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Her eyes light up like a child, and it's surprisingly endearing to see her like this. She's normally so hard and calculated.See, it was only nerves. You're still her main priority, Lake.
“Come here,” I demand, holding out my free hand.
She reaches out for it, but just before her soft hand hits mine, Clark Shelby, the new director of sports medicine, approaches her from the side.
“Clark! Hey!” she exclaims, her face glowing at the mere sight of him.
First name basis already? Fishy.
“Dylan! You made it!” He pulls her into a hug.
They’re hugging? Is that what we're doing now? Touching each other inappropriately. Not professional.
“Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone,” he says, holding out his hand to her.
She nods excitedly, then peers at me over her shoulder with her brows raised. I nod once, unable to control the smile she stirs out of me, and her shoulders bounce with excitement as she follows him.
She checked with me. I like that she checked with me first. Let him know who takes precedence here.
A breath of air slips through loose lips and my eyes narrow at the back of his head as he leads her away. Seconds later, DJ slides up next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“She's cool as shit,” he comments, watching with me as Dylan walks away.
She turns back around, giving a quick little excited smile, and it does something strange to me. My insides cramp, and I find myself reciprocating with an adoring grin. DJ immediately strips that smile with one sentence.
“How would you feel if Beckham asked her out?”
“Excuse me?” I turn to face him, pulling away from his hold, causing his arm to drop between us.
“I don't know, man. Guess he mentioned it to Julian after lunch.” He shrugs casually. “Wants to see her after the game tonight. Guess they kinda hit it off talking sports or something,” he continues. “I'm not surprised, though. Everyone loves her. She's like the best kinda girl out there. Knowledgeable in sports, loves football, active, sexy as all—”
“Yeah, that's not gonna work for me,” I interrupt him, my tone sharp as a knife.
I feel my nostrils flare while the fire builds within me. I don't fucking care who she does or doesn’t hang out with, just as long as she focuses on the goal here. Me and my treatment.
“It may interfere with my therapy process, and I'm not willing to fuck that up so Beckham can get his little dick wet,” I mutter. “Tell him to back the fuck off and get ready to plant his overly proud ass on the sidelines again.”
DJ stares at me for a second. “Damn, Deck. Alright.” He laughs, looking me up and down. “If you got something going on there, then by all means...heal.”
I see where he's going with this, and I have to stop it.
“No, dude. It's not like that at all. I have no interest in her. It's just...this game.” I peer off into the field again. “I gotta get back.” I sigh. “And nothing is going to come between me and that turf.”
He nods, eyeing the field with me. “I feel ya.”
“I hate it over here,” I say honestly, staring out at the warm-ups. “It's out there.” I point with my free hand. “That's where I need to be.”
“Then that's exactly where you'll be, Deck.” He pats my shoulder with a reassuring smile before heading off towards some guys near the defensive bench.
I'm left alone in my thoughts for a second, and my heart instantly feels like there's a fist wrapping tightly around the muscle. Time is running out. My mom is at home, doped up on pain meds as she lets the cancer eat away at what's left of her fragile form. Maybe she'll never return to see me play. Her hopes of watching her baby boy inspire others by breaking records and shocking everyone are being taken away by an injury that I can't come back from in time for her to see it.
“Lake Decker. What a sight for sore eyes.”
I know the voice of the person behind me. I do my best to bury my emotions deep down where they belong before turning to face her.
“Lindsey Lane,” I reply with an exaggerated sigh. “What a surprise.”
There she stands in her all-too-tight navy pantsuit, leaving hardly anything left to the imagination. Her bright blonde curled hair rests down her shoulders and her tanned cleavage is bursting from the top of her fitted jacket. She smells like vanilla cappuccino, a reminder of the many late nights she begged me to stay over.
