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“She taught me well. She taught me to never accept bad behavior and never be afraid to call it out. But I'm making a concerted effort to hold my tongue and not cause a scene. I know how fragile the egos of some of these guys are.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his short salt-and-pepper hair. He seems caught between being an outraged father and a head coach. My dad looks down at the floor for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Not that I don’t already know. Part of my dad’s job is to protect the team and all the players who wear our uniform—especially from themselves. And that means handling some things in-house, which is just a euphemism for sweeping things under the rug.
When he looks up and I see the look in his eye, I know that’s exactly what is about to happen. I’m tempted to hand him a broom and a dustpan. But I knew that was part of the deal when I signed on to work here after graduating. And I signed on anyway. For the most part, I like working with my dad. But I also want the experience I’m getting here because I’ve got bigger plans for my future—plans that don’t include being sexually harassed by entitled, douchebag frat bros who think they’re God’s gift to the world.
“It’s fine, Dad,” I tell him. “It’s over. I doubt it will happen again, so it’s fine.”
He sighs. “It’s not fine. But you know how things are. Football organizations are like?—”
“Please don’t give me the‘Football organizations are like delicate ecosystems’speech again. I can’t hear that right now.”
He chuckles softly and nods to himself. My dad likes to say a football organization is a delicate ecosystem that requires all things to be in harmony and balance. That is simply a nice way of saying these thin-skinned million-dollar babies need to be coddled, pampered, and made to feel special because a football team needs all the different pieces of this fragile ecosystem working together. He says if one piece of the ecosystem is disrupted—meaning having one butthurt superstar pouting and brooding like a child—it might just throw the entire system out of balance, which could be catastrophic for the entire football team.
I swear to God, most of these guys have egos that are more fragile than spun sugar. I’ve seen children with thicker skin than some of these guys.
“I’m going to have a word with him,” my father finally says. “I’ll take care of this, honey.”
“Honestly, Dad, just leave it alone. It’s fine. Besides, Carter stepped in and had a word. I doubt Ryder’s going to bother me again.”
He frowns. “I suppose I’ll be having a word with Carter as well since that’s not his job.”
“Dad, seriously… just leave it be. It’s been settled. If you go barking at people and throwing your weight around now, you’re only going to make things worse. And we wouldn’t want to upset the delicate ecosystem, would we?”
My dad looks like a man who just dodged a big bullet. The expression that crosses his face is almost one of relief. I think part of him expects me to demand he do something about his prized rookie quarterback, which would have been my right. The organization has a zero-tolerance sexual harassment policy. On paper, at least. But punishing Ryder for his horrible behavior will likely piss him off, thus upsetting the ecosystem’s fragile balance. And we can’t have that, can we?
“Well, let me know if anything like that ever happens again, Cami.”
“Sure, Dad.”
He gets to his feet and gives me a small smile. He knows I’m not pleased about how this situation is being handled but seems appreciative that I’m not going to make a federal case about it and risk causing strife within the team. I’m nothing if not a team player.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks.
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later.”
He leaves my office, softly closing the door behind him. I slump back in my seat and blow out a frustrated breath. I’m not the sort of girl who needs somebody to stand up for me. My mom taught me to never rely on anybody else but to be strong enough to stand on my own two feet. But still, it would be nice to know that my father values me more than he values the football team. I mean, I understand the position he’s in. I do. But I wonder how it will feel if he’s just my dad for a change and doesn't stop to think through the ramifications to the whole team when somebody does something terrible to me.
“Whatever,” I mutter to myself as I sit up.
I open the windows I closed when my dad walked in and smile to myself. I wasn’t looking at porn. Not exactly. But as I look at the picture of Carter Cole on my screen, I feel my cheeks flush and think I might as well have been doing what my dad accused me of. Or maybe it’s thinking I wouldn’t mind filming porn with him that’s making my stomach churn.
Six-three with wavy, sandy blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, he’s chiseled like a Greek god and just exudes masculinity. Guys talk about alpha male this and alpha male that these days. Carter Cole doesn’t talk about it—he just is one. Every square inch of his body is taut and toned, and the mere sight of him is enough to make my heart stop dead in my chest. Just thinking about him now makes my pulse race and butterflies flutter in my belly. And staring into those dreamy blue eyes makes me uncomfortably wet.
Wow. It’s probably safe to say I’ve got a crush on Carter. It’s probably safer to say I’ve had a crush on him my whole life. Having literally grown up around the game, I’ve been around pro athletes all my life. And probably because I grew up around these guys and have seen what they’re really like away from the cameras, I’m never all that impressed by them. But Carter is the first player I remember really rooting for when I was younger. He always seemed so cool and carried himself with such a swagger that I was infatuated from the start.
He’s the only ball player who’s ever made me fangirl like this. When I heard we were signing him, I was more than a little excited. The first time I saw him in the building, I was like a giddy schoolgirl, which made me feel like an absolute idiot. But seeing him live and in the flesh made me feel stupidly starstruck in a way I’d never felt before so I handled it like the mature adult I was—I ran away. And since then, I’ve been purposely avoiding him just because I’m terrified I’m going to say something dumb.
Of course, having him step in and defend me wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to formally introduce myself to him. I mean, like I said, I’m not the damsel-in-distress kind of girl and I don’t need people fighting my battles for me. Ordinarily, if somebody did that, I’d probably take offense to it and let them know I didn’t need them to come riding to my defense. I’m more than capable. I’m very much my mother’s daughter that way.
I have to be honest, though. Something about watching Carter step in and put the rookie in his place like that, something about the way he stood there and seemed ready to fight on my behalf—quite literally—was kind of… hot. I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who enjoyed seeing a man ready to throw blows to defend me. But… I have to admit. Watching Carter get in Ryder’s face like that kind of turned me on.
It’s not something I’m proud of. Although, I’m not particularly ashamed of it either. Honestly, I’m a little confused by it because, like I said, I’m not that kind of girl. At least… I didn’t think I was. As I look at Carter’s picture on my computer screen and think of the way I felt when he was face to face with Ryder, when he was so protective and defensive of me, I start to think that maybe I am.
Or maybe it’s just how Carter makes me feel.
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