“Okay, don’t be late,” Abby urges.
“And don’t talk to Ford in the next hour and forty-seven minutes,” Mia adds.
“I’m not going to ruin the surprise.”
There’s a thud from the door behind me as Nate walks in with wet hair, holding up a bleeding thumb.
“Abby, your pool thermometer is the fucking worst. I’ll buy you a new one,” Nate whines, and confusion covers Abby’s face.
Mia stands and walks over to him with a loud sigh.
“Did you break their thermometer? There’s a Band-Aid in the diaper bag. Go,” she orders, pointing down the hall, and like an obedient puppy, Nate abides, kissing the top of her head.
Mia mouths,sorry, to Abby as he passes.
“He’d never survive without you.” I raise my eyebrows at Mia as I’m about to walk toward the front door.
“Oh, please. None of you would,” Summer chimes in, perched on one of the barstools with a glass of champagne in her hand. Her blue eyes staring me down.
“I’d be okay,” I say, knowing it’s probably not true. These women have become some of my favorite people in my life. They’re badass, but soft and gentle. I admire the hell out of them. “Three less people being mean to me.”
Mia chokes out a laugh. “Would a mean friend invite the woman you’re obsessed with to this party?”
My head whips around to Mia as she stands there and smirks when she realizes she has my attention.
“Demi’s coming?” I smile as my pulse begins to race.
“Yes,” Abby confirms.
Unless it’s been a work related event, I’ve rarely interacted with Demi outside of the football field or the facility. She attends charity events and dinners that are put on by the team or by the community, but she’s always in work mode. And most of the time, she had her plus one with her. Something that she definitely won’t have if she comes tonight. It could be my only shot to actually talk to her about something other than work, and it’s a good chance to see how she’s doing.
“Cool,” I say, knowing the girls see right through my nonchalant demeanor.
No way in fucking hell I’d just be cool knowing I might get the chance to hang out with Demi tonight. Even just being in the same room as her outside of work is enough to excite me.
“You can rush home now and freak out. Get yourself all dolled up and handsome for her. We know you want to.” Summer grins, sipping her champagne.
I take a few steps back around the kitchen, ruffling the hair on top of Summer’s head with one hand and pulling Abby in for a hug with the other.
“God, you stink.” Abby shoves at my ribs, pushing me away from her.
“Maybe I’ll just freshen up a bit, yeah.” I smirk, giving Mia a kiss on the top of her head as I pass by.
“Mm-hmm,” Summer hums. “Wear something pretty,” she teases as I’m already at the front door.
“I always look pretty,” I shout, as it closes behind me.
A year ago I wouldn’t have said yes to attending a birthday party for an athlete I work with. I love the Andersons, but I don’t make a habit of socializing with the players outside of work related events. Not that it’s something I’d get in trouble for; there’s no rule against it. I guess it’s just a personal preference I’ve had since I started in this industry. The fear of not being taken seriously in sports started early, and my ex was always quick to remind me that spending offseason time with the players gives the wrong impression. Although, now I want to attend everything and anything just to give him a giantfuck you.
Even still, I think there will always be the unspoken differences for women in sports. While my male colleagues can hang out with whoever they want, whenever they want—women will still field the stupid ass comments about choosing this job just so we can date the players.
I’ve had an athlete, and believe me, they really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
So, finally saying yes felt good. Even if I did reread my response seventeen times before sending it and then three more for good measure after it said delivered. Overanalyzing and overthinking are just part of my charm.
I run my hands over the thighs of my jeans as I stare at myself in this bathroom mirror. It’s so much smaller than the one in my old house. There’s barely any room in here. A toilet, shower, and sink with a small piece of counter space, and I can basically reach everything without even moving my feet.
This isn’t even my house—or apartment, I should say. I’ve been staying with one of the interns, and while I appreciate her hospitality, I desperately need to get my own place for the season before I reevaluate my long-term living situation. Her lease is almost up anyway, so I’m on the clock.
