Page 13 of The Interception (Southern Sports Sweethearts #2)
Chapter Ten
Ender
My alarm went off way too early after a late night, but I managed to get up and out of the house without waking anyone.
Coach is watching me perform figure eights and screaming at me to get the lead out.
I’m moving as fast as I can without turning this eight into a zero and dropping from dizziness.
After this, I’m looking at ladder drills, bag drills, and any other drill he can think up to torture me.
There might even be a ruck run in my future if I don’t shave some time off my eights.
I have a feeling I’m making up for missing the second half of practice the other day when Layne showed up and got run over by a linebacker.
Still, it keeps my mind clear and focused on the game where it should be.
Football pays the bills, and it’s this job that will help me to help my sister.
Winning the cook-off would be great, but not at the expense of my career.
I can’t believe I almost let myself get sucked in to feelings when there are more important things at stake.
“Ten more, Langley,” Coach says.
I internally grumble but put the work in.
The other training coaches are running different drills with the other positions, running them just as hard.
I can’t complain, but I’m exhausted from burning the candle at both ends the past few days.
And that’s just physically. Mentally and emotionally?
The status of those two things should probably be examined by a therapist, but who has time for that when real life keeps coming at you?
I run my drills, try not to complain, and push myself as hard as possible while shaking out memories of my best friend, Asher.
How horribly he died. How hard it hit my sister those first few weeks.
I don’t think about how I didn’t grieve, not really, so my sister had someone to lean on when the state came after everything not tied down.
She lost more than anyone should at once, and I’m a fool if I think toying with the idea of a relationship with any woman, let alone one like Layne, is a good idea.
When practice finishes, I try to ease my muscles with a short sit in the steam room.
Leo and I are the only two who head that way when Coach wraps up, which is a small blessing.
He’ll sit in silence while we relax. A lot of the other single guys would rather take the time talking up their game with the ladies, outlining their latest conquest, and generally making the steam room time a distasteful fifteen minutes of sinful misery.
“You good if I join you?” Leo asks, his black hair dripping with sweat already.
“Sure, but I warn you, I’m not good company. I’m too tired to talk.”
“Sounds good to me.”
True to his word, Leo lets me relax and unwind, but my mind drifts toward a certain woman who, despite my work to remove her from it during practice, has taken up way too much space in my brain lately.
I know she’ll be awake by the time I return home, but I’m nervous to see her again after last night.
Things got intense, and I shared more than I usually do with people.
There was a moment again, one where I thought kissing her would be the right thing to do, but she reminded me she lives in another city.
Another state. I came to my senses and realized adding that kind of drama to my life will not help.
The time in the steam room ends before I’m ready, but I lug my tired rear end out and into the locker room. Almost everyone else is gone, but a few stragglers hang around talking about their plans for the week. I’m too beat to even think about my calendar, so I shower and grab my things.
“You good, man?” Leo asks when we meet again at the door.
“Sure. Just tired. The competition on top of rigorous training has me too tired to think,” I admit.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you can get Coach to chill a little.”
Leo laughs. “Probably not, but call me if you think of something I can actually do. I don’t mind, really.”
“Thanks, man. I’m just gonna go home, work on some recipes, then take a long nap if Lula will let me.”
His head bobs and he adds, “If Sarah Beth and Lula want to get out of the house a little, I can take them to the park or something. You know, give you some time alone and everything.”
I blow out a frustrated breath because, yeah, some time alone would be nice, but then a wave of guilt hits me. “Nah, it’s all right. If they get restless, I’ll see if she’s interested, though.”
Leo nods and heads out, leaving me to my own devices. Driving home distracts me from thinking about Layne long enough that I almost forget she’s still at my house. When I pull up to my drive, there’s an unmistakable sound of children’s music blaring from my home.
“What in the world is happening in there?” I ask aloud, not that anyone could hear me over it if they wanted to.
When I reach my front door, I am immediately assaulted by what I can only describe as a group of feral cats dying a miserable death with an entire theme song playing in the background.
