Axel's Therapist: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Blitz Book 2)

  Axel’s Therapist

  A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  S.J. Bishop

  Contents

  Exclusive Offer

  Axel’s Therapist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Personal Note

  HARD MAN

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Exclusive Offer

  Would you like to read the prequel to this series? Refer to the end of this book to sign up for a free copy.

  Axel’s Therapist

  1

  Kaitlyn

  I woke up panting. The dream I’d had still lingered in my head and on my lips. I could taste the salty skin of whomever it was that had been about to drive himself home between my overheated thighs. The player's face was already fading, and I regretted that he didn't get to finish the job.

  I rolled out of bed, shaking my head. Dreams like that weren't exactly uncommon for me. When you massaged naked athletes for a living, it was only natural that you ended up with a dream or two in which one of them was tearing your clothes off. I let my fingers roll over the edge of my lace panties, wondering if I should finish the job myself. I hadn't slept with anyone since moving to Colorado, and I could feel my body drying up. I needed something hard and wet to move in soon, or I might turn into a desert.

  My alarm rang, and I shifted my hand away from the soft, pink center of my mound that it had been creeping toward.

  "Alright, alright," I yelled to the empty room. "I'm getting up." I threw off the covers and kicked over a half-empty cardboard box while rushing to the bathroom. My toe throbbed as I stubbed it against whatever was still inside the box. I wasn't used to the layout of my new apartment, and with boxes everywhere, it felt like a maze. "Fuck me!" I cried, hopping on one leg.

  My father's picture hung in the hall, and as I hopped past it, I shot him a look. "Sorry, Dad," I murmured. My father had never been one to tolerate cursing. I liked to think he was watching over me; I only hoped he remembered that I wasn't a morning person.

  I quickly showered and double-checked myself in the mirror. My father had always told me I looked just like my mother. The few pictures I had of her showed an older version of myself. Long, golden hair that curled at the ends, and dark blue eyes sitting amid porcelain skin scattered with freckles. There was one photo I'd found when I was twelve. It showed my mother after the cancer had gotten her. Her hair was gone; her eyes no longer sparkled. No wonder my father had hidden that photo away where I couldn't find it.

  I pressed my breasts together, making sure they were tucked securely into my sports bra. They were large and one of my best features, but they weren't something I generally showed off at work. I covered my bra straps with a white blouse and got moving.

  "Okay, Dad," I said, taking a deep breath. "Let's go meet the Broncos." I knew it wasn't possible, but I could have sworn he winked at me as I passed by his photo. If ever anything was gonna pull him back from the dead, it would be the Broncos. If he knew who my first official client was, he'd probably be waiting for me at the stadium. Axel "Blue Streak" Cooper. Star running back for the Denver Broncos and with his new contract, now one of the highest paid football players in history. My father would most definitely have approved.

  Mile High Stadium was just how I'd pictured it. A thousand Google searches and just as many afternoons of watching the Broncos on television with my dad had taught me what to expect. That didn't stop it from taking my breath away once I was there.

  I inhaled deeply and stood staring at the stadium, unable to believe I was actually here. If anything was going to prove I wasn't in Appledale, Pennsylvania, anymore, this was it. The big leagues. A far cry from the time I’d spent interning at Penn State. I snapped a picture for Facebook and tried to steady my nerves.

  The first day on a new job was always rough. Physical therapists were usually a welcome sight to any team; after all, sprains and injuries could put a player out for the season. No one wanted that. But sometimes, a female physical therapist was more than some guys could handle, at least at first. They all tried to showcase their dicks. The bigger the better, or so they thought. I had to admit, some of them were rather impressive, especially during a massage when they frequently rose to greet me.

  Inevitably, some jock would run his hand up my leg while I was massaging him or corner me in the locker room after a game and make a pass at me. Once, I’d even had a player offer to throw another player into the mix if I was into that sort of thing—okay, I had to admit, I'd thought about that one.

  That is why I never dated jocks. Especially football players. Of all the athletes, they seemed to be the worst. I don't know whether it was something about the pigskin they threw around or those tight little pants that left nothing to the imagination, but they were all the same. Sex, sex, and more sex. I felt bad for the ones who had wives. I hoped they were getting it somewhere else too when their men were away.

  I was walking to the stadium's players’ entrance, already pulling my ID from my bag, when my phone vibrated. I snuck a quick look at the text and rolled my eyes.

  Kaitlyn, let's talk. It's been too long. I've missed you.

  Missed me? Ha!

  Of all the times in the past nine years Ethan Parker could be texting me, he'd chosen now. I was already nervous enough. I didn't need to get my emotionally warped mind wrapped around whatever high school guilt trip he was still carrying. He'd cheated on me when we were sixteen. What teenage guy wouldn't fuck a cheerleader? At least, that's what I'd told all my friends when it had happened.

