A guy I’ve never seen before is standing in front of me, smiling so widely that I wonder if his cheeks are hurting. “Can I get a pic with you?”
¡No mames!Can’t a guy have a moment of reprieve?
Apparently, word has gotten around fast. This is the third customer who’s come in to ask for a picture, and I’ve only been back at Blue Ridge Springs for less than forty-eight hours. I should be flattered, but I’m just thoroughly annoyed and bothered by the disturbance. Everyone already knows that I’m working here during my recovery time, which means everyone is going to try and catch my attention.
Listen, I know I sound like a spoiled little brat, but as much as I love my life and what comes with being a professional athlete, sometimes all I need is quiet and solitude. Like right now. I just want to stock my socks in peace.
Man, I never thought I’d say that, but look at me already making some progress.
I fight the urge to scoff as the guy takes his phone out. “No. I’m working.” And then I walk away.
I don’t watch his reaction. Don’t even muster the energy to give him an apology.
I hide between two aisles at the back of the store, tipping my head back and letting out a sigh. The burning irritation makes my hands tremble, so I curl them into fists.
If I’m going to feel this way for the next couple of months, I might have to find a way out that won’t jeopardize my career. But the more I think of it, the more I realize there’s nothing I can do to make Coach change his mind. Even begging on my knees won’t do it. Maybe shed some crocodile tears? No, he won’t pity me at all. So, maybe I just need to—
“Too busy to even take a picture with a fan?”
Alara’s voice causes my shoulders to drop slightly. Turning toward her, I notice that she’s in possession of a cup holder, her cheeks slightly flushed, perhaps from the cold.
“As I said, I’m working.”
I lean toward her, but only to take a peek around the aisle. The customer who wanted the photo is now gone, and a sigh of relief escapes.
“At least you have your priorities straight.” She hands me a paper cup, scanning my face for a few heartbeats too long. The small line between her brows vanishes, the sudden tenderness swimming around her hazel eyes a mystery to me. I feel paralyzed, feel my skin prickle under her scrutiny – it’s like she’s trying to peel off my mask. Like she’s seeing me in my most vulnerable state when I’m desperately trying to keep my armor up.
I don’t feel judged, though. I feel . . . seen. That fucking kills me.
I’m about to leave and hide again, but I remember that she’s standing in front of me – totally real and no daydream – stillholding on to a coffee that’s seemingly reserved for me. I don’t deserve her kindness.
“Is that for me?” My voice is gravelly, as if she’s rendered me speechless.
“Pretty sure I’m handing it to you, so yes.”
I shrug. “Just checking.”
Alara doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t relent. Doesn’t seem impressed by my coldness. “I’m not sure what your usual order is, so I figured a double espresso would do. We have cream and sugar in the office if you want.”
Reluctantly, I take hold of the beverage, frowning. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Most people usually say thank you when someone is nice to them,” she fires back.
Her selflessness warms me like a flame, trying to melt the thawing ice shielding me, and that scares me. It terrifies me that, in just a few hours, she’s managed to catch a glimpse of what I’m hiding behind my tough façade. I hate that I’m letting her see me. I hate that I can’t tell her to mind her own business.
“I was getting there,” I mutter. “Thank you, Alara. I appreciate it.” Though my tone is cold and clipped, I mean it. I truly do, because I really need some caffeine right now. And a double espresso is perfect.
Her almond-shaped eyes track my reaction and make my pulse quicken. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the concern in them. Maybe it’s the intensity weaving through the hues of gold and green. Maybe it’s the way they’re so captivating that I get lost in them – spiraling and losing all sense of everything.
“You’re welcome.” She turns on her heel, takes three steps, then peers back at me from over her shoulder. “Can I give you unsolicited advice?”
“Something tells me you won’t take no for an answer, so bemy guest.” The heat emanating from the cup warms my hand, my chest.
A soft chuckle escapes her. Alara is unnerving. I don’t understand why she’s not blatantly annoyed by my attitude. “Be nice to the customers,” she says quietly yet firmly. “We have a reputation to uphold, and you might not understand the townspeople’s point of view, but everyone is happy that you’re back. You’re obviously not, and I don’t know why, but that’s not a reason to give people shit. We’re also here to help, not to hurt you. So, if you could please just be agreeable to your fans, that would be great.”
She has a point, but I don’t want to admit it because it fucking hurts. The realization that the only way I’m getting redemption is by executing Coach’s instructions makes my mind go off in a constant frenzy. So I stare at her, jaw-slacked by the fierceness she carries so gracefully.
“At least do it for my dad,” she adds, before finally leaving.
