“Lennox?” Carter prods. “You in?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t, man. Gotta watch film.”
“I’m pulling rank on this one. You’re in. The film can wait.”
He walks away, the conversation over. Then he calls over his shoulder, “Tell everyone else, Lennox!”
Lennox grimaces, clearly aggravated. No one wants to be the guy who played a shit game and then tells everyone he’s going out for drinks after.
“I’ll do it, man,” I tell him.
Talia is waiting for me in the training room, wearing sweatpants and a baggy Crush T-shirt. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a bun.
“Ready?” she asks.
I take a few more steps until I’m close enough that she’s forced to crane her neck to keep her eyes on mine. I don’t want anyone overhearing our conversation.
“Almost. Where are your usual pants?”
She furrows her brow, confused. “I didn’t know I had usual pants.”
“Yeah. Tight ones. So I can admire your ass in the mirror.”
She flushes. “Please. I’m built like a Pixar Mom.”
“Then I’ve got a thing for your Pixar Mom ass, and now I’ll be laying three compliments on you.”
She looks away like she’s annoyed, but I don’t miss the smile playing on her lips.
“I heard about the card you sent to Isaac. I like how you fit in so well here, and you’re perceptive about what people need and when.”
When her eyes find mine again, she’s smiling for real. A full, radiant, no-sarcasm smile.
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
I grin. “Look at you, getting better at taking compliments.”
Her smile widens.
“Next,” I say. “You have a beautiful smile. When I make you smile, it makes my whole day.”
“Christ, get a room, you two,” Bash mutters as he walks past.
I immediately take a step back. I didn’t realize I was being so obvious, and if Turner knows how I feel about Talia, she’ll never set foot in this locker room again.
“You’re amazing at stretching me,” I say, keeping my tone low. “My personal trainer measures my range of motion, and it’s gotten better since I started working with you.”
“Really?”
I nod. “I figured I was maxed out on range of motion, and he did, too.”
“Can I see the numbers sometime?”
“Anytime. I keep them in my pants.” I gesture at my crotch and she laughs.
She lets out a real, unguarded laugh, throwing her head back. It’s a bright, infectious sound I love bringing out of her.
Then she turns serious. “Okay, hip flexors. We have to get going. I heard you’re going out with the guys.”
