You wouldn’t even need to drive. Underground parking too. And a pool on the roof.
Sunshine
I’ll charge you less than you pay now.
Sunshine
When is your lease up?
Me
In six months.
Me
I appreciate the thought, but we’d be playing with fire. Thankyou, though.
Me
Goodnight.
Sunshine
Night, Layla.
Over the next few weeks, Max and I evolve into a ceasefire of sorts. Neither of us brings up the kiss, or the conversation of more happening between us, but we don’t ignore each other either. It’s odd and awkward, and I don’t like it one bit.
As the weather begins to warm up in May, I finally settle in as the team nutritionist. Even though I was hired at the end of last season, my interactions with the team were limited throughout the winter months due to some players moving home for the off-season. Now I’m finally getting to know the guys. Some have extroverted personalities, like Jake Holloway, while some are grumps like Max. I’ve got a few with incredibly peculiar likes and dislikes when it comes to food, and even some with hard limits they aren’t willing to cross.
Why is it so hard for men to understand that taste buds change throughout life? Disliking something at the age of six doesn’t mean it’s a lifelong thing. I used to hate mayonnaise, shrimp, and coleslaw. I now love all of those things. How did I figure that out? By actually trying food more than once. It seems that’s a really hard concept for men to comprehend, as most are unwilling to try again. Close-minded dummies.
So, when I’m borderline begging Dante Russo to try one bite of the egg white omelet I just whipped up, and he’s looking at me like I sprouted two extra heads, I’m all too thrilled when Max walks up, snags a bite of omelet off the plate, and pops it in his mouth. Looking at Dante, he says, “You should try it.”
“I don’t like eggs,” Dante snaps.
Max steals another piece. “There’s enough bacon and other stuffin this that you can’t really tell it’s eggs. Plus egg whites basically don’t have much flavor, but they’re really good for you.”
Clearing my throat, I stammer, “Are you okay? Did you have a stroke or something?”
Max chuckles quietly. “No. Why?”
“Because you just told someone to eat something because it’shealthy.” I press my hand to his forehead. “Feverish, maybe? This is incredibly atypical behavior for you.”
Max rolls his eyes as he tosses another piece into his mouth. “Funny. Like I said, there’s enough bacon in there to cover the healthy eggs. Plus other stuff, but I’m not going to acknowledge any vegetables. I’m allergic to the color green.”
“You just ate multiple green things,” I say, pointing to his mouth.
He makes a big show of grabbing his throat, eyes bugging out of his head, as he pantomimes choking. “Help me, Peaches!”
“Oh, stop,” I admonish. “Every ingredient in there you’ve eaten over the past month, but I haven’t had to hear any of this until now.”
“What’s in there?” Dante asks, peering over the saucepan. His eyes dart back and forth between me and Max, and I see the moment clarity hits him, that maybe something else is going on between us. I welcome the reprieve to talk about food, hoping it’ll redirect Dante from asking any questions.
“There’s avocado, mushrooms, chopped spinach, green peppers, and bacon. I also added salt, pepper, garlic powder, and onion powder. I’d really like you to try one bite, Dante. I promise you it isn’t as eggy as you’re fearing.”
Dante lets out a loud breath, then nods. Internally squealing, I grab a new fork, add a piece of omelet, and hand it over. I watch as he thoughtfully chews. After swallowing, he says, “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Quite good, actually.”
“Told ya,” Max says, slapping him on the shoulder. He looks at me, winks, then turns back to Dante. “Gonna go get a quick workout in. See you later.”
