Page 33 of Colliding with Ten

“No.” I adjusted in my seat. “The play was unfortunate. But she’s a person, not online content.”

Another reporter tried again. “Have you spoken to her?”

I looked at him. There were many ways to answer that question. Yes, and I liked it too much. Yes, and I haven’t stopped thinking about her since. Instead, I gave him the account that belonged in a press room. “I’ve made sure she knows I’m sorry.”

“Through the team?”

I held his gaze. “I’ve made sure she knows.”

That was all he was getting.

A woman a few seats down leaned forward.

“Lennox,” she said, “I was at the game, standing near the cheerleaders. It seemed you and the cheerleader shared a moment. Care to comment?”

Here we go. It hadn’t been a week, and they were already shipping us together. I kept my face neutral, but my muscles tensed. “A moment?”

“Yes. You stayed with her longer than necessary. It looked personal.”

I almost smiled. Instead, I let out a short breath through my nose. “I stayed long enough to make sure she was conscious.”

A few heads nodded, and I willed them to move on. But the reporter wasn’t done.

“It looked like more than that,” she pressed. “Like you didn’t want to leave.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider her words. Then I gave her an easy half-smile. “If I lingered, it’s because I was waiting for the trainers to do their job. They’re better at it than I am.”

A few of the reporters chuckled

She didn’t laugh. “Are you planning on visiting her?”

Well, it seemed this reporter wasn’t aware of my visit to Ayla after the game or the flower delivery. At least I could keep that to myself. “I don’t know her, and I’m pretty sure showing up uninvited would cross the line into stalking. That’s frowned upon.”

The room laughed.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Most women would’ve appreciated flowers.”

I met her gaze. “Most women didn’t get tackled by a six-foot-five, two hundred and thirty-pound quarterback. Who’s to say flowers are the right call?”

The room reacted with oohs and a few chuckles.

Before she could fire back, Coach leaned into his mic. “Alright. We’ve got time for two more, and they better be about the next game.”

The questions shifted back to coverage schemes and playoff positioning, but the mood never quite reset. I answered, but part of my mind wandered. Ayla was going viral, making her and AJ more visible. His team’s schedule was public. His regimen could be too.

I shifted in my chair, clenching my fist. She wasn’t helpless, but she was still injured. What if she was alone when men broke in? The idea disturbed me. I answered another question about execution. I needed to warn her, but if I did, then what about my plans to stay away? The pieces of it were starting to unravel, and it had barely been a day.

When I finally left the facility, that was all I could think about. I gripped the steering wheel as I reconsidered all the points. It wasn’t my concern. AJ was her brother, and he could look after his family. He must already have security and a doorman. Perhaps, though, she didn’t know about the burglaries. I would make sure she knew. If players were being targeted when traveling, then the people nearby would also be at risk. That was a sensible worry and reason to call her again.

I let out a breath. Okay, I had to admit, I wanted to hear her voice, to make sure she was okay. No more texting. I needed to be sure. I wanted her real-time pushback, her telling me I was being ridiculous.

At a red light, I took my phone from the console and looked at Ayla’s text messages. I put the phone back and continued driving when the light turned green again. If I wanted to stay on target and avoid distractions, then Mateo’s updates were safer. I’d go home, eat, and watch game film. If I still thought it was important after that, I could reconsider.

By the time I got home, I’d lost that argument. Why could I not keep my head straight with this woman? I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, checked the security lock, then checked the patio door before sitting on my couch. The glass walls in my living room glowed with the dying evening sun.

I unlocked my phone and opened her thread, which I still hadn’t saved. I told myself I’d only warn her. I pressed call before I could talk myself out of it. The phone rang, and I waited.

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