CHAPTER 19 #2
“No, but I’ll cut off your balls while you’re showering if you joke about her again, Hendrix,” Graydon snaps, causing the big dude to clamp his mouth shut. “And that goes for every single one of you fucks.”
If I didn’t dislike him so much, I might find his protectiveness sweet.
Graydon takes off, repeating the same movement, and I follow him, my breath labored as I lightly tap the giant pad this time. I know my strengths, and ramming into that thing is not one of them.
“Does it look bad?” I ask as I sit on a medical bench, looking up at Graydon, the spot above my right eye throbbing.
His lips thin, and his nostrils flare as he angrily stares down at me.
“It’s not great, Baker.” He huffs. “What the hell were you doing?”
“I don’t know. I thought I saw a frillback pigeon and was interested in categorizing it.
I was putting my helmet on at the same time, and then bam, I hit my head with my helmet.
You know, these things are bigger than they seem.
” I squirt water in my mouth and try to smile up at him, but I know it’s no use. He’s not happy with me at the moment.
I’ve been a bumbling mess the entire practice, and I’m not really sure how intelligent it is to have a newbie out on a practice field with a bunch of children-eating barbarians.
Granted, they don’t eat children, but from their size and the weight they carry, it seems like they could.
They’ve actually been pretty nice. One guy even slapped me on the ass, which of course caused Graydon to pin the guy to the ground and tell him to “never fucking touch” me again.
The guy held his hands up in defense and said he always slaps butts as a sign of a job well done.
Graydon informed him my butt was off-limits.
God, that conversation still makes me chuckle every time I hear it again in my mind. Everly’s going to love that one.
Graydon’s eyes go to my forehead again, where I have a butterfly strip above my eyebrow. Then his eyes fall down to my wrist, and he noticeably gets angrier.
“It’s not a training camp without a few injuries,” Coach Keenan says, coming up to us.
“Looks good on her,” Troy says, causing Graydon to grow even more tense.
“What the hell’s he doing here?” Graydon growls to his coach.
“I invited him,” Coach Keenan says. “Do you have a problem with that…Saint?”
Graydon’s jaw grows even tighter, and I swear if Keenan wasn’t his coach, Graydon’s arm would be around his neck right now, squeezing all the air from his lungs until he was nothing but a pile of skin and bones on the ground.
“You know,” Troy says, “if you worried half as much about your footwork as you do about your little plaything, you wouldn’t be barely making the sprints.”
“What did you say?” Graydon snaps at his dad.
Uh-oh.
I look between Troy and Graydon, the tension between them so palpable, so hungry that it’s sucking all the air within a ten-mile radius.
“You heard me,” he says.
Graydon steps up to his dad, his posture barely imposing over his father.
“I’m hoping for your sake I didn’t hear you properly.”
“No, you heard me. You’re so worried about your little plaything that you’re already a liability on the field.”
Graydon’s eyes nearly turn black, and within a flash, he cocks his arm back and punches his dad right in the freaking ribs, causing him to groan and bend over.
Oh shit.
“She’s not my plaything. She’s an intelligent woman with a heart of fucking gold.
Show some goddamn respect,” Graydon says as everyone turns toward us.
Just as my mind tries to process what he said about me, fear also rips through my chest as I look around, grateful cameras are not allowed at the first week of camp so they can’t record and spread this interaction.
A few of the larger guys run up and grab Graydon by the arms, pulling him back a smidge as Troy straightens, laughing the most maniacal laugh I’ve ever heard.
He pushes his hand through his hair, bent to the side, nursing his ribs as he says, “Finally, some fire in those eyes.” He then nods toward Coach Keenan and says, “Make him pay for it.”
Oh God. I don’t like the sound of that.
Unsure what to do, I quickly say, “I…I thought his footwork was impressive.”
Troy turns to me and lets his lips turn up even more. “Of course you did, sweetheart.” And then he takes off with Coach Keenan at his side.
Graydon stares off at their trailing backs, his hands flexing at his sides. One of the big guys pats him on the shoulder and says, “Let it go.”
Then they take off to finish their water break, leaving me alone with a heavy-breathing, ready-to-snap defensive end.
