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I need to quit. I need to go home and pack and cut my losses here, because there is no way in hell I can work with him and keep my sanity.
“Do you two know each other?” the coach asks, and my breath catches as my gaze slams into his.
I’m ready to lie, but apparently lying isn’t Dart’s jam.
With nothing but a wicked grin, he says, “I met Ms. Dent in Nashville a couple months ago for Adler’s wedding. We had some plans to get together for her to work with me, but we lost touch.”
“I moved, and I never had a chance to help him with his shot.”
“I’m very skilled when it comes to scoring, but I feel I could do a lot better with Ms. Dent’s help.”
Did I just come? Jesus help me. I clear my throat, for what reason, who knows—it isn’t helping with the lump that hasn’t gone anywhere since he set his eyes on me. “That being said, I knew I could help with how his back leg seems to move farther out with the power of his shot. I believe he has a bit of weakness in his right knee.”
That grin of his is unstoppable. “As you can see, she is a highly efficient and methodical professional whom I am excited to work with.”
“He was interested in my work when we discussed it.” I try to sound calm, but I think I sound like a foolish high school girl with a crush! I could kill him.
“Very. Interested,” he adds, and I silently curse him.
The coach looks between us, and I hear even more chuckles and catcalls that have me wanting to curl up into a ball and die. The coach looks at me and then shakes his head. “I don’t know what is happening right now, but leave me out of it.”
Kill. Me. Now.
Embarrassment courses through me as I give Dart a pointed look. “That’s all I need from you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” I say through tight lips.
He eyes me, his own lips pulling up at the side. He taps the paper I am clutching like it’s a life preserver and I’m drowning. “Don’t lose my number.”
Oh, the warning in his voice has me burning up on the inside. This is bad. Very, very bad. I can’t work with him. I’ll be naked in seconds, and that’s so unprofessional.
Oh my God, I have a boyfriend!
Fuck. How did I forget about Troy?
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for help.
Jesus. Are you there? It’s your favorite Vols fan, and I need you. Please.
When I open my eyes, though, neither God nor Jesus is here to help, but Dart is watching me as he leans against the wall, that smirk on his face and those eyes full of all kinds of naughty things.
Oh, I am so fucked.
I somehow survive getting paperwork from the team and answer any questions they have. The coach, whose gaze I can’t even meet because I know he knows that something happened between Dart and me, kept me for hours. He had question after question, and I was thankful for the distraction, even if I couldn’t look directly at him.
“I should bring my son up here, have you do an assessment of him. I wonder if I can get the GM to pay for it,” he jokes, and I grin.
“No fee. I’d be happy to help. I was working with some high schoolers in Virginia. It was refreshing—they’re so eager, and it excites me to help.”
He nods. “Well, Jax is just that. He wants to play for Michigan or Wisconsin before he tries for the draft. I know he can do it, but I feel something in his wrist isn’t right. He broke it a few times.”
I open my iPad to make a note, and then I smile up at him. “Just let me know when you can bring him in. I gave you my schedule for the guys, so I’ll just fit him in at the end or beginning, or I can even take scans while I eat lunch.”
“Thanks a lot, Ms. Dent.”
I wave him off. “Call me Tennessee.”
He shakes his head. “Vols fan through and through, huh?”
I shrug. “I bleed orange.”
“Good to know,” he says, patting my back. “See you soon. I’m excited for all you can do for us.”
“Me too,” I say happily, feeling a lot better about our working relationship. I feared he would think of me in a negative way since Dart basically humped me in front of everyone, but he never even brought it up again.
By the grace of God, really.
And now I’m wondering where Dart is. I lost track of him when I was making the schedule with Coach. I know I need to text him his time slot, but I don’t know if I can. There is a reason I didn’t text him back, and it’s because he makes me feel things that terrify me. If how he makes me feel without even touching me tells me anything, it’s that I have to stay away from him.
