I wince. I’ve heard stories about Commerce City, and when I got to town, multiple teammates told me to avoid the area. “And you feel safe there? No complaints?”
Layla sighs. “I mean, I guess? I love this job. I’m really enjoying traveling with the team, and I truly like Denver. But the cost of living here is astronomical, and my pay isn’t the best. I went with what I could afford.”
“I can understand that,” I murmur. Wheels are turning in my head. Am I allowed to ask her how much she makes? Or is that anti-feminist of me? Seems kinda shitty, considering all that she does to keep the team healthy. I know I’m paying four grand a month for my four-bedroom apartment, but I considered that to be mostly due to the location and square footage of the place. “Do you mind if I ask how much you’re paying?”
“Fifteen hundred,” she replies. “It’s not that much, I guess. But I have student loans, a car payment, and I’m still paying off two credit cards from college because, honestly, I didn’t understand how credit cards work. Why wasn’t that taught in high school? Could have been so much more helpful to me than taking pre-calculus.”
My mind whirls as I think about ways I could help her withouther knowing. Get the team to make a random deposit into her bank account? Nah, Layla is too good. She’d never take the money and run. Make up some kind of “job” situation outside of her time with the team? But at what cost? She’s already incredibly busy. I don’t want to push her into burnout.
I change the topic to something more fluffy by discussing the weather. As I grew up in southern California, I have no concept of what it’s like in South Carolina, where Layla grew up. I know I’ve always hated day games in Atlanta in July, and can’t imagine living like that day in and day out during the summer, but Layla speaks fondly of her childhood. She tells a lovely story about a cicada brood emerging from the ground one summer, and I’m glad she isn’t able to see my expression, because what kind of fresh hell is that? Massive bugs just crawl out of the ground and cover everything? And then when they die, you’re left with a layer of rotting bug carcasses? It’s times like this that I wonder about God’s sense of humor.
Once back in the parking lot, I gingerly bend down to allow Layla to slide off my back. Standing to my full height, I stretch my arms up, and my spine cracks in multiple places.
“Did I hurt you?” she screeches, horrified.
“No, just needed to stretch.”
“You’re lying,” she accuses, poking me in the chest.
I chuckle. “I swear, I’m not. I already told you, I’m not a good liar. You weigh next to nothing, Peaches. You didn’t hurt me in any way. How’s your foot feeling?”
Layla carefully puts weight on her bare foot. “It’s okay. Hurts a little, but I think all I need is some rest tonight, and it’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“You okay to drive?” I ask. “I can drive you, then we can come back to get your car another day.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, really. It’s not a bother. I know you’re going to say it’s so far out of the way, and I’ve got a game tomorrow —”
Layla interrupts me. “Actually, I’m going to say that while youdo have a game tomorrow, I’m more worried about the fact that we leave on a road trip the following day, and I’d rather not leave my car in a random parking lot forty-five minutes away from home.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling oddly dejected. “That makes sense. I’d completely forgotten about the road trip.”
“That was sweet of you to offer, even if I can’t accept.”
I nod my head, suddenly feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Layla unzips my backpack, still clinging to my front, and removes her hiking boot and sock. Unlocking her doors, she throws her things in the backseat, then turns to me. “I’m really glad I ran into you today, Max. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
“I’m sure some other guy would have come along and carried you back to your car,” I joke, but it falls flat.
“Guys did pass me, Max. One even shouted ‘good luck’ as he laughed. Not all men wear capes. I guess I assumed you didn’t wear one, but maybe you keep yours hidden a lot of the time,” she says sweetly. Then she leans in, slides her arms around me, and hugs me.
It’s possible this is the moment I knew I was going to fall in love with Layla Holmes.
He followedme all the way home.
I knew he would. It turns out Max Callahan has a savior complex.
I honestly wish I’d had my phone up to record him running back to me. He was sprinting, and his expression was wild. Was he really that concerned for me? He was a different beast today. But if I’m being honest, he’s been different since the season started. I’m feeling a kinship with him now that I haven’t felt, and it’s very comforting.
As I pull into my allotted parking spot, Max pulls behind me in his fancy SUV. I don’t know much about cars, but I’m sure his costs more than the house I grew up in. When he jumps out, I wave him off. “Max, I’m fine. You seriously didn’t need to follow me ho —”
My words are cut off when he reaches me, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me.
Max Callahan is kissing me.
It takes me a moment, as I’m completely stunned, before I subconsciously melt into his kiss. One of his hands stays on my cheek, while the other slides around to press against my back, pulling me snugly against him. I sigh, and hetakes the opportunity to slide his tongue against mine. I find my hands are bunched in his shirt, holding him in place, and I don’t remember grabbing onto the fabric. My heart beats erratically in my chest, and I wonder if he can feel it.
The kiss isn’t frantic or incredibly passionate. It’s tender, and perfect, and completely unlike anything I’d expect from him. It makes me wonder what he’s like in the bedroom. Is he like this? Loving and romantic, where he’s more concerned with my feelings than orgasms? Or is he chaotic and a bundle of energy, manhandling me however he wants to ensure he gets his after I’ve gotten mine?