I’m not sure what is going on, but I’m not about to make a noisy entrance and ruin it before I can find out.
I slip the key into the lock and slowly turn it so the click won’t distract them.
Pushing the door open, I brace myself for an actual herd of wild cats.
You never know with my sister, but what I find instead is Layne taking every lemon that life has ever thrown my sister, and making it into lemonade—or limoncello, to be exact.
Sarah Beth is hopping up and down in the middle of the living room with Lula’s sparkly pink microphone in her hand. She belts out the chorus to a ridiculous kid’s song I’ve heard a thousand times already, but not like this. My sister never could sing, but it doesn’t matter. She’s happy.
Lula is dancing around her mother and Layne, wearing a princess dress and carrying her karaoke machine. Her hair is in two high pigtails, and her sweet cheeks are covered with peanut butter and jelly. She drops the machine onto the floor and raises her arms to Layne.
It’s now that I realize Layne has the crappy, cracked unicorn microphone we give Lula when we need a little peace and quiet—mostly because even on high, it’s crackly and quiet—and she’s belting along with my sister.
Layne’s dark hair is wavy today, and she’s wearing jeans and…
a jersey-style tee that is not mine. I don’t know why that piece of information makes my insides rage like a jealous ape, but the way it heats my cheeks says I need to be careful.
Watch myself before I’m totally wrecked by this woman.
I don’t recognize the shirt if it’s borrowed, not that I know everything my sister owns.
Maybe Layne had it in her bag or something.
She did carry a fairly large tote in with her last night.
I manage to take note of the name on the jersey.
Rossi. Her own name on the back of a Savannah Sharks baseball jersey tee.
Whew. Maybe she’s just a big fan of the Sharks. I can handle that.
What am I saying? Of course, I can handle that. It’s not like she’s my girlfriend. Nope. Just my cook-off competition partner. And that is where it ends. Nothing more, nothing less.
Layne hits a high note, turns around in a spin with Lula, and we make eye contact.
Sheer mortification twists her features into something resembling that squishy-faced unicorn on my niece’s microphone.
She squeals and drops the mic, which sends a reverberating screech through the karaoke machine just as the song ends.
She sets Lula down and tries to pick up the mic but manages to kick it across the room instead.
She chases after it, but it evades her at every pass until she’s practically right in front of me, just beside the entryway to the kitchen.
Eventually, she gives up and stands straight up in front of me. Her dark hair flies everywhere, and her cheeks are so red I want to pinch them. The microphone rolls back toward her, so she kicks it aside and offers a fake, wide grin. “Um, hi.”
I raise an eyebrow but never break our eye contact. Sarah Beth and Lula giggle in the background, but my focus is lasered in on Layne, the beautiful ray of sunshine who brightened the day of the two people who mean the most to me in the world. I haven’t heard either of them laugh so hard in months.
I don’t want to break eye contact with her, but more than that, I don’t want to ruin the fun.
I clear my throat, step into the kitchen, grab a whisk from the utensil caddy, kick off my shoes, and slide across the floor in a terrible Risky Business impersonation.
Sarah Beth turns the machine back on and dials it up, while Lula hops around giggling.
It takes all of ten seconds before we’re all having a dance party in the middle of the living room again. Sarah Beth hugs Lula close and lets her sing into the loud microphone. Lula must be feeling better, because she belts out the chorus of the song in her sweet voice.
Layne’s smile is so wide and sincere, it makes mine spread wider.
I reach for her hand and twirl her around in the most dramatic way possible.
The exhaustion that pulled at me before is almost gone now as these ladies rocket me into a second wind with their infectious laughter and ridiculous dance moves.
Eventually, Lula starts coughing again and Sarah Beth stops dancing. “Uh oh, we might have done too much too soon.”
Layne turns the karaoke machine off and bends over with my sister. “I’m sorry, Lula. Are you okay?”
“Yes! Again!” Lula screams.