  Secretly, I'd been crushed. I was twenty-five now, and I'd had nothing but a random series of one-night stands since then. But that was the way I liked things. Easy and free. No baggage. Ethan was definitely baggage. I could've killed his mom for telling him that I'd moved to Denver. What were the odds that we'd be the only two people in our graduating class to get out of Appledale and we'd both land in Denver? I scanned Ethan's text, looking for some sign of motive. If he wanted to apologize, why not just do it already and be done with it? He probably wanted to fuck me.

 
; I flashed my ID at the security guard.

  "Kaitlyn Wright?" the guard asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're the new physical therapist?"

  I nodded and walked past her, already planning what exercises I would make Axel Cooper run through. I'd been watching the game where he'd torn his ACL so badly it had put him out for the rest of the season. Luckily for Axel, he was no longer a rookie. Five years in football granted him veteran’s rights, and he had no down in his contract, which meant he got paid whether he played or not.

  "Hey!" the guard shouted. She had long dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her security uniform couldn't hide all the curves on this woman. I wondered what she was doing working a job like this when she could've been doing beer commercials or modeling swimsuits.

  I waited for the guard to catch up to me. She looked around, and I noted her name tag: Shannon Logan. "One woman to another, let me give you some advice."

  I braced myself for it. I'd heard it all before: the players aren't gonna like you, or the players are gonna like you a little too much, watch out! There was always something when you're a woman in a man's world.

  "Don't let Axel get to you."

  "Don't worry," I assured her. "I'm tougher than I look. If he wants to be a dick, I can handle it."

  "No. I mean he's fucking charming. He'll charm the pants right off you. I saw it happen with the last therapist." She blushed and looked away. "Happened to me, too. He's a real fuck up. Stay away from him before he burns you."

  "Don't worry," I told her. "I don't date football players."

  2

  Axel

  "Hey, Axel. Knee hurtin' you again?" Coach asked, clapping me on the back as he walked past.

  I grinned and kept my mouth shut. Fucking asshole. Was my knee hurting me again? Hell, it hadn't stopped hurting since I tore that damn thing in my knee. Anterior cruise ligawhatthefuck. If the team didn't need me, I would've thumped Coach's skull right then and there. But he'd have me banned from the locker room for sure if I did that.

  The team needs you? Sure about that? They're just doing fine without you. I think it might be you who needs them.

  Coach paused and turned back to me, his bald, sweaty head shining in the lights as he looked at me. "Don't scare the new therapist off," he said.

  "What did I do?" I asked, hoping I looked innocent. The guys all laughed, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.

  "Don’t gimme that," Coach said. "Don't fuck this one."

  "If you want Axel to keep his dick in his pants, then next time, hire a man," Corey shouted from over by his locker. "Even then, I'm not so sure." Coach rolled his eyes.

  "It's game time!" Stan shouted, and the team erupted into cheers. Coach looked at me and nodded. I'd asked if I could say a few words before today's game. Let the guys know how much I appreciated their support. Getting fucked out of the rest of the season was the worst thing that could happen to an athlete, me especially. A running back who can't run is goddamn useless.

  "Guys," I said, bracing myself against the locker. When I was a kid, I'd always thought that crutches were awesome, like having a third leg. I’d been a stupid kid. "I just wanna say... fuck those guys up!"

  The team erupted again, and I heard Coach yell, "Beautiful, Axel. You're a goddam poet." The guys rushed from the room. I started to follow, but Coach stopped me.

  "Where you think you're going?"

  "Up to the field," I said. Where else would I be going?

  "Think again. Therapy first."

  I opened my mouth but saw that look in his eyes. We didn't call him the Iron Ballbuster for nothing. There was no use fighting him. My knee twinged as if to remind me that Coach was right.

  "If that therapist had gotten here earlier, I could have gone up with you now," I complained.

  "Well, talk to her about that when she gets here."

  He headed up to join the team, and I sat on a bench. Now that the guys were gone, I didn't have to hide my pain. I let out a deep breath and lay back on the bench, closing my eyes. The locker room door creaked open. My phone rang. There was only one person who would be calling me just as a game was about to start.

  "Hi, Mom," I said into the receiver.

  "Hi, honey. Has your game started yet?"

  "It's about to. Is everything alright? Riley okay?"

  The first year after Taylor had left, I'd jumped every time the phone rang when I'd left Riley with my parents. I'd been so scared that she'd broken some vital body part or that Taylor's drug use had affected her more than we'd realized. But after two years and no signs of Taylor or doctor's visits where they told us my four-year-old daughter was suffering from heroin withdrawal, I'd decided Riley was probably not going to break while I was away from her.

