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Immediately after stepping away from him, I'm able to peek through the surface of this body of water, sneaking in a breath of the oxygen I was depleting myself of.
I haven't felt this drawn to someone in a long time. He's gotten hold of my ankle, dragging me into his depths, while everything I know and love is on the surface. I can control things above water. In his world beneath the cool, spine-tingling surface, I can't swim. I can't even fucking tread water. I need my legs beneath me. A hard surface to keep my machine moving.
After our session, he lingered for a while, almost as if leaving on this strange note would affect him more than it would me. I agreed to meet him and the team for their luncheon before the big show actually began. The photos, the pre-game interviews, the chaos that would surely sweep them all away for the rest of the day.
Gettingtotheluncheonbefore Lake, I sit by Kane, otherwise known as Candy, and he introduces me to the rest of the guys at the table. Marques Thomlinson, defensive end; Julian Cohen, tight end; DJ Brown, backup cornerback; and Beckham Brooks, a running back. Not only were they fucking humongous in real life, making me feel like a lowly hobbit in the world of Tolkien, they were ridiculously nice. I was captivated by their little world, laughing at their inside jokes as Candy explained them. Before I knew it, Mike Hensky, head coach, came over and introduced himself.
I have to admit I was a little nervous, but the guy had a fatherly vibe to him, one that I could tell was caring and protective. He loved his team and the guys here and took pride in talking to everyone. He’s a charismatic man. One with kind eyes, a heart of gold, and a determination and underlying strength about him. I could easily see how the guys would look up to him, and could tell he'd do everything in his power to bring out the best in them.
They have a certain magic here that I've completely fallen in love with. There is something so powerful about this camaraderie that they've formed, and I'm feeling the pulsating energy as it seeps off of them.
That energy shifts entirely when I feel Lake Decker enter the room. I don't even have to turn to see him to know he's here. Two guys at the table look up behind me immediately, and the respect I see reflecting off of them tells me all I need to know about who just put their hands on the back of my chair.
“Deeeeck!” Julian drags out. “About time you got your lazy butt outta that big-ass bed and joined us for breakfast.”
I can't control my eyes. I quickly glance over at Candy, who's already looking at me. He smirks, and I know the fact that Lake exchanged rooms isn't well known.
“Took me a while. I took the stairs.” His husky tone vibrates through my chest as he drops the crutches to the floor beside the chair.
The guys at the table all chuckle.
“Always doing the most, aren't ya Lakey.” Candy chimes in.
“He's working hard to reclaim the spot you took, Beck.” Marques elbows Beckham.
Beckham smiles then peers at Lake, and I immediately pick up on the unresolved tension between the two.
“Beck in for Deck,” Candy says slowly, staring down at the table. He glances up, and a look of over-dramatic shock hits his face. “Guys, it rhymes!”
I look up to face Lake above me, just in time to see his side-eyed glare at his friend's discovery. He sighs, seemingly brushing it off as he looks down at me, a light grin toying with his lips. His tousled hair lays perfectly on his forehead, the strands near his scalp still damp, as if he just showered. It's a great look on him.
“Mornin' Chief,” he whispers, forearms flexing with his hold on the edge of my chair.
His voice is just low enough to where the greeting feels intimate. He's smiling with his eyes. The five-o'clock shadow lining the sharpness of his jaw and the muscular neck and powerful shoulders holding him above me are churning my insides again. He looks good on top of me.
Fuck me.
I suck in a breath, finding my voice.
“Morning,” I reply softly, attempting to sound like a strong woman, not the liquid form of myself I keep melting into in his presence.
Drowning. Need air.
“Dylan, I want you next to me on the sidelines,” DJ says, pulling my attention from Lake. “I need your commentary throughout the game.” His focus turns to Lake. “This chick's like an arsenal of NFL stats and facts.”
I can hear Lake's sweaty palms grip the metal of the chair tighter behind me, creating this screeching noise as he twists. For some strange reason, the sound makes my stomach churn, and I feel the echo of it seep beneath my skin.
Shaking off the feeling, I say, “I actually don't know that I'll be able to make the game.”
“What?!” Kane shrieks. “You’re not going to watch me? Unacceptable.”
“You'll be there. We need you,” Beckham says, leaning back in his chair with an adorable smile.
I smile at their sudden desire for me to cheer them on. They are doing a great job of making me feel included, and I appreciate that more than they probably know.
“Why wouldn't you be able to make it?” Lake asks, his tone somewhat threatening.
I turn to look up at him again. “I, uh...just have some work to finish up on. Some important calls...with a few of my other clients.”
