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“I can do that. Should I wear your pink wig and stick it to the people camped out in front of your house?”
“They need to see me as less crazy, not more. But I have another idea.”
“What’s that?”
I head to my bedroom, rummage through my dresser to the back of the bottom drawer, and retrieve a rarely worn tee. When I come back and show her, she throws her head back and laughs.
It’s sunshine yellow and reads: “Kiss My Sass.”
When Sabine leaves with Kyle, I head to my room and grab my dreaded phone. There are hundreds of messages, emails, and phone alerts. I open my texts and sort to only known senders. Two new. One from my sister. One from the team’s lead PR person. I ignore both, find Layton’s number, and tap out a message.
Me:Thank you for last night.
Me:That came out wrong. Thank you for rescuing me and standing up for me. I’m not used to that, and it means a lot.
Me:I’m sorry for the mess. Hope your day is better than last night.
He never responds.
SEVEN
HUMAN ORIGAMI
LAYTON
Saturday came and went. Sunday too. And with it way too much liquor. I’m not that guy, but this weekend I was. And it’s killing me today.
I turned off my phone after the team’s head of public affairs woke me on Saturday morning. Not having bothered to read my email, she wanted tohear it firsthand. I was in no mood after her phone call and having to rehash everything. I got pissed all over again.
That fucker’s hands on Livy. His handprint on her neck. Him taking her to the floor, not caring that she’s pocket-sized, and he could’ve done real damage.
A quick Google search proved he is exactly the douche-canoe I assumed he was, including a DUI arrest a couple of years ago. Between the fucked-up misogynistic shit he spewed on Twitter and knowing he could’ve truly hurt her, I want to throat punch him.
Not to mention the fact that it bothers me that he was touching her. She’s not mine. Aside from common decency, why should I care?
She’s gorgeous, there’s no doubt. Her body is every man’s fantasy. Or at least mine. I don’t need the overgrown tits, especially the fake ones. That firm ass does it for me, for sure. But her confidence in her body—not because of a surgeon’s work, but because of her own—that’s my kryptonite.
She works for that shit. I know what that takes. I understand the discipline and the sacrifice. I also know the mental game. That’s at least half of it.
And she has that in spades.
Smart, tough, fit, disciplined, funny, and stunningly beautiful in the cute sort of way. That’s Livy Morgan in a nutshell.
She’s a distraction I do not need, and one I cannot afford.
I’m in the prime of my career. This is the time when I forge ahead. I have to push harder and lift more. Run faster, pull everything I can from this life since it’s such a flash in the pan.
Because of that, I’m here again, on my mat, trying to convince myself that strange yoga shapes can improve my speed. A month ago, I’d have laughed at the absurdity of it. I still could. But if it can get me closer to my goals, I’ll do it… despite Pixie, not because of her.
Mind on the prize, Ranger.
“Breathe deeply and move into warrior pose. Chin down. Press your heels into the floor as you exhale. Lift your abs as you roll your shoulder blades back. Hold right here.”
Small hands grab my hips from behind and strong fingers flex as she tilts my pelvis, forcing me into the proper formation. “Good, Layton. Breathe.” Her voice is quiet and a bit hesitant. “Again.”
My body wants relief, and my shoulders give ever so slightly to release the pressure.
I see her bare feet in front of me just before her warm hands press on my lats, rearranging my body, stopping the relief I’d just given myself. Fuck me. “Thirty seconds,” she says for only me to hear.
