“So have I.” Grinning now, she looks up and nearly knocks me off her feet with the way her eyes are so bright. There’s so much excitement in her expression, and the sight of it settles warm in my chest. “Mr. Evanson called me this morning and said he wants to hire me for post-practice meals for the team.”
I smile, relaxing for the first time in days. “That’s great, Savannah. They’ll be better for it.”
“I hope so.”
Evanson was skeptical when I suggested the idea at first, but I didn’t leave it alone until I’d talked him into it. To my surprise, Moxie backed me up despite all the trouble I’ve caused him, saying something about how morale is down and ready-made food would help lift team spirits.
Strangely, I think what ultimately convinced Evanson to reach out to Savannah was a comment I made mostly to myself after Moxie added his argument to the mix: “Keeping me off the pitch for a bit should do plenty for morale; I just think the lads are hungry.”
Whether Savannah knows I had a hand in her new position, I don’t plan to mention my involvement. Getting her the gig was the least I could do after the way I’ve treated her.
“Mr. Evanson,” I say, hoping to keep her off my scent. “Did he tell you to call him that?”
She bites her lip. “Well, no, but—”
“Didn’t think so.”
Groaning, she points the knife at me. “The man is friends with movie stars and one of my favorite musicians. I can’t just call him by his first name!”
“Sure you can.” Most of the team don’t use his actual name. They all call him Stitch, the nickname he earned while playing for the Thunder because they all have nicknames.
Except me.
Aside from Moxie, the team calls me Callahan if they call me anything at all. Most of the time they simply ignore me. With my two weeks in exile, they’re liable to forget me altogether.
I don’t especially love that.
“It’s going to take some getting used to, working for Mr., uh, Cole,” Savannah says, and her cheeks flush with pink as she turns her focus on the chicken. “At least he’s not Liam Connolly, right?”
“Your favorite musician?” I guess, and when she nods, I make a mental note to bring that up with Evanson next time I talk to him. Savannah’s main goal is sports, but I doubt she’d say no to a celebrity or two on her client list. Evanson has connections that could boost True Fuel, which is exactly what Savannah needs. He hardly owes me any favors, but maybe he’ll make an introduction if I tell him how much it’ll do for her.
“So I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other now that I’ll be feeding your team.” Still blushing, Savannah dumps the chicken in a large bowl. “Is that okay?”
Okay? Sure, I suggested the idea to the owner to get Savannah more business, but my efforts haven’t been entirely selfless. Savannah bringing meals for the team means time she’ll spend inmy corner of Los Angeles, and nothing has ever sounded more appealing.
The only time things feel right is when I’m with her.
“No problem,” I say with a poorly casual tone that won’t be earning me any acting awards. “But you won’t see much of me for the next two weeks.”
Looking up, she stares at me with worry in her eyes. “What? Why?”
I shrug, wincing when a sharp pain shoots through my shoulder. “Because I’ve been suspended. Not just from games but from practice.”
“Because of your shoulder?”
“Because I was an idiot.”
With the way she bites her lip to hide a smile, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve had things all wrong when it comes to dating. Not that I’m hoping to date Savannah, or anyone for that matter; I still have a bet to win and a country to return to. But if a self-deprecating bit of honesty can elicit that tempting smile, I may never rely on my ego again to try to impress Savannah Blair.
Ever since I got to California, my ego has done nothing but get in my way.
“I’ve been reckless,” I say, though the words aren’t going to do me any favors. “And Coach was right to pull me off the line until I can get my head on straight. So I’ll have to wait to enjoy whatever you make for the team.”
Her eyebrows rise, a thoughtful look on her face. “So you’re free tomorrow night?”
“Er, yeah.” But why would she want to know that? She’s not asking me out, is she? I stand a little taller, lifting Beef up to myshoulders where he drapes himself around the back of my neck like an overly fuzzy scarf. “Why?”
“Because Mrs. Shafer invited me to a networking event that her company is putting on tomorrow.”
