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“Uh, sure. In my religion, not eating Chick-fil-A every day for lunchanddinner is considered a sin.”
She starts jabbing at her keyboard violently, probably while imagining the keys are my eyeballs.
“And what’s the name of that religion again?”
“Uh…” You know, girls have always found me funny, but I’d be lying if I said I was clever. “Bradyism?”
For a split second, I think I see a tiny smirk on her face, but it disappears so quickly, it’s like it was a figment of my imagination.
“I’m asking this question because one of your teammates is a vegan—one of the linebackers—so it’s important for me to know if you, too, have any strict requirements.”
“Nah, sorry.” I look at the framed photo on her desk that’s now faced down, the mystery of it still nipping at me. “I love meat too damn much.”
Blondie click-clacks on her computer a bit more before making a conclusive “Ah!” sound and swiveling her chair around towards me.
“Okay, so this is how it works.” Her eyes are glistening. This must truly be her passion. It’s the least annoyed she’s looked all day.
“So, I’m splitting the team up in two groups: Group A and Group B. In Group A, their diets will be targeting their needs to pack on lean muscle. In Group B, their diets will target their needs to lose fat. Every day when you have team meals, everything will be labeled accordingly so that you know which group you’re in. Sounds good?”
I nod my head, but honestly, she lost me about halfway through the conversation. It’s hard paying attention to someone who’s so damn cute.
“Yeah, easy peasy.” I stand up, stretching my legs. “Can’t wait to eat some dietary grub.”
Blondie smiles but looks a little too eager to get me out the door.
“Thanks for your time, Brady.”
I look her over up and down, trying to figure her out. What’s going on inside her head? Not to sound cocky, but most women can’t resist the ol’ Brady charm, but Miss Blondie here seems immune, as if she took an anti-Brady vaccine before our meeting.
“So, hey, since we’re on first name basis and all,” I say, leaning against her door so that she can’t push me out. “Is there a name you like to be called?”
She jerks her head back, confused by the question.
“You can call me Ms. Williams.”
I scoff and roll my eyes.
“Oh, comeon, lighten up. We’re gonna be working together closely for the rest of the season. Isn’t it a little awkward for me to be addressing you like a schoolteacher?”
She doesn’t seem sold on the idea of us being on a first-name basis. Without saying anything, she leans around me to open the door. As her arm brushes against my torso, I feel her recoil a bit, back to her safe spot closer to her desk.
After scrutinizing her for a bit, I shrug. Hey, I guess I can’t win ‘em all, right?
“Catch you later, Ms. Williams.”
As I head out the door, she suddenly calls after me.
“Izzie. Just call me Izzie.”
