“You want me to rub you down later?” she asked, dropping her stuff right by Harlow.
Harlow and I glanced at each other in a single split second. Without even thinking twice about it, I answered, “That’s okay, Jenny. Thanks, though.”
“Are you sure?”
Was I sure I didn’t want to get manhandled by Jenny’s freakishly strong hands? Yes. I was no stranger to massages or the soreness that accompanied them afterward, but what Jenny was capable of was beyond that. The CIA could have used her Hercules-like strength to torture answers out of people.
So… yeah.No.
“I’m sure,” I said carefully so that I wouldn’t hurt her feelings. “I’ll be fine once we start warming up.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
“Where is he?” I heard one of the new girls ask as they walked by.
He.
I wasn’t about to look around when I knew damn well who the only missing ‘he’ was. I’d definitely set the alarm clock on the nightstand for seven. It was more than enough time for him to get here.
I glanced at my phone again and checked to see if I had a missed call. Still nothing.
Oh well.
Our workout started a few minutes later, and I had to push Kulti and his absence to the back of my brain. Then Gardner waved me over immediately after we ran sprints.
“Is everything okay?” he asked as we stood off to the side of the field while equipment was being moved around. “I was asleep when you called.”
Ahh shit.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I called you by accident.” Vague, right? That was good enough?
Gardner didn’t think twice about it; he simply shrugged. “I figured as much.”
Before I could ask him what he meant by that, I spotted someone lumbering across the field.
Kulti.
I swallowed, scratched at my eyebrow and then pointed behind me. “I should get back.”
My longtime coach nodded in agreement.
I got the heck out of there.
At least I tried to, but as I walked toward the group of women standing together, I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder.
Those amber-moss eyes that I’d seen from across my bedroom walls for thousands of days in my childhood, were on me. On. Me. Not looking through me, not over me. But directly on me.
Though there wasn’t a slice of an expression on his features, there was no missing the intensity behind his gaze. I’d seen the intent before. Many, many times before when he played.
When he played and he was about three seconds away from losing his shit.
And…poop.
Pushing my shoulders back and taking a deep breath, I looked right back at him with a neutral face.
Had I done anything wrong? No.
I picked up a near complete stranger that was drunk, paid for a hotel room for him to stay at, drove him there, left cab money and a note. What else did he want? I hadn’t told anyone what happened, and I wouldn’t. Not even Jenny.