Quarterback’s Baby

“Guys, I’m not in the mood to party!”

I sounded like my mom: always whining and complaining, but the guys weren’t listening. I wasn’t in a party mood for real. I hadn’t played ten games in the last season and the way I was feeling, I didn’t know if I would play again.

I was going to be one of those quarterbacks that retired early. Shit, I was only twenty-eight, yet I felt like an old man. Too scared to run, pass, or do anything in case something else snapped. The guys were acting nice about it. Telling me to get a grip and that it was all about the game, but I was so fucking scared of doing anything, including sex!

“You need to get back out there. What happened to Casanova Sebastian?” Mason said as he passed me another beer.

He fucking died when I spent more time watching the game than actually being part of the action.

I took a swig of the beer, I had kept telling him I didn’t want and would end up drinking all the same. As they say, actions speak louder than words, and I may have been saying no but that didn’t stop me from drinking it. He sat down on the deck next to me while the rest— Paul, Kent, Lucy, and Mia —were partying in my pool.

The music was way too loud, they were drinking too much, and it was still early. It wasn’t even dark yet. I was sure that by the time night fell, one of my neighbors would be banging on the door complaining about the noise and shit.

“Yeah man I would if I could. Watch out, Kent, you nearly slipped!” I pointed out as he ran by the side of the pool. That was all I needed: one of them to be injured and out of the season. Coach Thomas had already warned them like he did every year to take it easy out of season. Last year, just at the start of the season they were hardly any fullbacks, running backs or quarterbacks. We were all injured one way or another as soon as we finished the first game.

The guys were on a high. They had nearly made it to the Super Bowl, and I wasn’t part of it. They were happy to have gotten so far in the game, but I just ended up sitting watching them like a frigging chump. There was nothing worse than being part of a team and never getting to play. Since 2013, I’d had one injury after another. I know that it wouldn’t be long until that’s it, I’d have to go into early retirement. The game had gotten a lot more competitive. Guys were bumping and thumping us as if we’re boxing bags, just to get a win.

“You can’t give up, man; I won’t let you,” Kent screamed over as he grabbed his cheerleading girlfriend, Mia. He had a lot to be happy about. Not only was Mia hot, but she was like the Auntie of the cheers. Mia kept them all in line and always had time for everyone, especially her leading man, Kent. They knew each other from high school. Most guys cheated on their girlfriends or got bored as soon as they hit the big time, but not Kent. He had stayed true to her and even though I didn’t understand the whole relationship thing, I found it kind of neat.

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed as I sipped on the cool beer, thinking that I needed something stronger just to match their energy levels. It was the end of the season and they were taking a break. Mine had started months ago, after I’d had surgery on my back. As soon as I started physiotherapy I felt as if the problem with my transverse had come back to haunt me, as my knee was giving way when I headed back to the gym. I hadn’t told a soul; I just made out that my back hadn’t completely healed. Maybe Mason was right, and it was all in my mind. So far the doc hadn’t found anything wrong, but I just didn’t feel the same.

“Take a swig of this,” Kent said as he handed me his flask. Shit, he only had his trunks on, but he’d managed to grab a flask out of nowhere.

“Errh, where the fuck have you been keeping that?”

He ignored me and headed back into the pool. It had been a while since I’d touched gin, because my cabinet was like a fucking pharmacy. I had so many damn painkillers and meds in there with the warning, “Not to be taken with alcohol,” that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a drink. Even when I came off them, I steered clear of drinking just in case I had a relapse and I had to restart my meds.

I started to think positive thoughts as the burning sensation of the gin passed and happiness took over. Before I knew it, I was jumping in the pool waiting for my other surprise. Mason had said that tonight would entail a few friends and a surprise.

Mason, if anything, was predictable. I knew that by surprise he meant a stripper!

I took a few laps and splashed around joining in the party. The other girls must have had a little too much to drink, because they lost their bikini top as the night progressed. Someone entered from the back of the house.

I saw her in heels walking toward the pool as if she owned the fucking place. She had a Giants baseball cap and a tight black dress with buttons right down the center, that made me just want to pop them open and reveal what was underneath. I could tell her body was hot. That dress was so fucking tight.

