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Pink Pony Club — Chappell Roan

Addie

“N ora, we have to go!”

Bags? Check.

Coffee? Check.

Daughter? On my last nerve.

The sound of small feet pitter-pattering through the apartment muffles my groan, and I adjust the bags weighing on my shoulder. A dart of pink sparkles appears from the living room. Nora’s dark curls bounce as she skids to a stop, her favorite sticker book in her grip.

“Ready,” she says, clips bobbing in her hair.

She wins today.

Nora can wear her princess costume and tiara, and plastic glitter heels today, but tomorrow, I’m hiding the outfit. It’s the third time she’s worn it this week, and she refuses to let me wash it. There’s a pasta sauce streak down the center that has crusted over.

I’m going to wash it, then hide it on the top shelf of my closet until she forgets she owns it.

“Do I look pretty?”

She twirls, pink tulle whirling, and nearly knocks her smoothie out of my hand. I fumble to keep it balanced in my grip with our bags.

“You look gorgeous, but we need to go or I’ll be late for work.”

Nora quickly kisses each of her stuffed animals goodbye, and I rush her into the car. There’s no one more in this world I love than my daughter, but she’s testing my patience this morning. She hops into the booster seat, feet kicking as I buckle her in.

There’s approximately thirty seconds of blissful silence before Nora starts her onslaught of questions.

“Can we check the mail today? When will my tooth fall out? Can I get another sticker book?”

I volley her questions with answers—or deflections when she asks for Pizza Rolls for dinner—the entire drive to summer camp.

“Your package should be here at the end of the week.”

If I had known ordering her bulk stickers would have led to her checking the mail every day, I would never have told her how the post system works. I told myself I would always answer Nora’s questions, even if it was an uncomfortable or difficult topic, because knowledge is power and I never want Nora stuck in a position where she doesn’t understand and it hurts her.

The choice has led to many weird conversations in public when she’s curious. Imagine explaining to a five-year-old about viagra because a couple decided to have an epic fight in the cracker aisle of the grocery store.

“What country is it coming from?”

Uh…the Amazon warehouse?

“I don’t know,” I dodge, “We’ll have to wait until it arrives to find out.”

She groans, unhappy with my lack of knowledge, but quickly changes her tune when Pink Pony Club shuffles on. “Up. Up. Up!” she demands, not satisfied until the speakers are ready to burst.

We pull up to GameChangers, a sports and childcare program, right as the song ends, and it’s like the universe is saying Today is your day. Go get ‘em, girl, because now we don’t have to awkwardly linger in the drop-off line until the song ends.

Sawyer, Henry’s wife and an employee at the non-profit, appears at the driver’s side window, waving and smiling brightly.

“Hi, Addie. Hi, Nora,” Sawyer says, helping me with Nora’s things as I unstrap her from the booster seat, evading being stickered as best as possible.

She’s a pro, and I’ve shown up to work covered in glitter stickers more than once. My cheeks heat when the memory of the last time pops into my mind.

I haven’t seen Declan since the end of camp last week, but I’ve thought about him every day—an unhealthy amount.

He was professional at training camp, but his energy—the lightness in his smile and posture—returned after I gave him the care package. A small voice in the back of my mind likes to tell me I’m the reason, but she’s insane, which is why she’s been banished to the delusional land. It’s like Disney World, but instead of ‘It’s a Small World’ and ‘Jungle Cruise’, you have ‘It’s a Delusional World’ and ‘Crazy Cruise’.

“We have new paints in the craft room,” Sawyer says to Nora, who releases an excited squeal, hugs my leg, then darts into the building with the other children.

I turn back to my car, but Sawyer steps into my path. Nathalie, Deon’s fiancée, magically appears at her side. They’re both smiling at me like they’ve struck gold.

Outside of casual greetings in the family room after games and dropping Nora off for camp, we’ve never interacted, which is why this is incredibly weird.

Why aren’t they saying anything?

They’re like the dolls from that horror movie. Staring and smiling.

“Did I forget to pay Nora’s fees, or do I need to sign something?” I ask, bouncing on my feet.

Henry and Deon are wonderful people, but I’m beginning to think their partners are…odd.

“Thank you,” Sawyer says, throwing her arms out and pulling me into a tight hug. “We owe you.”

Nathalie joins in on the embrace, holding Sawyer and me. “For what?”

“The care package,” Nathalie mumbles, voice thick. “We were bad friends.” They release me, and Nathalie’s eyes are misty. “I should have thought of him, and I didn’t. But you did.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, brushing off their kind words

I don’t know why I say it, or why it leaves a foul taste in my mouth to diminish it, but it seems like it’s what I should say instead of well, I can’t stop thinking of him, or the way his eyes lit up when he realized I thought of him.

“It was to him,” Sawyer says with conviction, “It meant the world to him.”

I pull my lips between my teeth to hide how deeply her confession impacts me. This is not good. I can’t form a crush on a player I work with.

“I’m glad,” I say, though I know my cheeks are on fire.

I’ve never been able to hide a blush, and right now, it could be seen from the space station. Nathalie and Sawyer exchange a look.

Nope. Did not like that.

“Well, we just wanted to say thank you,” Sawyer says, moving to clear a path to my car.

“Have a fun time at work today,” Nathalie cheers, but her tone sends a shiver of fear down my spine.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

I slip into the car before they can freak me out anymore, and they both wave in unison as I drive away. They’re definitely possessed.

After my interesting run-in at drop-off, the morning work is mindless, cutting fruit and vegetables for the to-go fridge for players, then cleaning and prepping for pre- and post-workout smoothies for the week.

Ben works on plans and logistics for the first game of the season, darting in and out of the kitchen to ask questions and double-check his math.