“Um, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t fucking say anything,” he says as he pushes his hand through his sweaty hair before his eyes lock on mine, a hint of worry in those tortured pupils.
“Graydon, I—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, and then that worry, or any concern he might have had, vanishes. “I sent you a link for a ride home. All you have to do is click on it, and the car will come and get you.”
“Oh, I can call my own car.”
He leans in close, almost nose to nose with me.
“I’m well aware of your ability to take care of yourself, Maple, so you don’t have to keep reminding me.
But as the person you are currently attached to, it is my goddamn responsibility to make sure you have everything you need. Don’t fucking fight me on it.”
“But we’re not really attached.” Why am I fighting with him? No idea. Seems like a recipe for disaster.
“We are,” he growls. “If you don’t use the link I sent, it will tell me. So fucking use it.”
Then with that, he grabs his helmet and takes off toward the group of guys finishing up their waters before heading back to the field.
I guess that’s that.
An intelligent woman with a heart of fucking gold.
Did he mean that? Because once again, that’s a compliment from Graydon St. John and I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned.
Before taking his directions, I allow myself to observe Graydon in his element and the way he stands with such dominance among some of the largest men I’ve ever seen.
All the guys are tall, but he’s by far the tallest and most muscularly cut.
With his football pants landing just above his knees and his socks pushed all the way down, bunching at his ankles, his muscles glisten under the sun, flexing with just the smallest of shifts in his body.
The sleeves of his jersey ride up high, unable to move over his biceps, so his arms are nearly on full display.
His pants cling to his muscular ass, a part of his impressive body that I stared at a lot today.
And his nearly permanent scowl meshed with the way his hair is mussed and sweaty make it incredibly hard to look away. It’s hard not to notice him.
Especially when he’s punching his dad in the ribs for disrespecting me.
Or carefully placing his hand on my back as he maneuvers me through the drills at training camp.
Or how he nearly bit a guy’s head off for slapping me on the ass.
I should not be attracted to such barbaric behavior.
And yet, when he looks in my direction, the scowl on his face lessening as he takes me in one last time before he places his helmet on his head and gets to work, I can’t help but feel…
almost like there is something blossoming between us.
Like there’s something deep in my bones telling me he might not be the asshole I think he is.
I really need to work out more because even now, after another long bath, I’m sore.
I can only imagine what tomorrow will bring.
Wrapped up in my robe, my hair wet around my shoulders, I pick up a cup of decaffeinated coffee I made with my new coffee maker, then sit on my couch for some much-needed rest…and cookies.
After work, I swung past By the Dough, one of my favorite cookie places in town, and purchased half a dozen cookies: two pistachio, one cookies and cream, and three chocolate chip. I froze some and placed one giant chocolate chip cookie on a plate to have with my coffee.
The brace on my wrist is so much better than the splint, and I’m grateful for that.
At least something good happened today. The cookie and coffee are to quell the nerves that keep racking my throat every time I think about Graydon and what might have happened to him at practice today after I left.
What kind of things did he have to do because he punched his dad in the ribs?
I really hope it wasn’t much.
But from the look in Graydon’s murderous eyes, it seemed like he would have done it again.
From the moment he saw his dad, any ease from the morning washed away.
Sure, when we were running drills and he was threatening the lives of his teammates, he was more intense, but there was still a lightness about him.
Not when he saw his dad, though. Any jovial mood he might have been in dissipated, and it was like this dark cloud hung over him and he turned into pure, unfiltered anger.
What happened between the two of them that would spark such a reaction?
I break off a piece of my cookie and plop it in my mouth as I pick up my phone and connect it to my Bluetooth speaker to play some Ed Sheeran. Once I pick my favorite playlist, a text from Graydon appears.
My stomach somersaults at the sight of his name. Not sure how to handle that reaction, so I’m going to act like it never happened.
Graydon: Thank you for using the link.
Thank you?
Huh, didn’t know he had manners in him.
Maple: Thank you for sending it.
Graydon: I’ll have one set up for you tomorrow to get to work.
