Page 10

Chapter 10

Logan

I'm in the bullpen with the guys after a gruelling training session. Despite the exhaustion, the energy is great. We've won both of the pre-season games we've played, and practice shows we're being consistent all over. No one says anything so as not to jinx it, but I don't think I'm the only one who feels the hope building in the Thunderdome’s halls.

I sit in one of the couches, drinking from my smoothie. Dom and Bear are in spots nearby, chatting about Coach Clark's new strategies. Their conversation is easy to follow, but I only half-listen. Damián is playing at the pinball machine, with Saint playing Pac-Man next to him. I'm in no rush to set my record to win the bet with Damián. The way points add up on the counter, I'll shock them all with my score soon enough.

The hangout at the bullpen was spontaneous. I have a not-a-date with Evie tonight, but I thought she'd appreciate the effort I'm putting in getting closer to everyone. Not that I'm doing it because she told me to. I'm doing it because I'll do anything for the team and the bond I want with them .

As someone who comes across as grouchy, and with a family that didn't teach me how to get close to people, I've spent a lot of time alone. I'd rather that than being with the wrong people, but I crave an inner circle.

It's only natural that I'm willing to continue with her version of media training for me. It's going to help the team and my own goals to work with her. It has nothing to do with any fun I may have had with her of late. I'm here because it's a chance to test if I'm getting any better at small talk.

I check my phone. It's almost time for our meeting, but I haven't heard from her yet. I sent her an email to let her know where I'd be, just in case, and my number in case she needed to reach out more easily. No notifications light up my phone. I frown.

"I have a question for you," Dom said in my direction. "Does your forehead ever hurt?"

"My forehead?" I ask.

"With all that frowning. Don't those muscles ever cramp?"

Bear snorts at my side, at the same time as Saint celebrates something related to his game. None of us respond to it.

I cast my eyes at Damián again, quiet and focused on his own pinball practice.

"I've been frowning since birth." I sip from my smoothie. "These muscles don't know anything else."

"Since birth?" Saint calls from his machine. "I have to see pictures of it."

"Can you imagine a baby with thick eyebrows frowning the way King does?"

"I was an adorable baby." My tone is deadpan, but the guys are starting to recognize my humor. They laugh.

The bullpen is painted the same combination of blue and shiny white as the rest of the building, with a sitting area, and a snack and drink section by one of the walls. On the table, a muffin carrier Saint brought from home, to share his baked goods with the team. It's half-depleted. Everyone seems to love the sweets he makes and, after trying one, I understand why .

Big windows overlook the field and the parking lot, too. A bulletin board hangs next to the arcade machines and, on the wall above the biggest sofa, a few Strike jerseys from decades past hang in shadow boxes. The bullpen isn't particularly cozy, but it's a decent place, and better than the locker room for casual time as a group like this.

I check my phone again. Still nothing.

"Aaarrgh!" Damián grabs his head in a frustrated gesture.

The counter shows he just lost.

Yeah, I'm going to win that bet.

"Oh well." Damián turns to the group with a placid smile. "It's time for me to go home anyway. I want to make it there before my girlfriend, and I need to pick up my dog on the way."

Still nothing on my phone.

"I'm coming with you." I stand. "I need to find Evie."

"Take a muffin for her," Saint says. "She likes them."

I start to follow Damián out of the bullpen, but stop halfway.

I speak in a teasing tone. "I've heard the stories, Saint. I'm not doing your flirting for you."

It's still deadpan, compared to other people's joking voice, but it seems he gets it. Saint abandons his game to study me, a curious smirk in place.

Apparently, Saint dates a lot, never for long. Everyone knows the current fling is over when he bakes her something before he breaks up with them.

Damián waves at all of us and leaves, but I stay and return Saint's gaze.

The wide receiver crosses his arms. "Muffins are for friends. As are cookies, pastries, and baked bars. Cakes and pies are for break ups. Evie knows that."

He inspects me like what I said is suspicious, but I ignore it. He doesn't seem happy to leave it at that.

"Now," he says, "if you have any issues with me flirting with Evie, or would like to do some flirting of your own…"

"All good," I growl. "I'll take you at your word."

To stress the point, I take a detour on my way out of the room. I grab a muffin in a napkin, and wave goodbye to everyone with the smoothie still in my hand.

Evie's office door is ajar, but I knock anyway. Nothing happens at first. When I listen carefully into the room, I hear her quiet voice. From the sounds of it, she's alone.

I push the door open and peek inside. It's not a big office. The desk area is across from me, framed by a big painting behind the chair. It's flanked by the window looking out to the parking lot, and a small sofa on the other wall. Evie sits on it, leaning forward with an elbow on her knee, and her head heavy on a hand.

She's speaking on the phone, but lifts her face when she hears me.

She looks sad. Exhausted.

