the team and his agent were concerned, he was an offensive machine.
    Now, back in Dallas without a physical therapist riding him and the holiday