“And you didn’t invite me?” Rhett scoffed. “Wow.”
“Trying to meet my parents after just one hookup? You move fast.”
“I’m tryin’ to make it two hook-ups. Besides, parents love me.”
“Maybe Sunday, after they leave,” I said.
That night, I went out to dinner with my parents. Dad was on a diet because of his bad cholesterol, but we were allowing him to order a filet for his birthday—as a special treat.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Mom asked while we waited for dessert.
“I’m surprised you waited the entire meal to ask me that.”
“I thought you would bring it up first,” Mom complained. “What’s his name? Did you meet online? Everyone meets online these days!”
“I’m not dating anyone! Why do you think I am?”
“You’ve been checking your phone all night. You used to do that when you dated that boy in high school. Bobby Heller.”
“Billy Feller,” I corrected. “And I promise I’m not dating anyone. The last date I went on was six months ago.”
“A girl like you should be dating!” my dad chimed in. “You’re in the prime of your life. You know Albert, our accountant at work? His daughter just turned forty. Still single. Can you believe that? She’s a surgeon!”
I smiled politely through the rest of dinner. Iwantedto tell my mom that I’d slept with Rhett Lawson. I usually told her everything. But she also had a big mouth and would definitely blab about it to everyone in her church. Then the whole world would find out.
Right now, I was enjoying having a secret.
I texted Rhett on Sunday afternoon after my parents were gone, but he was stuck at a team charity event.
He discreetly asked me out after practice Monday, but I couldn’t because I had book club that night. And as tempting as it was to cancel, I was desperately trying to maintain my friendships outside of work.
We thought Tuesday would work, but then Rhett came down with a cold and was sent home early from practice. I texted him while the rest of the team was finishing up in the locker room.
Me: I’m mad at you for getting sick.
Rhett: Hey, it’s not my fault! It’s not like I was going around licking doorknobs.
Me: I know. I’m just frustrated our schedules haven’t aligned.
Rhett: Same. Maybe when I kick this cold?
Me: YES. Drink plenty of fluids. And get some sleep.
Rhett: I just drank an entire bottle of Nyquil. I’m about to time travel two days into the future.
Our playful banter made me smile, but I was still in a grumpy mood. Rhett was the first guy I’d slept with in months, and I was eager to do it again. Preferably in a bed, where we could take our time without the fear that we would get caught.
I stayed late after practice and caught up on paperwork. Everything I did with the players had to be thoroughly documented. It was easy to forget that these guys were multi-million-dollar investments, and the team wanted every single thing recorded in a spreadsheet—whether it was a fifteen-minute massage, or simply holding an icepack to someone’s knee.
It was my least favorite part of the job. But hey, you had to take the bad with the good.
I could hear someone lifting weights in the exercise room, and when I finished my paperwork I poked my head in there. Elias Nystrom was in the power rack, squatting about three hundred pounds worth of plates. The trainer in me kicked in, and I watched him for a few reps to make sure his form was good. His powerful quadriceps muscles strained against his compressionshorts as he squatted low, then lunged upward again with ease. His grey tank top was dark with sweat; he’d been at this a while.
He suddenly glanced over, glaring at me as he re-racked the bar.
“What routine are you working on?” I asked.
Elias cracked his knuckles, still glaring at me. “Mind your own business,” he said in a thick Swedish accent.
