DINNER & DIATRIBES BY HOZIER
The locker room is humming after training today. I rub a towel around my neck, about to head to the showers, when I feel a presence coming up behind me. I turn around and Stan is there.
“Bradshaw,” he grunts, arms folded. “Addison asked if you could head up once you’re done. Something about a meeting that got interrupted?”
I nod quickly, trying not to let anything show on my face. “Yeah. Of course.”
“What’s that about?” he presses, cocking his head like he’s trying to read me. “You have a lot of meetings with her, it seems.”
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s helping me start a foundation. You know… for kids' football.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding his head. “Good lad.”
Stan heads back toward the office, but I feel Brennan’s eyes on me from the next stall.
“Interested in philanthropy, Cap?” he asks me, voice playful.
“Guess so,” I say, slinging the towel over my shoulder and heading toward the showers.
I hover in the doorway for a second, just watching her at work. Addison’s sitting at her desk, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, pen in hand as she scribbles something down. I can tell it’s Alan because she’s actually smiling. She’s got this focused look on her face, like she’s doing five things at once but in control of all of them.
It’s unfair how fucking sexy it is.
When she sees me, her eyes flick up, and she wordlessly waves me into the office. I slip inside, closing the door behind me, and take a seat opposite her desk.
“Okay, thanks, Alan,” she says into the phone, still writing. “Yes, it’s all set for Saturday. Sounds good. Okay, bye.”
She sets the phone down and lets out a sigh. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I just… I wanted to say sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “For earlier, when Matt interrupted us. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
I shake my head quickly. “It’s all good. I get it.”
She searches my eyes for more, like she’s used to having to apologize for things she’s not at fault for.
“You’re not mad?”
“Addie, really? Did you think I’d actually believe you’d go to the gala with him?”
“That’s true.” She huffs out a laugh, crossing her arms. “I just hate that he’s even going to be there.”
“I know,” I tell her, shrugging. “It’s his job though, innit?”
I hate it just as much as she does. But every time I remind myself the season’s winding down, that he’ll sod off soon, I remember she’ll be gone too. And I hate the thought of that, so I just endure him. The longer he’s here, the longer she’s here. Her presence is the only silver lining to his.
“I know,” she mutters, fiddling with a pen. “I just hate him being here. I hate him in my office.”
“It was that bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
“Should have lobbed your lunch at him.”
“Never,” she says, laughing. “I wouldn’t waste bacon on him.”
