“But that penalty a few plays prior, when the linebacker got around you. Was that a blown assignment or…?”
My smile evaporates. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m sure you have an opinion, Steve. You always do.”
Steve’s disingenuous smile grows. Fucker. Never played a day in his life. I’d love to wipe the smile off his face. “I’m just wondering if it’s tough to keep up with the rookies at your age.”
“Well,” I smile sweetly, “we aren’t all weaklings who have to prey on others’ alleged weaknesses in order to feed ourselves. Some of us go to war and accept we’ll take casualties. Including ourselves.”
He reddens, sitting down.
I eye the others, glaring. “Anyone else?” The room is quiet. “That’s what I thought. If one more person brings up retirement… in any way, shape, or form, that will be the last interview they do with me. Ever. I’ve been very clear. I’m playing this season. Fully. Next season is a question mark, like it has been since year one.”
I get up and walk out, disgusted. Fuckers. What the hell would they know about retirement? They can do their jobs until they die at their laptops. I, on the other hand, have to figure out who I’m going to be when I grow up. Again.
Thoughts of Harper drift through my mind. I wish I could talk to her. Not that I want to discuss retirement with her. Or anyone. I can’t believe I brought it up at her event. It would just be nice to have her near. To joke with her. Get my mind off things.
I settle for texting her and trying out this possible new career path.
Me:Hey Harps. Wanna get your training on?
Harper:Hey Taylor. Great game. I’d have assumed you’d be buried in an ice bath right now, not texting me. But since you asked, I’d love to work out with you.
Chapter 4
Harper
I can’t believe how fucking nervous I am right now. I’ve known Taylor for years, and yes, I imagine fucking him a lot, but… still. It shouldn’t be this hard to contain myself. Maybe it’s because I’m wearing my favorite sexy sports bra and leggings, all of which hug and lift my curves in generous ways. He’s never seen me in anything but party attire or jeans.
Maybe it’s because he’s going to be helping me with my form. Touching me to make adjustments, watching my every move. I shiver. God-willing, he’ll touch me. Then again, if he does, I might soak through my leggings and die of embarrassment. Hence my choice of black.
Damnit, Harper. You can’t do anything unless you get out of the goddamned car.
I’ve been staring at the gym entrance for fifteen minutes. I got here early, so I wouldn’t be late. Two minutes ago, Taylor walked in. I’m still sitting here like a scared mouse. I don’t know where the woman is that rode this man’s namesake like a confident wanton this morning. Yeah, she’s gone missing. I squish down in my seat.
Right now, all I see in the rearview is the Harper who lets men walk all over her. Ugh. And deny her pleasure. What a wimp.
Annoyed, I sit up, tighten my high pony, and step out of my car.
Taylor, here I come.
Oh Jesus. Wrong choice of words.
Pulling my workout bag over my shoulder, I head inside.
Taylor is waiting for me in the lobby. He’s wearing a skintight black dri-fit shirt and loose shorts. The cut of his muscles ripple beneath the shirt, his huge arms flexing as he uncrosses them.
“Hey.” He gives me an awkward side hug around my bag.
“Hey,” I say softly. This weird shyness is going to kill me.Breathe, Harper.
“You ready for me to wear you out?” he says, grinning.
Images of him over top of me, pounding me until I scream, waft through my head.
God in heaven. I’m going to melt through the floor.
“Yep,” I say. “Lead the way, Taylor the Torturer.”
He shoots me a goofy grin over his shoulder. “New nickname? I like it.”
