Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be on a team. The closest I ever got to being a part of one was when Gianna played volleyball in middle school, and I went to all of her games. My dad couldn’t afford it, choosing to spend his money on vodka and lottery tickets, so I pretended I wasn’t a sports girl. In reality, it’s all I ever really wanted to be.
What I was after probably wasn’t a team, but a sense of belonging. I’d come home from school and turn on the television, losing myself in sitcoms. The laughter gave our home a sense of levity, and when I sat down with their fictional families for dinner, my canned ravioli tasted a little better. I chased that feeling for a long time—until I was old enough to realize it didn’t exist in the real world. It’s called fiction for a reason.
“To the left is the wellness center,” I say, pointing at a sign. “You’ll get Wednesday’s scheduled massage in there.”
He arches a brow. Tell me you at least scanned my email.
“The cold plunges, hot tubs, saunas—all that stuff is a part of the center. You can access that anytime.” I lead him farther down the hallway. “The strength and conditioning rooms are to your right. We’ll tackle that in a minute. But this door is the locker room.” We stop in front of the bold purple door. “Go in first and make sure it’s empty.”
He smirks, licking his lips. “Scared of what you might see?”
“It’s called being respectful, asshole. I know that’s a novel idea in your world.”
“You are just a ray of fucking sunshine. Do you know that?” He pokes his head into the room. “All clear. Not a dick in sight.”
“Maybe from your vantage point.”
He gives me a mocking, smug grin. “Aw, are you working on getting a sense of humor?”
“Shut up and move.”
I step in behind him, rechecking the time. I have to be on the other side of town in two hours and can’t get off track because Gray was late—and there’s still so much to cover. I need to hand him off to someone else as soon as possible.
“From here, you can access the wellness center, weight room, and the pitch,” I say, pointing at different doors. “The showers are through that archway, and I’m sure you can figure out which locker is yours.”
He moves across the room to a gold locker denoted with his name and number on a shiny metal plate above it. I’m not sure whether he’s in awe of the locker room or nervous about being in it, but I can’t help but notice his stiffened shoulders and tense back. He switches his bag from one hand to the other as he pulls the door open.
“I laminated and taped your practice and game schedule to the inside wall,” I say. “I also included a list of coaches and weekly meeting times. Those could change, of course. You’ll obviously attend the group meetings for backs, but I added the group times for forward, too.” Which I thought was an added touch.
He sets his bag down and surveys the contents that I carefully curated over the weekend. Balls, resistance bands, and a first-aid kit. Deodorant. Backup mouthpiece, just in case. His training jersey and shorts hang from a hook with a towel folded neatly below it.
“When did you do this?” he asks without turning around.
There’s an edge to his voice that puts me on edge.
“Before you got here,” I say, stopping myself from pointing out that I was rushing around this morning even though he wasn’t.
Gray turns slowly to me.
Uneasiness blooms in my stomach as his eyes find mine. My spine stiffens as I brace myself in anticipation of his reaction. I don’t know how in the world he could get mad about this, but something tells me that’s the case.
“The correct response would be thank you,” I say.
“I told you to back off.”
“This is my job.” My hands go to my hips in defiance. “What part of that is difficult for you to understand? What’s not registering? I mean, God knows I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart.”
“That would be hard to do, considering I don’t think you have one.”
My jaw falls open before I can lock it in place. What a bastard.
I force a swallow as his words seep into my psyche. Nothing he’s said to me so far has bothered me. I slept like a baby all weekend. But this quip hits differently.
I tell myself it’s because he’s so ungrateful for the opportunity being given to him. I’m just shocked that someone can have everything laid out for them like this and still be unappreciative. The idea that this spoiled asshole could have the power to hurt my feelings is implausible.