  "She's fine. Actually, Riley has a question for you. Can she ask you before the game starts?"

  "Sure, put her on." I heard Riley breathe into the phone. "Hey, Riles, what's up?"

  "Hi, Daddy. Where do babies come from?"

  My mouth dried up. "Where do... what come from?"

  "Babies," she replied. Riley wasn't nearly old enough to ask these types of questions yet, was she?

  "Babies? They uh..." My mind raced. Sweat broke out across my forehead. I heard my mother giggling in the background and made a note to cancel her Mother's Day present this year. "Why, babies come from the stork, Riles. Everybody knows that."

  "What's a stork?"

  "Oh. Uh, a stork is a big white bird. It's so big that it can pick up babies with its beak. It carries them across the ocean and drops them down chimneys like Santa Claus." I was congratulating myself for my quick thinking when Riley screamed.

  "Aaah! Babies go down the chimneys? Do they get burned?"

  "What? No! No. The babies are safe. They don't get burned." But my mom was already taking the phone back. I heard her tell Riley to go sit on the couch and that she'd explain it when she got off the phone.

  "Thanks for that, Mom."

  My mother giggled again and took a breath. After twenty-seven years, I knew what was coming just by how long she held her breath before speaking.

  "This is why Riley needs a mother."

  I sighed. This was an old conversation. "Riley had a mother. Didn't do her much good, did it?"

  "That's not what I mean. I mean someone who, you know, is good for her. And for you. Someone who doesn't use drugs and drink herself into the gutter."

  "Yeah, Mom, I get it."

  "Well, I'm just saying. It would be good for Riley is all."

  I sighed again and bit my tongue. The last thing I needed was a fight with my mother. And the stupid therapist still wasn't here. Well, I was going out to the field after I hung up this phone, therapist or no therapist.

  "Besides," Mom said. "What are you gonna do when Riley needs a bra?"

  3

  Kaitlyn

  I tried not to listen. My father had always taught me the importance of giving people their privacy, but in an empty locker room, sound travels well. Axel sounded irritated talking to his mother, but I could also hear the love for her in his voice.

  Having lost my own mother at such a young age, I'd always been curious about other people's moms. Growing up, my friends had often complained about their mothers. "My mom won't let me wear lipstick" or "My mom grounded me." Things that seemed of monumental importance to my friends sounded to me like the actions of a loving parent.

  Not that my father didn't love me, and I'd certainly earned my fair share of groundings from him, but somehow, the soft touch of a mother's hand had always eluded me. Dad had never remarried after my mother's death, and both my parents had been only children.

  I walked around the locker room, trying to get my bearings. Locker rooms were pretty much all the same. Benches, showers, lockers. Probably hot and cold tubs concealed somewhere in the back. My bag was heavy, and I set it on the floor, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Someone new got on the line with Axel—I could tell it was a kid by the way Axel's voice changed. It b
ecame softer.

  If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I never would have believed that someone with Axel's reputation could be so tender. He was supposed to be a bad boy, but he spoke as though his kid was a treasure more precious than air. His stork story was about the funniest thing I'd ever heard. I couldn't help the giggle that escaped me when he told his kid that storks dropped babies down chimneys. It reminded me of the way my dad had approached discussing sex with me when I was six. He wouldn't use proper names for anything. It had taken me a month of playing with the toaster—"the bread goes inside the toaster and warms it up— to figure out what my father had been trying to tell me.

  When Axel finally hung up, I walked over to the bench he was sitting on. Black hair fell in soft, short waves against his chiseled cheek. His skin showed off the gold-toned suntan that most athletes carried with them throughout the season. He lay with his back against the wooden bench, his eyes closed. His hand pressed against his forehead, and a deep crease pitted itself between his eyebrows. It was the classic look of a father who felt in over his head. I'd seen my own father make the same face a dozen times a day when I was a teenager.

  "Axel Cooper?" I asked, already knowing it was him. I'd seen his face a thousand times on TV and the internet. He was even better looking in person. His eyes fluttered open, and when they finally focused enough to take me in, a soft smile spread over his face. My heart stuttered as I noted the light butterscotch flecks hidden in the deep brown caramel of his warm and tender eyes.

  "Well, hello there," he said, sitting up.

  "Hello," I squeaked. I cleared my throat and took a breath. "Hello," I said, stronger this time. "I'm Kaitlyn Wright. Your new therapist."

  "Gee," Axel blinked and kept a straight face. "I wish someone had told me there was a team therapist coming. I just paid some quack $500 for Prozac."

  I stared back at him, hiding the laughter that bubbled inside me. The rumors were true. Axel was charming. But I had never bedded a football player, and I didn't intend to start now. Especially not my first day on the job. When I didn't respond with a smile and a wink the way he'd hoped for, Axel's eyes wavered.