Maybe that makes me the pot and the kettle, but no matter how much I want to be with Knox—not matter how much I want more—I can’t. I’m out of my element in a new city, with a new parent, and a new job. Just being with him, even in this small way, puts everything I’ve worked for in jeopardy. It’s terrifying, and though fear hovers at the edge of my consciousness, I still choose to be with him. I still choose Knox.
I tap out my reply. If he’s up to the challenge, so am I.
Me: My place, 9?
I shove my phone into my pocket, gather my supplies, and head for the locker room.
The team and I are falling into a routine. Each morning before practice, we do group sessions, and then after practice, I focus on individual sessions. Most of the guys have come in with an open mind, and I’m optimistic that we’re making progress.
I want them to win games, but more than anything, I’d like them to start letting their guards down, with me and with each other.
That’s the key.
These guys have been on teams all their lives. They know how to work together and how to deal with player and position adjustments. Yes, it rubs sometimes, but it usually works itself out.
For whatever reason, this team is the exception.
Thankfully, when I arrive in the locker room, everyone seems to be in good spirits, including the coaching staff.
“Hey, y’all.” My greeting gets a handful of replies, and before he can duck out, I pull my father aside. “Do you mind sticking around this morning? If you’re up for it, I’d like you to join us for this activity. I think it would be good for the team.”
His eyes widen just the tiniest bit, but he nods. “Sure. I’m here for whatever you need.”
“Perfect.” I hand him my cup of pens. “Can you pass these around while I explain today’s activity?”
“Alright, guys. Listen up!” I do a quick scan of the room as the noise level trails off. “It’s Friday, so we’re going to keep it light today.”
There’s a murmur of assent and a few cheers as McGinnis calls out, “Maybe you could convince Coach to do the same!”
My father snorts and hands him a pen. “In your dreams, kid.”
McGinnis shrugs, his trademark smirk fixed in place. “You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“Shit, Ginny. That explains so much,” Graves says, giving the rookie a light shove.
Forey snickers. “Yeah, like the fact that he’d rather get boarded than pass.”
McGinnis gives them a double-fisted middle finger.
“Settle down,” Coach says, shooting them a warning look. “This isn’t the time for your romper-room nonsense. Show a little respect.”
Chastised, the guys fall silent, their heads ducking and shoulders curling in.
It’s not a great way to start a team building exercise. I want to point it out, but I doubt Coach would appreciate the feedback.
His heart is in the right place.
He’s trying to help—just like he thought he was doing the right thing when he grilled Arlo at dinner—but it’s had the opposite effect. The guys are more likely to shut down than open up.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Coach?” I gently take the pen cup from his hands. “Then we can get started.”
His brow furrows, but I pretend not to notice and turn back to the group, doing my best to radiate positive energy.
“I’m going to give each of you a sheet of paper and I want you to write three facts about yourself on it. They can be anything from your favorite hobby to your favorite book.” A few of the guys trade devious looks, and I add, “These will be read aloud, so don’t write anything you’d be uncomfortable sharing.”
I quickly pass out the paper and guys start jotting down their facts.
When I get to Knox, our hands brush and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. Warmth floods my body, and oh, god, caneveryone tell we had sex last night? I feel like it must be written all over my face.