I freeze. It strikes me as a rare view of something I'm not supposed to see.

"Listen," she says to the device. "Te llamo después, ?bueno? Okay. Yes. Okay. Chao."

I hesitate for a second, before sitting next to her on the couch.

She hangs up and gazes at the phone. "Sorry, Logan. Didn't realize time went so fast."

"I was wondering why you didn't find me on time to start the interrogation." I purse my lips. "Everything okay?"

"My parents…" she doesn't finish the sentence. She sighs and shakes her head. "Never mind."

I study her. She closes up swiftly. In the second it takes her to firm up and rearrange her beautiful face, I see the mirage of the girl I met years ago. Even back then, she gave me the bare minimum of information, only as much as I needed to make up my mind about being her rebound— or whatever I was to her .

This is who she has become. Someone who closes up. And all I want to do is learn more. Solve the puzzle of everything she hides. I want to understand her and make up my mind about her again.

All the questions she told me not to ask that night— her name, who she is, or to see her again. I get to ask them now.

I give her a smirk and hope it will loosen her tongue. "I thought today's not-a-date was about opening up to more personal stuff."

"For you to open up. Is that one of Saint's muffins?"

I give it to her. "If you open up, it will probably teach me a lesson."

"That's a cheap trick, King." She takes a big bite of the muffin and moans. "Besides, this is fixing my whole life."

I snort. She doesn't react, except to take another bite.

I missed my chance to learn more, but I'll get other opportunities. These not-a-dates can serve more than one function. Not friendship, all things considered, but they can help satiate my curiosity after years of asking questions in my head that I thought would never be answered.

She swallows. "I should look into getting Saint on one of those celebrity bake off shows."

"Should I go get him? He was still here when I left the bullpen, if you want to talk to him instead."

I want her to say no.

She gives me a sideways glance. "Jealous, Your Highness?"

Not that I would ever admit it.

"Please. I'm just hoping to escape this meeting."

"Aw, don't hurt my feelings." She chuckles and reaches for a coffee mug from the side table. "I know you like me."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What makes you say that?"

"We converse. You almost smiled the other day."

"Because of work. Because we have a deal."

"Works all the same. "

"I would have expected you to have higher standards."

"Oh, I do." She smiles. "How's the smoothie today?"

I take a sip. "Good."

"How are things with the team?"

"Good."

"Logan." She gives me a look that makes her thoughts clear. She's asking what a producer or a journalist might ask, and I should play nicer. Say more.

I lean back on the sofa. The office is dark. It's still daylight outside, but the windows point East and no lamps are on in the room.

The team. I'm doing this to get closer to them. Gaining extra points with the owner doesn't hurt, either, since I have no choice.

I sigh. "We're getting to know each other. Our strong and weak points. The quirks. It's working."

"Are you ready for the last preseason game tomorrow?"

"As ready as I can be, but there's a lot of work left to be done. This is only a warm-up for the real challenge."

"The first game of the season will be against the Pirates. What do you think about that?"

She drinks from her cup, eyes clear and sharp on me. The Pirates are my dad's team, and he'll be a commentator that night.

I frown.

"If not me," she says, "someone else is going to ask you."

"Didn't you write in the outlines that they shouldn't ask about my father?"

"I did, but it doesn't mean they won't. Especially tangentially like I just did."

I know she's right. It's one of the reasons I hate the media so much.

I finish my smoothie to gain some time.

Evie leans slightly closer to me. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about your dad? It would cause a buzz and get the fans looking at you."

"I'm sure," I growl.

"Why? "

"What's going on with your parents, Evie?"

She crosses her legs and runs her fingers through her hair. "This isn't about me."

"If you can keep things private, so can I."

"But your dad is a public figure—"

"I am my own person. If you say I need to give football fans something to chew on, let it be about me."

She watches me closely, looking for any weak points in the wall I built around that subject. She won't find any, but I give her a stern look regardless.

She takes a deep breath. "Fine. So what do you think about playing the Pirates for your first game with the Strike?"

"The guys and I have prepared for the season. We've studied the Pirates' plays. We're ready to show the hard work we've put in."

"There you go. What are your goals for the season?"

"Always the big game."

"Ambitious, much?"

"What's the point of playing if it's not to win every time?"

A tiny smile appears on her lips.

She straightens the skirt of her dress, her hand sliding down her thigh a few times. "I know everyone at TD would be satisfied with getting to the playoffs, but that's a better answer."

"Playoffs are the bare minimum, not what I want."

"Tell me what you want."

I lean forward. It's easier to speak my mind now, and it'll help with the next interviews if I imagine it's just a conversation like the one I'm having with Evie. I'm of half a mind to share my every ambition with her, and reveal the goal of rings and brotherhood.

Except she looks at me with a spark in her eyes, and it shifts my attention to a different type of wanting .

