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The whistle blows, ending the throwing session, and the players break out and head for their respective position groups for individual drills. I watch as the rookie walks to the sideline and heads over to a younger woman from the training staff. I’ve noticed her before. No more than five-two and a hundred pounds soaking wet, she’s got golden, sun-kissed skin, ash-brown hair, and hazel-colored eyes. She’s got amazing curves and, for being so short, long, enticing legs. The girl is a stunner for sure.
They’re too far away for me to hear the conversation, but the rookie says something to her she obviously doesn’t like because her face darkens and a frown crosses her full, red lips. He’s giving her a smarmy smile that sets my teeth on edge. She walks away, but the rookie follows her, continuing to talk to her even though she’s pointedly ignoring him. It’s more than obvious he’s making her uncomfortable. She stops and kneels down to pack some things into her bag, and Ryder stands over her, continuing to talk. The girl looks like she wants to be anywhere but there.
Muttering under my breath, I walk over to where they are. She raises those wide hazel eyes to me, seeming to be silently begging me for help. Ryder turns and sneers at me.
“Do you mind, Pops?” he says. “We’re having a private conversation.”
“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you. Why don’t you just leave her be and let her do her job, kid,” I say.
“Walk away, old man. This isn’t your business.”
“I’m making it my business. I can see from across the field that you’re making her uncomfortable so turn around and walk the fuck away.”
He squares up to me, his dark brown eyes boring into mine. Gritting my teeth, I stand my ground and look back at him just as hard. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten into a fight so I might be a little rusty, but I figure it’s like riding a bike. It might not be a good look for me to punch the kid’s face in, but I’m ready for it. I’m not going to let him intimidate this girl.
Our gazes are locked. It’s a silent game of chicken, and the corner of my mouth curls upward when he flinches first. He takes a step back and, as if realizing he lost the battle of wills, tries to save face by putting anI don’t careexpression on his face. He laughs to himself as he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.
“Whatever,” he grumbles.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about how to treat people, kid.”
“Go fuck yourself, old man. I’m taking the QB1 job, just so you know. You’re way past your prime. But hey, if you play nice, I might let you wash my jock strap.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Even if you do though, you’re still going to be a little bitch,” I say with a chuckle. “And you still have a lot to learn about being a man and treating people with respect.”
His eyes narrow and his sharp jawline clenches as he grits his teeth.
Ryder mumbles something under his breath as he turns and stalks away. I watch him go then turn to the girl, who’s still kneeling next to her bag.
“Sorry about him,” I say.
She throws the roll of tape in her hand into the bag and quickly zips it up. She’s shaking, clearly rattled.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “I-I’m fine. Thank you for…that.”
“No problem. Just let me know if he hassles you again.”
She nods quickly then turns and darts away, heading toward the training facility. As she goes, I can’t help but admire the way the muscles in her legs move as well as the way her shorts cup her tight, heart-shaped ass. It’s poetry in fucking motion.
“Damn,” I mutter and shake my head.
“Cole. Let’s go. Seven on sevens,” Coach B calls.
Finally managing to tear my eyes away from that picturesque ass, I turn and jog over to the group milling about on the field, pointedly ignoring the dark looks Ryder Simmons is casting my way like he’s beneath me. Because right now, that’s exactly what I think he is.
2
CAMI
The click of my office door opening sends a jolt of adrenaline through me, and I sit up quickly, nearly jumping out of my skin. Head coach Jay Blankenship steps through the door and offers me a wide smile. I slump back in my seat, the tension in my shoulders ease as I narrow my eyes and glare at him.
“So, we’re not knocking now?” I ask. “Is that like, not a thing we do anymore?”
Blankenship’s smile widens. “I’m your dad, Cami. Do I really need to knock?”
“Huh. I seem to recall my father telling me that within the walls of this facility, we can’t be father and daughter,” I reply. “He said we need to keep it strictly professional at all times.”
