“Nice to meet you, Blair. Are you walking back down?”
“I am.”
“Mind if I join you? I promise not to attack you. Unless you ask me to.”
“What?” My eyes widen and she smiles.
“It’s a joke. Full disclosure. I think you’re beautiful, and I probably would have kept walking if I hadn’t found you attractive.”
“Oh.”I didn’t see that coming.“I’m flattered. But…” I tuck my hair behind my ear as my gaze drops to my shoes, suddenly interested in pulling up my socks. “I have a boyfriend.”
I wince and Jenna laughs. “Shame. But that’s okay. I’m happy to settle for friends.” She holds out her arm this time, waiting for me to curl mine through, and I hesitate for a beat, not used to people being this forward.
Jenna smiles again, and when the warmth of it fills my chest, a thought hits me. I could sure use a friend.
“Sounds great.” I throw caution to the wind, linking my elbow with hers.
Thank you, universe. I’m going to be okay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zane
Storm wide receiver Zane Fitzpatrick will be back on the field next week after his serious incident with a teammate. But we’re all wondering…. Did management make the right call in keeping him on the roster? How does this fit with D’Angelo’s claims of Storm being a family-oriented team?
I toss my phone across the room and it immediately vibrates. Several times in a row. Meaning one of two things. It’s either Cade checking in on me, which he’s been doing regularly since I left him at the bar, reminiscent of when I first took off all those years ago.
Or it’s the damn Storm group chat. Easton warned me that it would probably drive me crazy and I should have listened. They are fucking relentless. Always texting. Always getting involved.
Since I was first added to the group, I’ve discovered it’s made up of my teammates, Easton, Luke, and Reed, along with my ex-teammate, Dylan. He retired two seasons ago and I was lucky enough to take over his starting position. But we barely knoweach other. In fact, I’d say that other than at the hospital back in Florida, and when we’re on the field, I’ve barely spoken to any of these guys. Group chat aside.
Turning toward my bedroom door, I fight the urge to check my phone the second I get a notification, but like the addict I am, I give in, instantly regretting it.
LUKE: Those media fuckers
REED: Came here to say something similar
LUKE: But with nicer language, right? You’d probably say “Those awful, awful men”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. I’ve got to admit, they’re at least entertaining. But it’d be better if the discussion didn’t revolve around me.
REED: Are you sexist now, Luke? The writer was a female
LUKE: Bullshit. I checked before I sent the text
REED: Lucky. Anyway, you’re right. They’re fucking awful. You deserve to be playing, Zane
ZANE: I never doubted that
I should have been playing sooner. It’s a fucking scratch. Despite what the media are reporting, my absence had nothing to do withMr. McKenna—fucking Landon—still being on lifesupport. The reason I’m not playing until game three of the season is that my stupid wound reopened on my first day of practice, all because I pushed myself too far.
The team doctors then decided I needed more time to heal before they’d let me back on the field.
Fuckers.
But here I am, finally ready to play. Ready to prove that I’m still on my A game, regardless of how long I’ve been out of action. I’ve got two weeks to practice, and I have no doubt I’m going to kill it out there.
I need this.
