Page 18 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

EIGHTEEN

SUTTON

What a week. Every muscle in my body aches from sitting on hospital furniture.

At least I've been staying with Bodhi at night and sleeping in a bed that feels more like a cloud.

He's been a complete gentleman, a surprising change.

I know I should get my own room, but I like having someone to talk to.

Last night, he asked if I'd give him a second chance. When I told him I needed time, he surprised me—no arguments, no pleading, just a quiet nod. It wasn't how Bodhi would've reacted in the recent past.

Anna's being discharged today, and in true Anna fashion, she's determined to make it to the Armadillos' preseason game.

Her doctor gave her the green light as long as she avoids the crowds.

Her ribs will take a while to heal, and he doesn't want her to be accidentally shoved.

I promised him she'd be well out of the fray in a private owner's box, nowhere near the rowdy football fans.

Francisco pushes Anna in the wheelchair through the private entrance of New York's football stadium. "Do I get to meet Greyson before or after the game?" Anna asks, glancing at me. "He's so hot. Is he still as hot as he was...?" Her voice trails off when I give her the old side-eye.

Francisco just shakes his head with a smile. Of course, he has heard about that night in Denver several times. Bodhi's posture completely changes; his hands ball into fists at his sides, and his jaw clamps down. He doesn't say anything, but I see his anger simmering.

"Let me text him and see if he wants us to come to the field. He wants to meet you, too."

Me: Anna wants to meet you. Is before or after the game better?

It takes a few minutes for him to respond since he's probably changing. I saw the team bus pull up just in front of us, but we had to secure a wheelchair, so we're a half hour behind. I'm unsure of the exact pregame schedule.

Greyson: Come to the field. I'll be there in fifteen.

Me: Thanks.

A security guard for the owners helps us find our way to the field-level entrance for people with passes.

"I can't believe I'm going to meet a professional quarterback. He's number ten, right?"

Anna asks as she points to number ten stretching. She crooks her finger, gesturing for me to come closer, and when I do, she whispers, "He's got a great ass. You should touch it."

I can't help but laugh, but then Greyson spreads his massive thighs, bends over, and touches the ground with his palms. Since he's not wearing pads—only shorts and a compression tank—they show off his masculine physique. I feel a flutter in my stomach. "Follow me."

As we stride out onto the field, the players chant, "Boss.

" Greyson peeks over his shoulder, and a half-cocked smile paints his face.

Matt, the quarterback coach, throws him a ball.

He catches it with his large hands, then turns to me and sees the entourage.

He meets us halfway, where Anna is rolled onto the right hash mark.

Greyson swaggers over, full of confidence, shining with positivity.

"Hey, you must be the one and only Anna I've heard so much about.

" She holds her hand out to shake his. "Any friend of Sutton's is a friend of mine.

I can do better than that." He leans down, kissing her on the cheek. "How are you feeling?"

I poke her gently on the arm as a pink blush tints her cheeks. "I'm much better. I just need to find a place to stay."

"Come to Austin. I have plenty of room. Six bedrooms and just little old me. I have a ramp entry in the basement and a bedroom downstairs. You're welcome anytime," he says with the sincerity of a Baptist preacher welcoming you to church. He looks at Bodhi. "Bodhi."

Bodhi is all he says, and Bodhi returns the one-word greeting.

There's an internal war raging between these two.

I should have told Greyson I was completely over Bodhi so this wouldn't be awkward, but I'm not a psychic.

I had no clue that Anna would get into a car accident and that Bodhi and Greyson would meet again.

"And who is this?" Greyson extends his hand to Francisco.

"Francisco. It's a pleasure to meet you," Francisco says, shaking his hand .

"I know Europeans prefer soccer, but do you like American football?" Greyson asks Francisco.

"I love it... it's nasty. Are the Armadillos playing in London this year?"

"Not this year," I chime in.

Greyson puckers his lips and lets out a sharp whistle. One of the team managers runs like a gazelle to him, her brown ponytail swaying with grace. She's obviously starstruck, vibrating with excitement, but not at Greyson. Her focus is all on Bodhi.

"Ms. Anders, oh my God, I can't believe I'm talking to professional tennis players. I grew up playing." She gives Bodhi cartoon-like heart eyes and continues. "I had your poster above my bed for years," she gushes.

Swallowing a laugh, I sneak a glance at Greyson, who shoots me a quick, exasperated eye roll. Bodhi, on the other hand, beams while soaking up the attention from a pretty girl. "Is that right? Why above your bed?" he asks.

I feel bad for the manager because she turns ten shades of red, and I'm surprised she doesn't melt at his feet like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.

