Page 35 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

“ E lle Belle, are you ready?” Rosalie bounces on her toes, looking ridiculously cute in her Atlanta Granite shirt and shorts. Tiny teal and black stars dot her cheeks, and she’s clutching Cleocatra to her chest.

“Almost. Is Cleo breathing?” I joke as I check my outfit in the mirror, a little nervous about my choice.

“Cleocatra loves being held,” she insists, practically turning her body sideways to look at the cat. “See? She’s smiling.”

To be honest, I think my cat has simply resigned herself to the force of nature that is Rosalie. “She’d probably like to be put down,” I say gently. “Why don’t you give her some treats since we’ll be gone for a while?”

Rosie cheers and whirls away, Cleo’s tail swishing behind her back as they go.

I chuckle and attempt to wrangle the rogue curls into submission, but give up. There’s only so much that can be done, and I don’t want to be late for the exhibition game.

The stadium is filled with people by the time we get there, a sea of dark teal and black for the Granite outpacing the red and white for the opposing team. Rosie is almost beside herself, chattering and pointing out the various pieces of merchandise she wants.

“I’ll ask Miss Kari,” she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I bet she can get it for me.”

“I bet she can,” I agree, guiding us up to the VIP section where the team’s friends and family are. Lucky for us, the suites have both an enclosed section and outside seating, because late August in Atlanta is not for the faint of heart.

Inside the suite, Rosie makes a dash for the fridge to get the juice she’s only allowed on game days, then whirls to grab a pre-packaged bag of popcorn before running back to me. “I’m gonna go outside!” she declares.

“Be polite,” I remind her, and watch her dash to the door.

“I think she’s excited,” says a familiar voice, the Australian accent oddly similar to a Southern drawl.

“Sam!” I exclaim, reaching for the woman to give her a hug. “Your brother made the cut?”

She smiles broadly. “He did.” Then she nods to where Rosie is situating herself in the front row of the outside section. “Is that Coach Miles’ daughter?”

“He hates that.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “But yes, that’s Rosalie.”

Sam scans my outfit, her eyes sparkling. “And what about you? Still just the nanny?” There’s no mistaking the suggestion in her voice.

My cheeks burn as I twist my lips. “Not exactly.”

Sam cackles. “I knew it!”

Allyson appears, and I make the introductions. Kari shows up a few minutes later.

“Miss Ma’am,” Kari says, circling her finger at my shirt. “You trying to break hearts today?”

“She doesn’t know that Ansel’s the one the ladies are here to see, does she?” Allyson jokes.

“Oh, is that how it works here?” Sam says.

“Look at the signs,” Allyson says. “I’m not lying.”

We grab bottles of water and head to the seats outside, and Allyson starts pointing them out. “See?”

I have to hold back my laughter as I scan the crowd.

Sure enough, there are more than a few handmade posters that are Ansel-specific.

One proposes marriage, and another begs the opposing team to leave his pretty face intact.

A third offers to be the next thing he puts on his thigh.

But it’s not just Ansel the crowd is here for—plenty of the guys have fans.

“This is really cool,” I tell them.

“Not bad for an American crowd,” Sam says.

Kari laughs. “Sam, this is amazing for an American crowd—trust me.”

Soon enough, the announcer brings us all to attention and introduces the New England Free Jacks.

The guys run onto the pitch and take their spots on the sidelines.

When the Granite is introduced, the crowd loses its mind.

But when they run out, I’m shocked to see that Ansel is in gear to actually play, a big number 10 on his back like always, not the coaching getup I saw him leave in.

“Um, what’s going on?” Allyson asks.

“Don’t look at me,” I say with a shrug. Then I grin. “But if he’s playing, then that’s awesome, because I finally get to see it!”

The announcer seems to be in on the plan, however, because he doesn’t break stride in announcing the line-up. Sure enough, Ansel is slated to play fly-half.

Ansel gathers the team around him, and something in my chest squeezes to see him like this: leading.

Being looked up to. He’s spent the past two weeks utterly focused on getting the team ready for this game, his office utter chaos, strewn in yellow notepad paper sporting half-drawn plays.

I want nothing more than for them to win. He deserves it so much.

The game kicks off, and I’m riveted. I’ve spent the summer learning all I can about the game, watching old videos, and getting Rosie’s assistance on things when I can.

I could have asked Ansel, sure, but where’s the fun in that?

It’s been far more entertaining to ask Rosie and hear her explanations.

“Go go go!” Sam screams, bringing me out of my haze as she shakes my arm and jumps up and down.

I look, and see Ansel absolutely flying down the pitch, ball cradled against him, his powerful legs moving in a blur as he eats up the yards.

