Page 28 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

TWENTY-EIGHT

ROB

“Fuck!”

I scooped a collapsed vase off the wheel and chucked it across the room, the clay not even worth the effort to dry out and smash later.

“Fuck,” I swore again, softer this time as I remembered smashing cups and vases and plates with Astrid out back and how that led me here. Alone, stressed out, and in the studio, again.

I wiped the clay off my hands onto my pants, and I pulled my phone from my pocket. Nothing. What the hell did I expect? A text from Astrid? What the hell would she even text me about? She didn’t owe me anything. Not whether she made it home safe. Not whether Fieste walked her inside. Not if…

That line of thinking turned my stomach, and I stalked across the studio, hefting a thirty-pound bag of brown clay onto the wedging table.

Finicky delicate pieces were clearly outside my capability tonight.

Instead, I’d throw a dozen chunky cups. The type perfect for smashing on the ground in frustration later.

My grand plan of introducing Fieste to Astrid had worked. I should be elated. Astrid met someone her own age without my baggage, and Fieste…well, Fieste took her off my hands. He’d buffer Astrid from me. He’d save me from myself.

“Everything okay in here?” Mom opened the door to the studio but stood at the entrance. “Everyone decent?”

“It’s just me.” I pressed the giant ball of clay into the table, rotating it slightly and repeating the motion.

“Oh.” Mom frowned, craning her head inside as if Astrid might be hidden around a corner. “Really?”

“Really. Astrid met my teammate at the party. He took her home.”

Her frown deepened, carving deep furrows into her forehead. “Wait, what? Which teammate?”

I picked up the clay, walking across the studio and slamming it onto the wheel with a satisfying thud. “Ethan Fieste. A walk on. You haven’t met him yet.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “The one who tackled you offsides?”

I huffed a laugh. “That’s the one. It’s fine. He took a bunch of linemen to dinner. We racked up an outrageous bill, and it’s water under the bridge.”

“Does Coach Simmons know you did that?” Mom asked, her frown refusing to melt.

“We weren’t on the clock. And I’m not stopping dumb rookies from covering dinners. Not my fault. He didn’t know how much we drink.”

“And so, Gracie and this man and just…what? Hit it off?”

I pressed the lever to get the clay spinning, planting my elbow in my hip and leaning over the wheel. “Apparently. What’d you do today?”

“And you just let her leave with this man?” Mom planted herself in front of the wheel, hands on hips.

I slowed the clay to a stop. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Force her into my car? Throw her over my shoulder and march her out of there?”

“You weren’t supposed to let her flirt with someone else.”

“Let her?” I raised an eyebrow. “She’s not my girlfriend, mom. She’s my daughter’s teacher.”

“So, you’re telling me that when you two stumbled out of the kiln yard with your hair all messy and your clothes disheveled, you were just discussing Mila’s education?”

A hot burning sensation raced up my chest and settled in my face. “No. Wait. That’s not how it happened?—”

She held up a hand, stopping me from digging myself deeper into the lie. “Gracie isn’t flighty. She doesn’t seem like the type to date multiple people, either.”

“Good thing we’re not dating, then.” I raked a hand through my hair, flakes of clay drifting in front of my face. Fuck it. I’d need a shower tonight. And I was already up too late for practice in the morning.

Her eyes narrowed on mine. “And you’re completely fine with this?”

I shrugged, starting the wheel again. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And you’re up at…” She checked her watch. “Eleven throwing mugs because you had a sudden yen to create?”

“It runs in the family.” I drove my palm into the clay, approximately centering it before moving my hand to the side of the pile.

She sighed, loud enough to hear over the whir of the wheel and the wet slapping of clay. “Okay. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” I lied.

“It’s working,” Trent’s sing-song voice lilted in my ear, the cadence akin to a Disney princess.

“Don’t fucking do that,” I warned, batting him away. “And what are you talking about?”

“The teamwork. The camaraderie.” He splayed out his hands and widened his eyes. “It’s all coming together!”

“Those are some big words from a guy who spent more time at parties and on the football field than in class.”

“I graduated with honors, thank you very much.” He preened with enough confidence that I almost believed him. “But seriously, man, it’s clicking again.”

Despite the obnoxious way he announced it, he had a point.

For the first time this season, I actually looked forward to a game.

Whatever awkwardness that led to our pre-season losses seemed to melt away.

We had tempo, fire, and, I hated to admit it, camaraderie.

The barbecue had helped, but planning a few group activities seemed to move the team in the right direction.

Or conversations revolved around what we’d do together rather than our differences on the field.

“A broken clock and all that,” I grumbled.

I pulled my phone out of my locker and checked my messages. A text from Mom, a spam call, nothing from Astrid. I jammed it into my pocket.

“We’re going out for lunch. You coming?” Trent asked.

I shook my head. “No way in hell. I don’t want to hang out with you, and besides, I have to help someone with a door frame.”

Even if Astrid hadn’t called, I wasn’t about to abandon the house project.

“At Gracie’s?” Fieste called out across the locker room.

