“I’ll make a conservationist out of you yet.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
The two of us hold hands between the seats the entire time we ride to work. It’s cute and romantic and feels kind of odd… but at the same time absolutely right.
He exits the car and opens the passenger door for me, holding my hand to help me out. My knee is bothering me today, so it’s a little difficult to step down out of his truck without help. As we grow closer toward the training center, Rush still hasn’t let go of my hand as I try tugging it away.
“Bird, if you let go of my hand I’ll toss your ass over my shoulder and walk you into work myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You know I would.”
I try tugging my hand away again.
“You must want everyone to know that I made you come literally eight hours ago.”
Although our relationship has changed over the last two weeks, I still think it’s best to keep our business and personal lives as separate as we can for now.
“They’ll definitely know if we walk inside the building holding hands. I told you we shouldn’t of done it doggy-styled. My knee was fine until last night.”
“So you’re blaming me? You physically stuck your ass so far in my face that I could smell how much you wanted me, and you know very well that your juicy ass and that wet pussy are my two weaknesses.”
“Lower your voice.” I hush him.
“And I was playing around with you last night,” I chastise him. “I didn’t think you would slap my ass and fuck me senseless over a beanbag chair in the den.”
“I heard zero complaints last night. In fact, all I heard was harder, Rush, deeper, Rush.” He chuckles almost sinisterly.
I tug my hand again, and he pulls his in the other direction.
“Which do you prefer, Bird? Your crutches are in your office and the cane is at home. I can carry you in or you can walk into work with some dignity, take some Motrin, and get on with your day.”
I huff in total exasperation and stop fighting.
“Hold it tighter,” he demands.
I clasp his hand tighter.
“That’s better.”
It’s preseason now, which means that the players aren’t doing training drills every day but are practicing game plays as a team. Most of the players are gearing up for morning practice at this time of day and the trainers are probably in the therapy rooms, so I’m hoping that no one will even see Rush helping me to my office. Of course, things can never be that easy for me. Once we enter the inner courtyard of the training center, the first person we see is Miranda.
Her eyes immediately drop to our hands and I release his just as quickly.
“Morning, Miranda,” he says in an all business voice.
“Morning, Rush.”
“Let me get your crutches for you, Mia.” He says to me without skipping a beat and then he strides off toward the PT office, leaving me in the hallway with the woman we both embarrassed just a couple of weeks ago.
What do I say to her?
She cocks her head to the side as if she knows I’m struggling with a way to break the tension. “Good Morning, Mia.”
A woman can often read body language, subtext and subtleties, and the tone Miranda used to say good morning to me is all I need to hear to know that she now sees me as a threat and not an ally. If there was any question before, it’s been answered. Miranda still has a thing for Rush.
“Morning, Miranda.”
