Page 49 of The Player I Can’t Pick

Finn looks between us. “Oh.”

Guy’s arm tightens around me. “And make sure the other guys know too.”

Finn lifts both hands and backs toward the door. “Got it, Brody.” Then he looks at me and grins. “But let me know when he’s done with you.”

Guy starts toward him, but I grab his arm. “Guy. Stop.”

Finn laughs and disappears outside before Guy can reach him. Thankfully, Dad is still near the moving truck and missed the whole thing.

I turn on Guy. “What were you thinking?”

He plants his hands on his hips. “I’m thinking that asshole asked you out right in front of me. What was I supposed to do?”

I match his stance. “I don’t know. Maybe let me answer for myself?”

He drags both hands through his hair. “Shit.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I am. This whole situation is driving me crazy. I don’t want Finn or Max or any of those guys thinking they have a chance with you.” He reaches for me, but this time his touch is softer. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at him. I understand why he’s frustrated. The problem is, I’m frustrated too.

Every time someone else finds out about us, this gets more real. And the more real it becomes, the more awkward everything is going to be when it ends. I hate that I’m already thinking about the ending.

Guy squeezes my hand. “Hey.”

I look up.

“I said I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “I know.”

Before either of us can say anything else, Dad walks through the door carrying a box. His eyes go straight to Guy. “Well, look who decided to help.”

Guy lets go of my hand before taking the box from him. “Couldn’t let you guys do all the work.”

Dad studies him for a second. I suddenly have the uncomfortable feeling that my father sees way more than I want him to. He nods toward the bedroom. “That one goes back there.”

“I got it.”

Guy carries the box down the hallway.

Dad looks at me, and I immediately turn away. “Don’t.”

He laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Probably.”

I grab another box from near the door and start opening it just so I have something to do. The next hour goes surprisingly fast.

Guy stays and helps with everything. He carries boxes, helps put some shelves together, moves furniture around when I decide I don’t like where it is, and never complains once.

Watching him with my dad and his teammates is strange. No one treats him like Guy Brody, baseball legend. They give him a hard time and make fun of him when he carries too many boxes at once, and Guy loves every second of it. He orders pizza for everyone, and soon my small apartment is filled with laughter and fellowship.

Eventually, most of the guys start leaving until it’s just me, Dad, and Guy left.

I’m in the kitchen unpacking dishes when I glance through the doorway and see Dad and Guy standing near the front door. They’re talking quietly. I probably shouldn’t, but I listen.

They’re talking about the locks on my door. Or I guess the lack of locks.