The silence and the looks between us become awkward, so Greyson interrupts the swooning, refocusing her attention on the business at hand. "Willa, do you have a Sharpie?"

"Oh, umm, yeah." She snaps out of the Bodhi Daze she's in—Anna's name for the hypnotic state girls get trapped in when a girl meets Bodhi. She fumbles in her fanny pack and finally hands Greyson a marker.

Greyson signs the football that has been casually tucked under his bulging bicep, scratching his name with the number 10 beside it. He passes it to Francisco, cool as a cucumber .

"This is amazing, man. Thanks. I may have to move to America." Francisco's voice is pure excitement.

"Well, I've got to get back to it. Need to win this to prove Sutton is the best general manager in all of football. She knows how to make moves."

Now it's me who gets a little pink. Anyone listening could take it to mean we've been together. And it's not lost on me that this is exactly his intention, planting a seed for Bodhi.

Not wanting to set Bodhi off, I clarify, "All I did was trade for Cozen to protect your blind side."

"You want to keep me safe," Greyson says as he jogs off toward the forty-yard line. "Enjoy the game. This one's for you, Sutton."

Greyson's words hang in the air like a Hail Mary pass downfield, and I can feel Bodhi's gaze on me, trying to do the math, wondering if I've been with Greyson. Warmth blooms on my cheeks at the way Greyson says it, half teasing, half possessive.

Bodhi straightens and draws his shoulders tighter.

He clamps his jaw shut and shifts it to the side, the way he does whenever he feels challenged, on or off the court.

Suddenly, every nerve tingles, with Bodhi next to me and Greyson strutting toward his teammates.

An uncomfortable buzz zips through me at the thought of being caught in the middle of two men who both want something from me.

Bodhi reaches for my arm, and a ghost pain shoots through me as I remember what he's capable of. Knowing him like the back of my hand, I can tell he's fuming at Greyson's innuendo.

Greyson is the first man since Bodhi to set me on fire in the best of ways. Even though we've only kissed, he kissed me like I was his last breath—at least, that's how it felt to me. The problem is I'm technically his boss.

"Okay, let's get up to the suite," I say to Anna, Francisco, and Bodhi. He tries to slip his hand into mine, but I grab the wheelchair and start pushing.

The buffet in the owner's suite is loaded with expensive food, most of which I don't like, but I take notes so I can ask our food service division what we offer.

Anna and Francisco are so loving toward each other, making me long for that type of relationship.

He always has his hand on her back, or he's stroking her leg.

I guess Bodhi picks up on it and does the same thing to me.

I let his hand rest on my leg for a moment but then get up, making an excuse that I need to return some calls that I've ignored long enough.

I can't get out of the room fast enough.

I meet up with the owners of the New York franchise, and they let me use one of their offices.

I turn my laptop on for only the second time since I've been gone, and thousands of messages litter my inbox, most of which Marlon has taken care of.

He told me if it's marked as read, he has taken care of it.

My goal is to get through at least half of them. There's an email from Frank Cozen.

Ms. Anders,

I wasn't an English major, so forgive my grammar, but I wanted to thank you for believing that I should be the one to protect our quarterback. I promise I'll do my best to keep him upright.

He's the best man I know, not just as a quarterback. And he's worth every penny you're paying me to protect his blind side .

Hopefully, I'll be an Armadillo for the rest of my career.

Thanks for the opportunity,

Frank Cozen

Hitting reply, I type out:

Frank,

Call me Sutton. I have faith in you and your skills. I know you're the one for the job.

He needs more than a left tackle; he needs a friend from his old team.

I can't wait to meet your family.

Sincerely,

Sutton Anders

For me, Frank's email confirms that I made the right decision. Now let's just hope I'm proven correct on the field.

The rest of the emails are finance-related—approving expenditures—and I find out from Human Resources that my stepbrother has accepted the position and is starting on Monday.

Marlon assures me that when Heath finishes watching all the HR videos, he'll show him around and do his orientation since I plan on staying in New York until Anna figures out whether she's going back to Europe or staying here for a while.

It takes about an hour alone, but I get through most of my unread emails. I still have a few presentations to watch on marketing campaigns and merchandise ideas for games, but that can wait. I rejoin my friends, and the game is about to start .

I'm on pins and needles, hoping Frank comes through and keeps Greyson from hitting the turf.

I close my laptop and walk back to the suite. Above the field, the lights burn bright and merciless, but for the first time all week, I let myself believe I just might belong here.

But as Bodhi talks to me, Greyson's athleticism catches my eye, and I'm left torn—do I give Bodhi another chance, or do I light a spark between Greyson and me?

All I can do is pray that my choice doesn't blow up in my face.