Shit, she had curves that all the cheers couldn’t compete with.

Hips like J-Lo.

Breasts like Beyoncé.

And fucking lips that made me want her on her knees sucking my cock until next season.

I couldn’t see her eyes, just a few strands of hair that were loosely hanging from the cap.

She made everyone pay attention as soon as she shouted my name.

Mason didn’t just get me a surprise; he gave me a fucking treat of the century. I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Girl, just get over here and get naked!”

Coach Thomas said that he was worried about Sebastian for next season, and he wanted me to do some tests to get him up to scratch over the summer. The last doctor did a half-ass job and players were dropping like flies because he wasn’t revealing the extent of their injuries.

He spent most of his time boozing and it had taken the club the whole season to figure this out. It was completely unethical. There was so much political maneuvering and backhanding in medicine that no one wanted to rat him out. I thought that it had been bad in the hospital! I suppose I was naive to think that it would be any different in the sporting industry. Maybe being a sports doctor wasn’t such a good idea, but I had no choice: I needed the money.

I was hired last week, and my first assignment was to get their all-star quarterback back on the field for the whole season. Everyone was cheering for me to get in the damn pool.

“Sebastian, it’s me.”

Then this blue-eyed guy with really tight swimmers on said, “Shit, did I hire you before?”

Really?

Were the only women that came here strippers? I looked at the other end of the pool, and there were a couple of naked gals, so I figured that answered the question.

I wasn’t a fucking stripper. I was a doctor, and I came here to talk to him about coming to see me. I didn’t do personal visits, but he hadn’t picked up his cell or house phone either. The only times it had been picked up was by his housekeeper, who had a tendency to tell me that it would be easier to visit him and then she would hang up the phone.

“Yes!” I replied in frustration.

“No!” I countered, realizing my mistake.

I realized that I was trying to reason with people that were half-naked. Or—in the case of the girls at the other side of the pool—completely naked. Even Sebastian’s eyes were half-open; I wondered how much he’d had to drink.

“Which one is it?” Blue-eyes asked as if he was trying to figure out if I’d been hired as their stripper or not.

God, what was his name again?

I’d met him when I was introduced to the team, but I’m crap at names. Faces: brilliant, but names: crap. When I had to consult with a patient—and due to cutbacks in my previous hospital, I was dealing with more and more patients every day—I could always tell what they were in for just by looking at them and matching their faces to their conditions.

“Look, I came here to give Sebastian a once-over.”

That had so been the wrong thing to say.

“Sure, we know, but it looks like Sebastian wants to get straight into the action. So, if you move it along. I’ll give you double.”

“I’m not a stripper.”

“You should be,” one of the girls shouted over. “Especially with those breasts. Did you pay for them or are they natural?”

Everyone tilted their heads to the side as I stood by the side of the pool.

“They bounced as she came in here. I say natural.”

The other girl blurted, “Nah, she paid for those. Just like me; was it Doctor Xin who did them?”

I looked down. No one had ever commented on my tits. Sure, I knew that they weren’t small, but what did she mean by “they bounced”? No one had ever asked me if they were natural or not. Of course they were natural.

Then the blue-eyed guy came over and said, “They can’t be; they’re just fucking huge!”

So, I did what any girl would do when she’s been completely insulted: I slapped him. I didn’t care if he was some big-time player or not, he was out of order. I had a feeling that if I hadn’t done that, then the next thing he would have tried do was touch them.

“I came here to tell Sebastian about his doctor’s appointment. We need to schedule it in, before the next season.”

I dug in my pocket and handed the blue-eyed guy a card. I didn’t wait for anyone else to comment. I didn’t wait for Sebastian to figure out how to coordinate his hands and legs to get out of the pool. He had tried twice and failed miserably, laughing both times.

“Shit, that’s right she’s the new doctor,” he said as I started to walk away.

One of the girls said, “See? Her butt bounces the same way. Definitely Doctor Xin.”

I ran to the car, thinking that as soon as I got home. I needed to walk in front of the mirror. How did I walk to make her think that both my prized assets were false? I shook my head at my paranoia, and as I drove out, I saw the real stripper, and I shouted out, “Good luck, you’re gonna need it!”