Page 74 of The Romance Line
Which is not at all what they said.
Gus sticks up a hand. “Yes, and why have you been so elusive for the last year and a half? What’s going on with you for real?”
My blood is pumping too fast. I wanted him to talk to the press so badly that I hadn’t considered that it could backfire for all of us—him, me, the team. I have to fix this. “He’s not here to discuss anything but tonight’s game,” I say crisply to Gus and by extension, everyone else.
Then Erin sticks out her mic. “What motivated you in tonight’s game, Max? Take us through your performance and what drove you.”
It’s a softball question, but at least she understood that I simply won’t let him answer hardball ones.
“Let me tell you something about tonight,” Max says,staying on message—hismessage. “I’ve got a great group of teammates. They’ve got my back and I’ve got theirs. Thanks for asking.”
I breathe the biggest sigh in the world. It’s the most throwaway of answers in the history of sports. A harmless cliché reply straight from the school of media training. But that’s all I could ask for—a cliché is so much better than the alternative.
He’s not telling a reporter to fuck off. He’s not yelling at a photographer to get the hell off his sister’s property. He’s giving the simplest of comments. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing damning.
But it’s an olive branch.
He turns to go, but before he takes a step away from the mic, he whirls back, leans in, and adds, “Oh and I did a lot of visualization exercises before the game. That helps me picture how I want things to go.”
I roll my lips together to silence the gasp in my throat. If only I could cool the heat flaring in every damn cell in my body. I’m on fire, lit up in my bones and under my skin. I keep my eyes focused on the floor so no one can read them. So no one can tell Max was thinking of me in my new pair of Sea Dogs blue panties.
He leaves without looking at me, but we both know he wants to. That’s the problem. That’s the big, huge problem right now.
But I’ve got a press scrum to wrap up, so I focus solely on my job, which I need to do well to try to win the promotion—the one Elias is angling for. A little later, when I’m finished for the night, I make my way down the corridor toward the parking lot, passing the equipment room.
Up ahead, I spot several players. Wesley and Asher arein their suits, Miles too. The team is heading out of town tonight for an away stretch of games. Zaire will fly with them this time while I hold down the fort. The team bus will take them to the jet in a bit.
Max will be gone for a few days, and that has to be good for me. Like eating kale is good for me. Like taking vitamins is good for me.
But when I pass the locker room, a voice calls out, “I think you left something in here.”
I wheel around. Max is dressed for travel in a dark blue suit and a starched white shirt, looking too sexy for my own good. He’s got one hand pushing open the door to the equipment room, his forehead tipped in an invitation.
24
A KISS FOR THE ROAD
Max
By my estimates I have twenty minutes before I have to be on the team bus that'll take us to the airport. Every second counts. It’s only fair that I let Everly know why I showed up in the media room tonight. The equipment room seems as good a place to inform her as any. “Come with me,” I tell her, as I step into the room full of sticks, pads, and skates.
“You have to leave any second,” she says, concern in her brow as she stands in the doorway.
“But not yet. Now come inside.”
“So bossy,” she says, as I reach for her hand. She places it in mine and I tug her inside.
I close the door. I can’t wait a second longer to know. “Did you wear the underwear?”
She jerks her gaze behind her, as if she can check for eavesdroppers, stragglers, anyone in the hallway beyond.
But I’m not stupid, and I wouldn’t hurt her by talkingthis way in front of her co-workers or mine. The hallway’s empty now, plus the door is shut. “I’m paid a lot of money for these eyes. I already checked to see if anyone was around before I pulled you in here,” I try to reassure her, then return to the pressing matter—the one I can’t get out of my head. “Did you wear them?”
She lifts her chin, a little saucy as she asks, “What do you think?”
She’s still not answering me, and it’s driving me wild. I try one more tactic—assuming. “You wore them.”
She moves to the wall, leaning against it, right next to a long row of cubbies holding gear. Dropping her purse to the floor, she bobs a shoulder, giving me ayou’ll never knowsmile. “I guess you’ll just have to wonder the whole time you’re out of town,” she says coquettishly, and I deserve all her taunts.