I tensed at her name on his lips. “Yeah.”

“I’ll tag along. From what she told me last night, it sounds like a big project.” He shot me a tilted, inviting grin. Like we were buddies. Friends.

At least he didn’t know what the house looked like, only heard. I clung onto that piece of information. Besides, I wanted this. I wanted him and Astrid to spend more time together. I didn’t want her to be my problem anymore. So, why did I hate it so much?

“Great,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Want to ride together?” he asked.

My stomach pitted. I exhaled, slowing my breathing and pushing the thought away. “Nah. Just follow me. I live nearby. I don’t want to leave my car at the stadium.”

Fieste nodded, his smile unfaltering. “Can do, captain. I’ll shoot Gracie a text letting her know we’ll swing by.”

“Astrid,” I corrected him under my breath, teeth gritted as I immediately regretted it. If hearing him say Gracie felt like shit, hearing Astrid might kill me.

I dressed in a hurry, forcing Fieste to abandon a shower to follow me. My meager attempts to lose him in traffic didn’t work, either.

When we pulled up in front of her house, Astrid was on the front porch.

She picked up a stack of three boxes, using her hip to hold open the screen door and awkwardly maneuvering outside.

Before I could open my car door, Fieste leapt to her rescue, taking the boxes in one hand and holding the screen for her in the other.

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling shyly up at him. Great. Wonderful. My plan worked.

“These are some nice steps,” Fieste marveled as I exited my truck.

“Rob fixed those!” Astrid beamed at me as she followed Fieste toward the curb with her boxes.

“Solid work, man.” Fieste set down the boxes and returned to the steps. “Maybe you don’t need a third pair of hands after all.”

“We don’t,” I said as Astrid countered with, “Of course we do!”

She shot me an indulgent grin, and her palm glanced off my arm as she sidled up beside me, her bare arm brushing mine and sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m glad you had some free time to come by today.”

“You didn’t want me here last night.” I hated the petulant whining in my voice, the desperation.

She tilted her head, eyes piercing me and filling me with guilt. Like she knew. The expression fell away just as fast. “I couldn’t find a key last night. Sorry about that.”

“Can I get the grand tour?” Fieste bounded onto the front porch, his head on a swivel. He nodded toward the corner of the porch. “You’ve got a wasp’s nest up there, you know.”

“Good eyes,” I said, grinning at Astrid. Having Fieste around might not be all bad. “Maybe you should take care of that first.”

“Yeah, no problem.” His voice faltered as he edged away from the nest.

“I think there’s some bug spray in the shed out back. We can check after the tour,” Astrid said.

Maybe the asshole would get stung.

They retreated into the house, and my stomach churned at every soft laugh, my ears perked to overhear their conversation. When they wandered upstairs, I headed for the kitchen in search of my toolbox, pulling out the pry bar, mallet, and a tape measure.

I pushed away the heavy oak buffet that blocked the back entrance. The imprints from the legs left clear patches of pale yellow linoleum, and dust coated the door where it’d been blocked. Wiping away the dust, I shook the doorknob, surprised when it gave way and the door swung open immediately.

“For fuck’s sake,” I swore.

“What’d I do?” Astrid’s soft voice surprised me.

I jolted. “Did you know this door wasn’t even locked? All someone had to do was push this thing out of their way to get inside your house.”

I kicked the buffet for good measure.

She frowned. “Looks pretty heavy to me. I think I was fine.”

“Don’t joke, Astrid. It’s unsafe. Something could have happened.”

“Nothing did.”

I pursed my lips. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” she echoed, her doe eyes growing wide.

“Fieste.”

“Ethan,” she said, not bothering to answer me. “He’s in the shed, checking for bug spray. Do you need him?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

She walked closer, dragging her fingertips along the buffet. “What can I do today?”

“Stay out of my way,” I said, sucking in the scent of baby powder and flowers that clung to her.

“So, help Ethan?”

“No.” My grip on the pry bar tightened. “Go out for coffee or something.”

She laughed lightly. “While you’re both working on the house? No. I’m sure Ethan could use a hand, if you can’t.”

Her voice lowered into an almost provocative taunt. I raised an eyebrow. Was this woman fucking with me?

“What does that mean, exactly?”

She shrugged. “It means if you don’t want me, I’m sure Ethan does.”

My pulse quickened, and I took a step closer to her. Her hair brushed against my shirt, and I covered her fingers with mine. “It’s not that I don’t want you, Astrid.”

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Before I could talk some fucking sense into myself. She baited me, and I took that bait, hook, line, and sinker.

“You aren’t acting like you want me.” Her eyelashes fluttered as her chin dipped down, making it impossible to read her face. Her voice wavered, tentative and unsure.

I gripped her hand. My thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. “It’s not that easy.”

The back door opened, ricocheting off my back heel and closing again. Astrid pulled her hand away, taking a step away from me.

“Oh, shit. Did I hit someone?” Fieste asked from behind the closed door. “Is it safe to open?”

“Rob was in the way,” Astrid said with a forced laugh. “It’s clear now. Come on in.”