I wince, thinking back to the shattered look on Damon’s face. I definitely owe him a conversation. And an apology. This thing between us won’t work without ground rules, the first of which should be that we’re upfront about any feelings that occur. This isn’t a love connection; it’s just two people who enjoy each other’s company…preferably naked.
Chapter fourteen
Damon
Kendra
Kendra:Do you have plans tonight?
Kendra:If not, I vote we grab RYNN takeout and hang at my place again. ;-)
Ilock my phone screen and slip it back into my pocket. What the hell is wrong with me? Most guys would kill for a no-strings situation with a literal model, but Damon the Screwup lives up to his name once again.
I’m not mad at Kendra over how things went down last weekend. She laid things out, and I’m the one who couldn’t stay in my lane.
I shake my head to myself.
It’s not just that she’s so beautiful I have to remind myself not to stare whenever I’m around her. She’s tough too. She divorcedthat Gibbs douchebag after he had the balls to disrespect her by cheating, then showed him exactly what he was missing in the Bailey Maxwell show. I doubt I was the only audience member hard as a rock when she took the stage.
She could’ve ended it there; told Denise it was nice working together and moved on. Instead, she’s using her business sense and connections to help Denise launch her own line. A line for women who are overlooked at best and intentionally mistreated at worst. She’s smart, she’s caring, and she’s passionate, and I had a year-long head start falling for her. How could I possibly stay in my lane when she’s even better in real life than I imagined?
A hand waves in front of my face.
“Yo, Coach. You good?”
I look around to find the team drinking water and using their sweat towels on the way to the locker room. I missed the end of practice, zoning out over a girl.Shit.
Carter—the owner of the hand—takes a seat next to me, still panting from exertion.
“I’m good,” I finally answer. “Just brainstorming some plays for our season opener.”
Robbie, who’s lanky like Carter but lacks his height, sits down on my other side.
“I call bullshit,” he says, ignoring my stern glare about his foul language. “Practice has been over for two minutes, and you’ve been staring into space that wholetime.”
My cheeks redden. I had no idea I’d zoned out for so long, but it must be bad if Carter Hayes and Robbie Kentbothcame over to say something. Bruised ego or not, I need to get my head in the game.
I stand, urging the boys to follow me. Neither of them moves.
“I hate to say it,” Carter says while eyeing his teammate warily, “but Robbie’s right. You’ve seemed out of it the whole practice.”
“I even saw him on his phone,” Robbie adds, nodding.
Unwilling to be ganged up on by a couple of mouthy adolescents, I head to the locker rooms. They follow me this time, trailing behind while still digging for dirt. I sigh, speeding up to avoid further interrogation. Anyone who thinks women are the biggest gossips has never spent any time with hormonal boys.
“On his phone, huh?” Carter taunts. “Isn’t that against Coach Paulson’s practice rules?”
“It sure is,” Robbie says with a smirk. “I got ten laps the last time Coach Paulson caught me texting my girlfriend.”
“Whoa, whoa,” I turn to face them. “There’s no big conspiracy theory. I just forgot about—”
“Dude, that’s it!” Carter interrupts. “Look how red his face is right now. He was texting a girl!”
They laugh while I sputter to come up with a response.
“Look, Coach. Either you tell us, or we tell Coach Paulson. How many laps do you thinkyou’llget for using your phone during practice?”
I hang my head. Clearly, my poker face sucks. On the bright side, my complicated love life seems to have brought the team’s biggest rivals together. They both wait eagerly for me to spill the beans.
