Page 58 of Lucky Shot

“Seems very important.” He’s trying to figure out what I’m hiding, but I refuse to give it to him.

Humor disguises pain. It always has for me.

“It is. Very. And you never answered the question. Why are you always shirtless?”

He shrugs and offers me a coy smile. “I’ve got to find some way to keep you looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. How can I not? “I’m not supposed to like you, you know.” I begin moving toward the office but veer toward the game room, as the last thing I want him to see is the endless bills sitting on my desk I’ve yet to file away.

“Says who?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and both his pecs and his biceps jump with the motion.

Says my ego, says my head, says everything, but that ache simmering within me. I move to the foosball table and spin a handle out of habit. “Says me.”

“That’s very scientific.”

“It is. Extremely.” I spin another handle so that the sound ricochets throughout the small space.

“What’s up with your fixation with that thing?” He lifts his chin toward the table and game I’m currently messing with.

“What do you mean?”

“You have a habit of standing there and staring off into space.”

“It’s where I think,” I admit.

“I guess you think a lot then.” He glances at his watch. “I have to head out. Practice.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, a second one for the team so I can be a part of it.”

I think I should say sorry, but I don’t. I can’t keep feeling that way over and over for something he started with a comment and an ego.

But I do feel sorry. Especially after watching him today and knowing he’s not just phoning in his presence here. He’s trying and that counts for a lot with me.

But if there’s one thing I learned from Patrick, it’s that we do in fact control some of what happens to us in life. We can turn the lemons we were given into lemonade. Is that what I’m trying to do here?

As per usual, long after Hardy’s gone, I’m still standing at the foosball table, hands braced on its side. Contemplating. Where does this place go from here?

“She told me you were a good kid and worth all the trouble you’d caused over the years. That you were doing good things for this community. She told me if we helped you out, you’d pay us back someday.”

How I wish I could thank Mrs. Macias for believing in me. Was she right though? Am I really doing good for this community?

Is this whole Hardy thing enough to catapult it out of the red so that I can bring it back to its glory days? To a club that wins championships and gives athletes opportunities like the ones I had?

Or am I just holding on to an old dream because it’s all I’ve ever known?

Because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to call my own?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hardy

“Why are you calling me?” I groan. “I have an evening off. Team bonding and shit.”

“So not really an evening off, then, is it?” Ari asks. She’s got me there. “And so this phone call is appropriately timed to go over the next steps of our PR plan.”

“There are no next steps,” I say as I lean against the retaining wall at the outdoor bar where we’ve all met up at.