As bosses go, Ben is as good as they come. He loves his job and football, but above all, he’s understanding about Nora and the challenges of away games as a single mom.

He’s handled traveling without me for every away game since I arrived in Seattle last year. In return, I handle all of the invoices and paperwork he loathes. It’s a harmonious balance, and the only reason I could make the move. I didn’t have much of a village in Nebraska, but I’m on my own here, and it’s not possible to leave Nora alone overnight.

“Addie, have you seen my—” Ben darts around the cafe-like space, a man on a mission.

“Your coffee is on the shelf above the carrots in the walk-in cooler. Put it in there to keep it cold.”

He gives me a quick side hug. “You’re a lifesaver.”

There are times when Ben feels more like my father than my boss, which is surprising since he’s only in his early thirties. Nora calls him “Benny Boo” and he continues to buy her stickers even when I show up covered in them. “How’s my girl doing?” he asks.

Ben is not referring to me.

“We’re on day three of the pink princess dress,” I grumble. “But she’s reading some of her children’s books on her own now, and she’s very excited about the postal system.”

He laughs, having heard about the dress before. It’s a never-ending war.

The loud, boisterous chatter is a tell-tale that practice has ended, and I have ten minutes while they shower before chaos ensues. Ben waves goodbye as he hides in the kitchen, leaving me and the interns to the wolves.

I spin to the new interns, Nina and Louis, who are still bright-eyed and excited about their first day. They’ve seen nothing but paperwork. Now, they’re going to be greeted with dozens of hungry players, some of whom have not learned manners.

“Man your stations!” I yell, fist raised. They both give me a look of confusion. “Start making smoothies,” I sigh.

Players begin to file in, a small trickle before the rest flood in at once, raiding the fridge and grabbing smoothies from trays. While the interns work on the basic smoothies, I make ones for players with dietary restrictions or allergies. Tommy, the back-up quarterback, is highly allergic to strawberries, and I don’t trust anyone else not to give him anaphylactic shock.

It’s pure chaos, but I can’t help but notice a few people are missing. One person in particular. I know he’s in the building. I caught a glimpse of him this morning before he slid his helmet on, and Nina rudely interrupted my ogling by asking where the bathroom is located.

Even when players begin to filter out and the interns leave with Ben for a tour of the practice field, he still doesn’t enter the kitchen space. Nor do his friends.

Maybe they got lunch?

I allow the thought to help balm the disappointment. The final player leaves, and I work to clean up, wiping down the benchtop and drying the blenders. There’s a blissful silence for five minutes before someone clears their throat.

“Hi, Addie.”

I drop the towel and turn so quickly that my head spins.

Declan.

He holds a small bouquet of daisies in his grip, and his hair is wet from the shower, strands falling over his eyes.

“Hi!” My voice cracks, and nerves flutter in my stomach. Why is he holding flowers? “How’ve you been?”

I’m nailing this interaction. Eyes haven’t strayed to his biceps once, and I asked a civil question.

“Uh, good.”

His eyes flicker around the room, focused on anything but me. He shifts from one foot to the other, and the awkwardness is dialed to ten.

“Declan,” I say, hoping to draw his attention. Instead, he looks down at the daisies and blushes . The outgoing, playboy tight-end blushes. “Why won’t you look at me?”

My gut roils asking the question.

“I can’t,” he admits sheepishly.

“What do you mean? Stop looking around the room and look at me instead.”

“Can’t.” He shakes his head for emphasis. “Can’t look at you and focus on my question at the same time.”

A snicker comes from the door, followed by a deep groan, and my eyes dart to find Henry, Jack, and Deon blocking the doorway.

What the fuck is going on?

Henry smiles, Jack offers a thumbs up, and Deon…winks?

I ignore them and focus on Declan, who still refuses to meet my gaze.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, closing the space between us. Declan sputters, which is followed by another snicker. Something about the sound grates on my nerves, so I stomp over to the door where his teammates are standing and slam it in their faces.

When I turn around, Declan is staring at me with stunned eyes. But he is looking at me .

“I-I don’t want to be weird—”

“You’re not off to a great start.”

That earns me a genuine smile, and some of his nerves dissipate.

“I’m nervous,” he admits.

“Why?”

A dozen daisies are shoved in my face, and the soft, floral scent permeates the air.

“These are for you.” My heart squeezes, and I take the stunning bouquet of my favorite flowers. Did he know, or was it a lucky guess?. “I like you.”

He likes me? Likes me?

“Oh?”

I try to contain the beating in my chest, but it pounds in my ears.

“Will you go on a date with me? I checked with HR, and it’s not against our contracts, but if you’re not interested or uncomfortable—”

“Yes.”

He jerks back. “Yes?”

Is it potentially a horrible idea to date a player? Yes. Have I been burned by men in the past? Definitely, but there’s something about him . The way he wears his heart on his sleeve, and though he’s perceived as a playboy, he’s a stuttering mess trying to ask me out on a date.

I’ve seen the cocky, confident man, but this version of him—wholesome and shy—is a version I like much more.

The fact that he’s consumed my thoughts since our picnic helps the decision.

“Does Friday work?”

It gives me sufficient time to ask Meagan to watch Nora and then freak the fuck out. The decision is settling, and I don’t regret it, but fuck, now I’m nervous.

“Yes. Friday. I’ll pick you up.” Declan begins to backpedal before he pauses, jerks forward, and places a soft kiss on my cheek. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he says quietly against my jaw.

Goosebumps pepper my skin as he steps away and opens the door I slammed shut.

A few seconds later, I hear a chorus of cheers and “I told you’s,” and a kernel of warmth lodges deep in my diaphragm as I hold the flowers.

So much for swearing off dating.