The Vet

COLIN

“WOW! You’re Colin Scholtz!” a squeaky little voice calls out.

I turn my head toward the door and watch a little girl running at me with an adorable, glowing smile on her face. But then my eyes drift past her, and my breath catches. I stare as the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen walks through the door.

Brooke Waters has made my chest ache since the second I saw her walk into the exam room a few weeks ago.

Her long, sun-kissed blonde hair tosses as she walks. And those skintight leggings she wears drive me wild.

Those damn leggings accentuate every perfect curve: her well-toned legs, her slender waist, her perfectly round ass that I just want to take a bite out of. Fuck!

Then there’s her upper body. Normally she walks around the rehab center in her workout gear: a sports bra, or a long-sleeved workout top, still skintight, still showing off her toned stomach and breasts.

Today, it’s a simple, black, cropped hoodie that makes me want to stroke those perfect abs.

She’s so stunning in a naturally beautiful way. She could stand out in a crowd of models, even wearing no makeup—which I presume she doesn’t. She rubs her face so much that she’d smear it all over the place.

The best part about her is that she doesn’t even realize how gorgeous she is. She’s so modest, and completely oblivious to the effect she has on me and everyone else who gawks at her.

My stomach tightens, and my jaw clenches as I look around the vet’s office and notice that every other man sitting in here is practically undressing her with their eyes. I’ll admit, I do the same every week, but I don’t want to share her with the whole room.

I can’t deny I want her. Even though she came in with guns blazing the first time we met, even though she seems to hate me for some reason, I’m infatuated by her. I can’t pull her out of my mind.

I’ve been dreaming about grazing my finger along the bare skin of her stomach, then up across her luscious tits. Running my hands over her ass, wrapping my arms around her hips, and burying my head in her neck, taking in her scent.

Something draws me to her, and I’d do anything to gain her attention.

I’m hoping I make an impression on her today, when she finds out I paid for her dog’s medical expenses before she arrived.

“You’re Colin Scholtz!” the little girl says again, standing right in front of me now, spooking me out of my dirty thoughts.

“That’s me, kid. You must be Sydney?”

She nods. “Everyone just calls me Syd. I saw you get hurt on TV,” she says as she takes a seat next to me.

“You watch football too?” I’m surprised. The kid seems young to have the attention span for a three-hour game, not to mention how much Brooke seems to hate everything to do with football.

“I LOVE football! My mom and I both do! Is she going to make your foot better so you can play again?” Sydney asks, looking down at my boot.

“Well, I hope she can make my foot better.” I look up at Brooke, who’s still speaking to the receptionist.

A twinge of discouragement seeps under my skin as I think about the conversation from earlier, when she brought up finding something else to do besides playing football.

“She doesn’t think I’ll be able to play football again, though,” I admit with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah. My dad got hurt like you did, and he doesn’t play on TV much anymore.”

Dad? I think to myself. A pit in my stomach begins to grow. Brooke talked about her past football relationships, and I assumed she was single. Then I was completely surprised in the parking lot when she said she had a daughter.

I looked her up after my first meeting with her because I thought she looked kind of familiar. I found her business website, which said she was thirty-five. I never would’ve guessed she was even thirty; she looked so young.

I never would’ve imagined she had a kid either.

What kind of a dumbass am I, to never even ask in the parking lot about a father? Is Brooke married? Or with someone? My stomach sinks at the thought.

“Your dad?” I question out loud.

“Yeah. John Moore,” the kid answers. Wait. What? Did I hear that right?

“Your dad is John Moore?” My stomach sinks deeper, but in a completely different way now.

I knew Brooke looked familiar. I remember now. I saw her in the tabloids years ago, always wrapped in Moore’s arms when he was at his all-time high playing in the NFL.

“Yeah…why?” Syd asks. I guess now I know why it seemed like Brooke hated me the minute I walked through her doors. She does. Just like Moore despises me. She probably blames me for taking his position on the team.

“N-no reason.” I try to think of a way that I won’t have to explain things to a little girl, but she’s already moved on to something new as she pulls her notebook from her backpack.

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” I say, relieved.

“AWESOME!” Her eyes light up like Christmas morning.

“So you love football, huh, Syd?” I sign my name and hand her back her notebook.

“YEAH! I want to play, but my mom says the sport is too dangerous. Plus, there aren’t any girls’ teams around here, which is totally not fair.” Sydney pouts.

“Well, your mom’s right… Look at my foot.”

“Yeah, but you still want to go back to playing, so it can’t hurt that much.” I can’t help but burst out laughing at her adorable innocence, but then I think of something.

“Hmmm.” I looked down at Sydney, smiling. “Maybe you and I can convince your mom I can play again, huh? If you help me, I can try to convince her to let you play some football?”

“REALLY?” Her eyes light up again, all giddy. “But there isn’t a football league for girls anywhere.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about that one. Leave it to me, kid, I’ll figure something out.”

“AWESOME! THANKS!”

“So, we have a deal?”

“DEAL!”

“Shake on it!” I stick my hand out and we make a pact, shaking hands just before Brooke comes over and sits next to Syd.

“Is Luna going to be okay, Mom?” Syd asks, looking concerned.

“Yes, sweetie,” Brooke rubs her back and strokes her hair. “She just needs to go in for surgery so they can remove what’s in her tummy.”

Brooke looks up at me and catches me staring. She’s such a great mom—I can already tell how much she loves Sydney. I smile at Brooke and she smiles back.

“Thank you so much for bringing Luna in,” she says, but then she gets distracted again by Sydney pulling on her sweatshirt.