I’m about to text him back that I don’t want him to do that, but I know he won’t listen. The request will fall flat, and there’s no point in arguing with him, not when I know it won’t make any difference. So I concede.
Maple: Thank you.
Graydon: And I’ll be in later, an hour or so before you leave work. I have to be here in the morning and through the afternoon. We have individual team meetings.
Maple: Don’t worry about it. If you can’t make it in, it’s fine.
Graydon: I’ll be there.
Of course he will, because he’s the type of guy who keeps his word, and I’m having a hard time deciphering if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Keeping his word means he’s trustworthy and that he won’t back out on things, such as his ridiculous notion that he needs to take care of me.
Maple: Okay. Um…can I ask you a question?
I nibble on the corner of my lip, hoping he says yes, because I really want to know how he is and what happened at the end of practice.
Graydon: You can always ask. If I answer is up to me.
I roll my eyes. Of course.
Maple: Are you okay? I’ve been worried about what happened to you after practice and if your coach really made you pay for what you did to your dad.
Graydon: You worried about me, Baker?
Maple: I mean…kind of.
Graydon: Kind of or you are?
Maple: Are you really going to make me say it?
Graydon: If you want me to answer truthfully, then yeah.
Maple: Fine. I care about you.
Graydon: Wow, didn’t think you would say it.
Maple: You might piss me off and I might swear at you under my breath, but we are in this intense thing together so, yeah, I care about you.
Graydon: Good to know.
Maple: So…are you going to tell me what happened?
Graydon: No.
Maple: Hey! You said you would tell me what happened if I said I cared for you.
Graydon: No, I didn’t. You asked if I was okay, and that’s the truth I will tell. I’m fine.
I grumble to myself, irritated with his little game.
Maple: Why won’t you tell me?
Graydon: Because you don’t need to know.
Maple: But why? What does it matter if I know?
Graydon: Because I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.
Maple: I wouldn’t feel sorry for you.
Graydon: Bullshit.
Maple: Fine, but I was the one who caused this, and it’s eating away at me.
Graydon: You didn’t cause anything. My father did.
Maple: But I was the reason.
Graydon: You did nothing wrong…other than not know how to fit a damn helmet on your head. Don’t lose sleep over it, Baker.
Maple: I will, though. I feel guilty.
Graydon: Would it help if I sent you a picture of me, showing you that I’m fine?
Maple: I mean…maybe?
After I send the text, I immediately want to take it back, because what am I doing?
Am I flirting? No, I’m not flirting. I’m just…
I’m trying to make sure he’s okay. That he didn’t, I don’t know, come out of practice with a brain injury or something.
The last thing I need is for him to come to the zoo with said brain injury and accidentally fall into the shrimp fridge because his brain isn’t working.
We just got new fridges, and his goliath of a body would for sure demolish them if he tripped and rammed into them.
So yes, I’m just looking out for the safety of the fridges over here by asking for a picture.
Nothing else.
My phone dings, and I scramble to open the picture.
Graydon comes into view, once again in more of an aerial shot where I can see his handsomely carved jawline and dark eyes framed by a black eye. His thick chest and flat pecs are on full display while a pack of ice rests on his ribs.
What the hell happened?
Then I read his text.
Graydon: See? I’m fine, Baker.
I type back furiously.
Maple: Besides the black eye and the ice on the ribs. What happened?
Graydon: Put my helmet on wrong.
Maple: I’m being serious, Graydon.
Graydon: And I’m telling you I’m fine. So don’t worry about it. Okay?
Maple: I’m worried. Is this how you’re always going to be treated?
Graydon: No, if I refrain from punching my dad. But if he says shit about you, then yeah, this is how I’ll be treated.
Maple: He’s just going to goad you now.
Graydon: Yeah, he will.
Maple: I’m not worth the pain.
Graydon: Trust me…you are. See you tomorrow, Baker.
I stare down at his text, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering like crazy as I attempt to process it.
From the dark, dangerous glares he offers me to the sensitive, supportive texts, to the compliments in front of his dad, I don’t know how to read him.
And the more time I spend with him, the harder and harder I’m finding it to dislike him.