She's beautiful. No wonder the whole team has a small crush on her, according to Saint. It's even more understandable that my body responds like this, when I remember what it's like to have her in my bed.

It was… unforgettable. It became the template by which I measured every other passing encounter. How free I felt, and how sure.

No one compared to how we fit that night.

From what I gathered with all of those comments about her immunity to the team, no one else on the team has the privilege I've had. Only I possess the knowledge of Evie when she's in the mood for sex. So who cares if Saint sends her a muffin and she moans to it? She has come with my cock inside her.

I lean closer. Maybe I should ask if she remembers that night. Or drop a few hints that I do, and see how she responds. Perhaps it will shake a few memories into place.

But I take a deep breath, collecting my thoughts, and it hits me that she smells different. It burns in my lungs with the need to get closer, take in her smell again. Lick her— taste her.

My frown deepens. "You changed your perfume."

"I… didn't. I just…"

I take a deep breath again through my nose, and don't bother to hide I'm seeking her scent.

"Lavender," I say. "It's faint, but it's there. I'm pretty sure it was a different fragrance before."

I usually try to ignore the million smells around me, but some deep part of my brain knows this isn't what she's been wearing since our paths crossed again… or whatever she used years ago.

I'm close enough to see a faint blush appear on her light brown skin. Her pupils dilate. She stares at me with a hint of lust and plenty of panic at being caught.

"It's my soap." Her voice is tight. She gulps. "I ran out of perfume a few days ago."

It's a strange thing to say .

I gaze down at her body. She wears a sage pleated dress, and somehow there are no wrinkles on it despite the long day. Her hair is clean and lustrous, shorter than when I first met her and well-styled. She doesn't strike me as someone who forgets this kind of thing.

"I didn't realize the scent was so strong." She seems sheepish.

I could reach for her. Surround her neck with my hand, and caress the spot where her pulse is the strongest. Come in close, put my nose on her skin, and breathe her in.

I don't.

"It's not." I purse my lips. "I have an unusually heightened sense of smell."

She licks her lips. Her eyes drop to my mouth, before she squirms in place and looks away.

Mmh. Interesting.

Her eyebrows wrinkle as she chooses what to say next. "Sense of taste, too? Is that why you twitch when trying new things?"

I welcome the change in subject. I'm not sure why, but I would have regretted revealing what I remember so soon. We're not close enough to change the rules of how we see each other professionally. For the rules would change, if she knew how often I've been thinking about that night.

I lift a shoulder. "I doubt that's something I can share with the fans."

"You could, if you want to give them a few random facts to add depth to your persona."

"Somehow I don't think interviewers will be asking if I have hyperosmia."

She straightens in her seat, a surge of excitement replacing everything else. "We could come up with a way to share it— an article somewhere or even social media. A 'get to know the new quarterback' segment somewhere. A Q and A…"

"Slow down, Evie."

"Never!" She chuckles. "You gave me good player answers to my professional questions. Maybe you just needed a poke there and we should shift to the general persona. "

"General persona…?"

"Social media." She gives me a determined nod. "When was the last time you posted on one of your profiles?"

"I don't have profiles ."

"Just the one then? Not ideal, but I'll work with you. Which one do you prefer?"

"I prefer none."

She gasps. "Logan! Don't tell me you don't have any profiles?"

"What's your wildest guess?"

"Give me your phone." She opens her palm in front of me. "We'll sign you up right away."

"We will do no such thing."

"I'll manage it for you."

My chuckle is dark. "You won't."

"I will. Selena gave me a job—"

"And we're going beyond the requirements—"

She takes away her hand and crosses her arms. "We're not! What did you call it? The bare minimum? We need to give the fans a story—"

"I'm sold on giving proper interviews moving forward, but social media is too far."

"Make your assistant run it for you."

"I don't have an assistant."

She closes her eyes in an exasperated gesture. It almost pulls a smile from me, but I'm too busy dueling her on this matter to let her see that I enjoy it.

She's the one to give me a stern look this time. "Then I have to run it for you. Logan. Social media is a big part of the team's engagement with the fans. Just say yes and I'll figure it out."

"That proposal is too open. Too suspicious. What will you do?"

"I'll figure it out."

"That's what you said when you came up with these dates. "

"Not-a-dates."

"Sure. What I'm hearing is that I should be worried."

"Hey, the not-a-dates were a great idea."

"We'll see about that. I have an interview with the crew tomorrow after the game."

"You'll do great. Look how fluently we conversed today!"

"You could be scary, Miss Moreno."

"Is that a yes?"

All I do is nod.

I don't see her the next day, but I get a text from her that brightens my morning.

Evie: I forgot to say it last night~~ Good game, Logan. I would have wished you good luck, but I know you don't believe in that.

I might not like the reason we're currently working so close together, but I think I'm enjoying the time I have with her nevertheless.