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“She is. More importantly, she’s friends with a key player on your team. You know? The one who likes to punch people when they’re being dicks?” I goad with a mocking grin.
“Yes, I know the one,” he lets out an exhale before turning his attention back to my best friend. “My apologies. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, and it seems I’ve been a little too quick to jump to assumptions. It doesn’t justify my actions, but unfortunately, it’s my job to safeguard this club and its players. I apologize for my rudeness and hope it won’t color your judgment of me.” He then extends his hand for her to shake. “Trent Nichols. I’m the General Manager of the Guardians. Pleased to meet you.”
“Charlotte Moore,” Lottie replies before shaking his hand.
“Awesome,” I interrupt their little hand holding with a loud clap. “Now that you’ve been politely introduced, how about you skedaddle over to your side of the fence and leave my friend and me to enjoy the game?”
“Always a pleasure, Lee,” he says with a glint in his eyes that says he’s thinking of me naked.
Asshole.
“Likewise, Nichols.”
He gives me another smirk before walking away with his security guards in tow.
“That’s the Boston Guardians’ GM?” Lottie asks, still sounding a bit shaken by the whole ordeal.
“Yep. He sure is. And a pain in my ass,” I sneer, sneaking another glance at him.
God, he looks good.
A man like that has no right to look that good.
“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to have a good relationship with the teams’ GMs? Like, be his BFF or something?” she asks in confusion.
Does fucking his brains out count as having a good relationship?
“In theory.” I shrug instead of telling her what’s running in my mind. “But it’s hard to be amicable with a man like that. The only language Trent Nichols understands is intimidation and power plays.”
That, and dirty talk, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Seems to me like you two should have hit it off just fine then.”
“Nope,” I reply, angry at myself for not being able to keep my mind out of the gutter when it comes to Trent. “You know what they say.”
“No, what do they say?”
“Like versus like repels, while opposites attract.”
That’s our problem.
We’re too much alike, both needing to control a situation that feels… uncontrollable.
This push and pull between us has to stop.
Before one of us does something stupid.
Like, catch feelings.
“So, I’m guessing you have your work cut out for you in terms of renegotiating player contracts with Trent, huh?”
“Not for long, hopefully,” I explain, forcing myself to act more upbeat. “Rumor has it that the owner is considering selling the club. With no heirs to speak of, it makes sense the old man sells it off to the highest bidder. Unfortunately, the media has been ruthless these last few weeks and hasn’t exactly painted the club in the best light, which doesn’t bode well for anyone on the team, especially its GM. If Trent doesn’t get his house in order, then his head will be the first one on the butcher’s block when the club gets sold.”
A prickle of cold sweat runs down my back at the thought.
I should want that to happen.
I should be fucking ecstatic at the prospect of Trent losing his job.
