I slide my laptop from my shoulder bag and open the spreadsheet. Most players need one session, maybe two for the stiff ones. The auction pieces require more time. I haven’t fully decided what I’ll create yet. I’d love to do team portraits, but that will require me to go to games.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I remember the conversation I had with Hunter earlier.
“Play the game, Kendall. You’re winning.”
My eyes scan down the list of people I still need to paint. Professionally, Patterson is the most compelling member of the team with a fierce fan club. I’d rather skip him even though he has a raw intensity that’s impossible to ignore. I close my eyes, contemplating my next move.
Right now, he has power over me. I’m in control of this project, and he can’t do anything about it.
Patterson Cross—February 16, 2:00 p.m.
Patterson Cross—February 18, 2:00 p.m.
Patterson Cross—February 21, 2:00 p.m.
This is more than enough to make him lose his shit. No one else has had three sessions. I print the schedule and walk it to the bulletin board outside the locker room. The hallway is empty as I take my time pinning it in place. Each pushpin feels like a small act of revenge.
I step back and look at his name printed in black ink, not once, or twice, but three glorious times. A slow smile spreads across my face.
As if I timed it, the guys leave the locker room, chatting about the game on Thursday. I immediately turn to walk toward the doors at the opposite end of the hall.
I hear a loud, “Fuck,” that’s followed by chuckling from others.
I make it to the next hallway and pick up my pace.
“Kendall,” Patterson hollers. His voice barely contains his rage.
I keep walking, pretending I don’t hear him.
His footsteps come quicker, and he catches up to me. “We need to talk about this bullshit.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I say, holding the strap of my bag tight.
“Three fucking sessions this week?” His voice echoes off the walls as he closes the distance between us. “Why are you doing this?”
I turn slowly, letting him see how unbothered I am, even though my pulse is racing. “You’re the face of the franchise with top merch sales in the league and your own fan club, so it only makes sense that you’d need more time.”
“This is payback, and we both know it.”
“For what exactly?” I play dumb, blinking up at him. “That mistake?”
His jaw tightens because we both know he can’t mention the kiss.
“Change the schedule,” he demands.
“No.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I.” I take a step closer, refusing to let him tower over me. “You don’t get to dictate my schedule, and you don’t get to corner me in hallways and bark orders because you’re uncomfortable. This is my project andmydamn timeline, which means I make the rules. Ones that you’ll fucking follow whether you like it or not.”
“I’ll talk to Coach about this.”
“Aw.” I make a face at him as a laugh escapes me. The idea of him running to my father over portrait sessions is genuinely pathetic. “You’re going to tell my daddy that his daughter is being mean? That’s really the move you want to make? Get real, Pattycakes.”
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t back down. “If that’s what it takes to not have to deal with you so much, yeah.”
“Then go ahead. Be my guest. Let me know how that works out for you.” I gesture toward the administrative wing, where my father’s office sits at the end of the hall. “I’m sure he’ll beverysympathetic to your concerns.”
