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It’s ridiculous, really. It’s not been a full day since seeing him and I’m already feeling sad at the sound of his voice.
“Hey, Col!” I reply, holding back my emotions.
“Pickle, Kat didn't know that Carroll Shelby was only given months to whip the GT40 into fighting shape,” he says.
“She didn't?” I scoff. “I thought everyone knew that.”
“Nope! Nope!” he continues. “I'm having fun. Fun teaching her about the cars. Fun.”
God, I miss him.
“Well, good. I love you, Col. I'll be back soon,” I say, reassuring him. “You can call me anytime you want. You know that, right?”
I hear a knock at the door and check the clock near the nightstand. No one should be here yet. The boys are all at a team meeting. After the awkward silence of the training session I held with Lake, where we both declined to address the uncomfortable air around us, he told me they had a meeting before the team planned to reconvene later for dinner. Who could be here?
“I'll call. I'll call, so Pickle feels good,” Colin says, even though I know he hates communicating over the phone.
So Pickle feels good.My heart warms. I’m so happy he’s so comfortable with Katia. She’s been a lifesaver for me.
“Alright, talk soon buddy.”
After talking with Katia for a few more minutes, I hang up and make my way to the door. Remembering Lake's words from earlier, I check the peephole and see no one.
What the fuck?
I open the door, looking down the hall before a pile of boxes on the floor grabs my attention. Bringing them back into the room, I pull the note from the top.
You opened the door, seeing no one in the peephole. Not safe! For team dinner tonight. Be ready by 6, Chief.
-Lake
I can't control the big stupid grin that creeps across my face. It's not even about the gifts I've unwrapped. The Nike sweatsuits in my size, the Calvin Klein underwear and bra sets, or even the two new pairs of Nike training kicks that weren't even necessary. It's not even the expensive salon-brand shampoo and conditioner set or the hairbrush and other toiletries he thought to include.
It's the note.
It's his strange, yet endearing, need to take care of me.
He knew my bags weren't here yet, so he sent someone to get me clothes and other essentials. I'm normally the type to be too proud to take gifts from people. Too proud to allow anyone to do nice things for me, especially knowing that he thinks he's being my knight in shining armor, saving me from some sort of abusive relationship. Yeah, we’ve yet to clear that up. But this shit here is nice as hell.
I squeal and do a little dance on the king-sized bed before face-planting on the massive plush mattress. I roll over and look up at the ceiling, holding the note up and reading it again.
I trace my finger over his handwriting, thinking of those large, powerful hands that wrote this. The hands that ran up the backs of my arms, making me imagine things I shouldn't. Like them holding my wrists above my head as those stupid, pink lips found my neck. His whole, huge, masculine heat was pulling me into him on that table, and for a moment, I fought the urge to jump onto his lap and kiss him hard. So hard he'd forget his name and need to look at the back of his jersey just to remember.
But thankfully, we were interrupted just as I'd found the strength to stop whatever mistake was about to happen. Any more of those eyes on me and I'd have torched whatever clothing I had on that hadn't already gone ablaze in his presence.
I need to keep my head on straight so they take me seriously in this field. In the big leagues of the NFL, I have a chance at a promising career…if I can keep my kitty in my pants.
Wait. Team dinner?
I sit up straight.
Staff members don't usually even go to these things.
Do they?
I'm not even technically a staff member. I'm basically a glorified, externally sourced personal assistant to the injured leg of the legend in the making.
I check the clock again, then fall back onto the bed. Seeing that I have enough time for a quick nap and a shower, I stretch out, then curl up under that massive down comforter, falling asleep with a funny feeling in my stomach.
