Overnight Sensation(57)

“What’s so funny?” Bayer asks in a perkier voice.

“Jason Castro is the most gullible man in sports. It’s a miracle his opponents don’t deke him on every single play.”

Bayer tips his head to the side and studies me. “I think he’s a cynical kid. Reminds me of myself. Except where you’re concerned, maybe.”

I squint at him. “I don’t know what you mean.” Those meds are still impairing his brain. And now my phone is ringing, and I have to dive into my bag to shut it up before the nurses eject me. And it’s him!

“Hello?” I whisper into the receiver. “Jason?”

“Heidi? Why are you whispering?”

Oh my. A now familiar tingle rolls over me as Jason’s deep voice reaches me from afar. “I’m in a very posh store,” I whisper. “On Fifth Avenue. Did you know there were silk ties with actual gold threads in them? They’re beautiful. I think you should buy one. Five grand isn’t too much, right?”

“For a tie?” There’s horror in his voice. “My clothes are fine, Heidi. I just need the dry cleaning. Don’t throw anything away. I know some of my things are looking worn, but you won’t know which ones are lucky.”

“You, sir,” I whisper, “are hilarious. And it’s a little too much fun to tease you. I’m not going to throw away a single thing. I was kidding about that.”

He exhales into the phone. “Okay, thank you. And also thanks for taking care of that other thing even though I gave you shitty instructions.”

“It’s my pleasure, Jason Castro.” And, whoops! That comes out sounding flirty and dangerous. I need to dial it down.

He lets out a sound that might be a groan. “I better go. You take care of yourself.”

“Oh, I will. Are you sure you don’t want a purple silk tie with little golden stripes…”

“No,” he says briskly. “O’Doul is waving me down.”

“Bye, killer.”

“Bye, Hot Pepper.”

Bayer is grinning at me and sipping water through a straw. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“What’s the deal with you and Castro?” Bayer asks immediately.

“Nothing.” My voice cracks on the word, because I’m a terrible liar. “Why?”

He rolls his eyes, and I’m pleased to see a little color returning to his face. “He can never stop staring at you, for starters. And why did he sound like a stammering teenager on the phone just now?”

I give him a stern look. “Don’t eavesdrop on my calls, or I won’t spring you from this hospital.”

He laughs again.

Pro athletes are not to be underestimated. Who else can be charming and infuriating ten minutes post-op?

After another hour, Bayer passes all the nurses’ tests, including a very slow trip to the men’s room on crutches. “Don’t watch me walk away,” he says as they ease him off the bed.

“Why not…oh.” I get a glimpse of his bare ass through the open halves of the hospital gown.

“Your girlfriend can wait outside now,” the nurse says. “You’ll be out of here in thirty minutes tops.”

Bayer cackles as he shuffles towards the john. “Be honest. Do you think she’s too young for me?” He gives me a wink over his shoulder.

“No comment,” the nurse says.

Eventually, we’re set free. I get a taxi for Bayer, his new crutches, his pain medication, and ten pages of instructions. Bayer grits his teeth every time the car goes over a little bump in the asphalt. But he looks a lot happier as we ride the elevator inside the Million Dollar Dorm.

Luckily, Bayer lives on the third floor—the same one as Jason and Silas. That’ll make it easy for me to keep an eye on him tonight. But when we walk into his apartment, I see that it’s configured completely differently. Bayer has a duplex—there’s a set of spiral stairs up to his loft bedroom.

“Wow, this is super cool,” I gush, turning around in the open space. “But you can’t climb those stairs tonight.” And tomorrow doesn’t look good, either.

He crutches into the center of the living area. “I have the sofa.”

“Does it fold out?”

“Sure does.”

Still. My own knee throbs in sympathy at the idea of six-three Bayer on a sofa bed. “Tonight I’ll help you set it up. But first let’s find you some lunch. Could you eat?”

“Always,” he says.

I get him situated in a chair with a footstool propping up his knee. Then I order lunch from the ramen place near the waterfront.

We eat noodles together in companionable silence. “You don’t have to babysit me, kid,” he says as he takes a sip of the ice water I brought him. “This isn’t my first knee surgery.”

“I know that. And I promise you I’m leaving for a few hours to do some work for my boys. But I’m right down the hall. I’ll be over later to change the bandages.”

His eyes widen. “Really? I hate that part.”

“Of course. That’s on page two of the instructions.” I get the paperwork out of my bag and set it on the coffee table. “Hey—I should check to see if the money Jason sent was picked up.” I pull out my laptop. “It’s for some lady in Minnesota. His family, maybe?”