Luckily for him, I see past the fast mouth to who he really is. I’ve always been able to see past the personas people project and into their hearts. When you finally get past the womanizing and the cocky smirks, I see a guy who genuinely looks out for his teammates. I’ve noticed the way that he quietly supports the rookies who are struggling. The way he checks on people when he thinks no one is watching. And despite his reputation, I’m convinced he secretly craves real love. You can’t fake that kind of hunger. At least not forever.
He works the ball, fingers squeezing, and I note the improvement in his flexion. Still not where it needs to be, but better than it was two weeks ago when he took that nasty fall.
“Good,” I say. “Take that ball home with you. Keep working on it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teases, flashing another grin. Then, predictably, he adds, “Trust me, my wrist has been getting plenty of work with something thicker at home.”
I know exactly what he's implying. I'm not about to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I throw it right back.
“Your dick isn’t the same circumference as this ball,” I say dryly. “This ball is thicker, and probably longer. Offers significantly more resistance.”
His laughter explodes through the room, full-bodied and obnoxious. And then there’s a deep chuckle from the doorway. A sound I’ve come to crave. The one I hardly ever get to hearanymore since he realized whose daughter I am and decided that silence and distance were the safest option for us.
I turn my head slowly. Seth is leaning against the doorframe with his arms loosely crossed, a ghost of a smile at the edge of his mouth. He looks ridiculously, unfairly good. Warm-up pants with the Mayhem logo stamped on the side, a fitted jersey stretched across his broad chest, hair still too long, still in desperate need of a cut. I hope he never gets it. I know that's a stupid thing to hope for, but I hope it anyway. I loved running my fingers through it.
His hazel eyes find mine like he’s been looking for me. I tell my stupid heart to slow down because that’s ridiculous. The man’s been avoiding me like I’m contagious.
“Little Tremblay!” Penn calls out, clearly delighted to see Seth.
The nickname is cute considering he played with Seth’s older brother—but not cute considering there isn’t a single thinglittleabout Seth. I would know.
Seth’s smirk lingers as he steps further into the room, nodding at Penn but never once breaking eye contact with me. I paste on my most professional smile and try not to overthink the fact that he isn’t running away from me yet.
“How can I help you, Seth?”
Please don't say it.Please don't be here to tell me that you've reconsidered, that you've thought more clearly about this and that you'd prefer your daughter not spend time with the girl you had a one-night stand with before you knew who she was.
Because I haven’t heard from him in two days. And in those two days, all I’ve done is wonder about Sawyer. If she’s upset that I didn’t come over on Sunday to work on her defense like I had promised. If she’s doing those stretches that I suggestedand whether she liked the leftover seafood pasta. I texted her, made up some lame excuse about why I couldn’t come, but text responses don’t tell you if someone’s hurt because you didn’t show. And the last thing I want is to disappoint her.
“Coach sent me in to get my hamstring looked at,” Seth says, voice low, completely neutral.
My brows pull together. He's still new to the team and I haven't been briefed on any prior injuries. "Sure. Tell me what happened." I nod toward the table. "You can hop up. Penn was just leaving."
Penn laughs as he hops off, taking the resistance ball with him. “Bye, Bri. Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
“Good.”
He pauses in the doorway and smiles at me. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you single?”
I wince internally.
Seth tenses beside me, his mouth pressing into a firm, unimpressed line. Gone is the playful smirk he had on seconds ago. And shit, it shouldn’t matter. Seth is probably here to fire me. We had sex once, kissed another time, and since then? Nothing but broody radio silence. Plus, he’s right. My dad owns this team. Ishouldn’tmix my career with personal. Not that it stopped me that night with Seth. Not that it would probably stop me from another go with him if I didn’t think he regretted breathing the same air as me.
I clear my throat. “I am.”
“How about a date then?”
“I don’t think dating a player is a good idea.”
Penn’s grin stretches wider. “I’ll get transferred.” His tone is mock-serious, but his eyes are sparkling.
I burst out laughing because we both know he’d never do that. “I’ll think about it,” I tease, shooting him a wink.
He gives a dramatic salute before ducking out, closing the door behind him. And now, it’s just me and Seth. And suddenly, the air feels a hell of a lot heavier. I turn back to Seth and try to keep my expression clinical. He’s watching me with a look now. That one that’s always unreadable.
"So," he says, quietly enough that the words stay between us despite us being alone, "dating a player on your father's team is off limits. But fucking one isn't?"
It's not a question. It's barely even an accusation. It's just a fact that he's laying down on the table between us. I press a gentle hand to his lower back, guiding him to lay on his stomach. Partially so I can examine his hamstring. Mostly so I don’t have to look at his face while I answer that question.