But then the other team is on him, and he’s tossing the ball back to another guy, who tosses to another, and another.

Since it’s against the rules to toss the ball forward, the backward tossing moves the ball down the pitch to the try line, but it’s slow-going.

Ansel gets open again, and the crowd goes wild as the ball makes its way back into his hands.

He turns, narrowly missing a tackle by a massive player on the other team, and shoves his arm out to push another player back as he hauls the distance to the try line.

Right as he closes in, two steps away, he’s tackled. But it doesn’t matter, because Ansel flattens himself out, reaching his arm forward with the ball and getting it right over the line before his body hits the pitch.

“Yes!” I’m yelling and hollering as Rosie’s arms fly up, popcorn spilling everywhere.

Ansel pops up and tosses the ball to the ref. Then he turns to the VIP section and points at us before making a heart with his hands and putting it over his heart.

The crowd roars. I don’t hesitate to make the same heart over my chest right back, and when I look down at Rosie, she’s smiling brightly up at me, her hands in the same position. “Is that something he always does for you, Rosie?”

She shakes her head, beaming. “Nope. That’s new. He told me to pay lots of attention because he’d do something new if he scored a try, so that was it!”

I might burst with pride and happiness. That’s my man . And next to me? The sweetest little girl in the world. I hug her to me.

We continue to watch, and it takes everything in me not to chew my nails to the quick with as stressful as the game is. Ansel plays almost the entire game, and every time the cameras give us a close-up of him on the scoreboard, he looks nothing but stressed.

“You ready for the gala?” Kari asks.

I nod. “I still think it’s wild that they have it the same night as the exhibition game.”

“Fans love it, but you’re right. It’s a lot for the players. But tell me you’re wearing the gown you showed me.”

A swoop of giddy anticipation sweeps through me. “I am,” I confirm.

“She looks pretty in it, too,” Rosie says.

“Of course she does,” Kari agrees, squeezing me to her. Lowering her voice, she asks, “Has he seen you in this, though?”

“No,” I confirm.

She waggles her eyes. “Good luck not being late, then.”

I shove her playfully and turn my attention back to the game.

“But listen,” she says, her voice growing serious. “This gala is a big deal. Lots of press. Red carpet. The whole thing.”

I knew where she was going with this. “I’m ready,” I promise, then wink at her. “The team’s PR person made sure I had my talking points down pat.”

“You better,” she warns. “Or my boss will have my head.”

The game is close, and in the end, the Granite beat the Free Jacks by a mere five points. Kari warned me it could be another hour before Ansel finally got to leave, but time flies, thanks to Rosie running me all around the stadium and saying hello to all the vendors.

“You know, for someone who’s only five years old, you sure know a lot of people,” I tell her after we’ve waved to yet another person.

She shrugs. “I like knowing everyone.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes, and I pull her up into my arms for a kiss. “I love you, you know that, Rosie bug?”

She wraps around me and squeezes. “I love you, too, Elle Belle.”

We make our way back up to the second floor of the stadium, going into the air conditioning and heading for the private area reserved for friends and family. It’s emptying out pretty steadily, but Allyson’s still there.

“When are you sending me the next round of ideas for review?” Allyson asks by way of greeting.

“Two more days,” I answer. “I’m waiting on a travel company to get back to me about some logistics that I know you’ll want details of, and then you’ll have the final package ready for sign-off.”

She squeals. “I’m so excited! Jake is going to lose his mind when I tell him what we’re doing.”

“I can’t believe you’re keeping it a secret.” They were going to visit the Arctic, for heaven’s sake.

“He wanted to be surprised,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Not my problem. I’ll make sure he’s got the right gear, though.”

“Daddy!” Rosie’s voice clangs through the room as I turn to see Ansel.

He’s showered, back in the coach’s gear he left the house in this morning: black pants that are tight against his thighs and rear, and a dark teal polo shirt that strains against his muscles.

I swear that Kari deliberately got him the tighter-fitting styles, because the previous coach did not look as delectable as this.

In fact, no one can possibly look as good as Ansel does.

As he leans down to pick his daughter up, his eyes land on me, darkening immediately.

Allyson laughs. “Ooh, girl. Someone’s getting some tonight,” she says under her breath before winking at me and shooing me toward him. “See you at the gala.”

I make my way to Ansel, who leans in to kiss my cheek. Then he growls, “Where did this come from?”

I glance innocently down at my shirt. “What, this old thing?” I’d taken one of his jerseys and turned it into a crop top, then cut the neck so that it draped off my shoulder. On the back, I’d bedazzled his name and number. I twirl around. “Do you like it?”

A breath saws out of him. “Yes.” His voice is low, and his eyes sweep me from head to toe in a promise of everything he intends to do to me later.