“Mom, I’m hungry.”

“Do you have any snacks left over from school?” She goes to reach for the kid’s backpack.

“No.”

“I have a granola bar,” I chime in, pulling one from my pocket and handing it to Syd.

Brooke watches Sydney take it from me and begin to open it. The look on Brooke’s face makes me think I may have overstepped.

“Syd…” She nudges Sydney, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Wha—” Syd looks confused at first, then looks at me. “Thank you,” she says, looking back at her mom for approval.

“No, that’s not it! Did you read the ingredients?” Brooke asks.

Syd looks down at the granola bar again, flipping it over to look at the wrapper. Her mouth moves soundlessly as she struggles with a few of the bigger words, but then she lets out a frustrated huff and hands it back to me.

“I can’t eat this,” she says, “thanks anyway.” She gets up and walks over to the kids’ corner of the waiting room to look at the storybooks.

I’m so confused. I’m not sure if I overstepped, or if Sydney did something wrong. “Sorry,” Brooke says, and scoots over to take Syd’s empty seat next to me.

“She’s allergic to peanuts. Severely allergic,” she adds, and starts rubbing her face, looking stressed.

Now I understand. Another element added to Brooke’s life that must cause her stress. I’ve seen her rub her face before, occasionally. I think she does it so often that she doesn’t even notice anymore.

I would never wish to see her stressed, but when she rubs her face, Jesus Christ! It makes my dick twitch. Her face gets slightly puffy, and her lips look plumper and turn a slightly darker shade of pink, almost like she'd been bent over and freshly fucked.

I pinch myself out of my trance. I should try not to get turned on by something that makes her stressed and unhappy.

“I’m usually not this crazy,” Brooke says as she catches me staring.

“Everyone has their days,” I say, not sure how to answer. She laughs, like maybe every day is this stressful for her. “I’m sure raising Syd all on your own isn’t easy,” I add.

Brooke looks up at Sydney, who’s across the room now reading a kids’ book, and smiles to herself. “She’s a great kid,” I say, staring at her again; admiring Brooke lost in thought as she looks at her daughter.

“…And you’re a great mom.” This last comment seems to bring Brooke out of her trance, and she looks at me in a way she hasn’t looked at me before.

Her face is slightly flushed, her eyes glossy like she could cry. She’s so damn beautiful it makes my heart hurt. “Thanks,” she manages to say in a whisper.

This is more than just a physical attraction drawing me to her. I have so much respect for this woman already, especially after learning more about her today.

She’s smart and driven, running her own successful business, and she probably put herself through school too—I’m sure her dad wasn’t able to afford full tuition on a mechanic’s salary.

She’s a freakin’ doctor, for Christ’s sake! She achieved this all herself, no family, no mother loving her or supporting her—and now she’s a single mother herself.

Syd seems like an amazing kid, but I know how hard it is for anyone to raise a kid alone.

I can’t imagine how Brooke does all this and still walks around beaming that beautiful, radiant smile I’ve been lucky enough to see a few times now.

“Excuse me?” someone says, forcing me to tear my gaze from Brooke. I’m kind of pissed that anyone would break that moment.

We both look up to see a shy nurse standing over me, holding out a notepad and pen. “Would you?” she asks, pushing the pad closer to me.

Now I’m fully pissed! As if this doesn’t happen all the damn time in public, this woman had to interrupt Brooke and I while we’re waiting for her dog to get emergency surgery, for a fucking scribbled signature!

What is it with people’s autographs that are so special? I never understood. I know it’s a necessary evil, part of the whole famous football player gig, but I always hate it.

I take the pad and pen from her, sign my name quickly to get it over with, and hope it doesn’t draw attention for others to do the same.

I can see Brooke’s eyes on me, studying my face, which just makes my jaw tense even more. I don’t want to have to explain why I’m being so grumpy.

I don’t think I even could explain why signing autographs makes me so grumpy. Nobody else seems to mind it—most of the guys on the team even seem to like it.

I didn’t mind giving Sydney an autograph. But from strangers, it feels like an invasion, like something crawling under my skin.

I hand the nurse back the signed page and scan the room. A few men are looking at me too now, studying my face like they’re trying to figure out why they recognize me.

I know it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone starts lining up for me to sign whatever they have on hand.

I don’t want to leave Brooke. I want to spend every fucking waking second around her, but I don’t want her to witness the shitstorm that’ll come when everyone starts accosting me like I’m at a goddamn book signing.

I need to run the fuck out of here. “I—should head out.” I stand, putting on my sunglasses and keeping my head down low.

“Yeah,” says Brooke, looking confused but accepting. “Thank you again,” she adds, standing up with me. “For everything. Really!”

“No problem.” I see a man across the room stand, and my nerves begin to build. I can’t spend any more time lingering, no matter how much I want to. I turn away from Brooke and head toward the door.

The painful thumping in my heart eases as the man just heads toward the drinking fountain rather than approaching me. I turn back to Brooke and catch her still standing, her eyes still on me.

She gives a little wave, and I laugh to myself as my stomach tightens again.

It pains me to think she’s been hurt so many times, by so many people in her life. John Moore was the worst, I’m sure. Who could ever walk out on a woman this spectacular?

I hope she doesn’t completely hate me anymore or think of me as just another jerk football player.

I want Brooke to understand that she deserves so much kindness and love—but I know there’s probably a long road ahead of me if I really want to prove that to her.

However, the knot in my stomach now is more about Moore. Do I even have a chance with Brooke, when Moore hates me so much? Will Brooke always hate me on his behalf?