CHAPTER 20
GRAYDON
“Don’t forget to ice,” my trainer calls after me as I move out of the training room, freshly showered with an ice pack strapped to my ribs from where I took a brutal beating at a late-night individual practice.
I won’t get into the details, but Coach Keenan kept his word, and I know if we were any closer to the season starting, I wouldn’t have had the same treatment.
I might have been fined, if anything, but he knew what he could get away with, and he went for it, letting his assistants know what exactly to put me through.
Hit after hit as I had to run sprints against their blocking pads… with no protective gear.
I didn’t back down, though. I took it without a grimace or a shred of pain showing in my face.
And I think it only pissed him off more, which made it that much sweeter.
I grab my keys from my pocket and head out to the players’ parking lot.
The rest of the team is reviewing film, something I will have to do later tonight on my own and report back in a quiz the next day, because that’s how much Coach Keenan doesn’t trust me.
Then again, they’re the ones putting me in this situation.
I checked Flock and Tackle last night, and the account is growing so much and getting so many shares that it’s unbelievable.
Yesterday’s post of Maple and me in our gear, ready to train, has been the most commented on so far, besides our first post. Gretchen texted and said they’re already teasing merch and are putting together a website to purchase.
I made it known that any and all proceeds will go to the zoo.
She agreed. Thankfully.
She also informed me that there will be media at the zoo today, talking to me and the boys. Since Maple and I have been able to bring attention to what we’re doing, they want to loop in Bennett and OC as well and shine light on what they’re doing, meaning today’s post is going to include them.
I hop into my truck and make the quick twenty-minute drive to the zoo, happy that it’s not that far away from the training facilities, or my place for that matter. What I hate most is driving in traffic.
When I pull into the back parking lot and put my truck in park, I grab the water bottle that Maple gave me on day one and head over to Gate B, where I can hear OC’s dumb voice.
“Shit, that’s a pretty nasty bruise,” he says. “All from a helmet, huh?”
I push through the gate and find Maple on the other side, her arm in her brace and her eye swollen, a black ring around it, her eyebrow puffed up from the cut.
“Jesus,” I say as I move in close, ignoring everyone around us. I grip her face and examine her. “Did you ice this last night?”
Her eyes widen as she takes in me and the nasty bruise around my eye.
“Oh my God, Graydon. Your eye.”
“I asked you a question, Baker. Did you ice this?”
She takes a step back, and I can see OC look between the two of us, studying our every move. “A pair of black eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you got sick of his grumpy ass and he fought back.”
“You think I would hit her?” I round on him, causing Maple to move in quickly, pressing her hand to my chest.
“Just a joke, man. Just a joke.” OC backs up.
“Stop,” Maple says, pushing me…well, attempting to push me, but her soft disposition is no match for my angry, ready-to-murder one. She runs her hand up to my neck, where she hooks it and brings my attention to her. “Stop.”
Something about looking in her eyes, her hand on my chest, her body so close to mine, makes me ease the tension coiling inside me.
“Now, let’s go talk for a second.” She surprisingly slides her hand into mine and tugs me toward the events building just as OC calls out.
“Good to see you too, man. Catch up with you later.”
That fucker, always pushing his boundaries and my buttons.
When we’re in the building, Maple brings me to the completely deserted back kitchen. She turns toward me, and I prepare for her to tell me what an asshole I am, but then she surprises me as her expression softens and she says, “Are you okay? That looks…it looks bad, Graydon.”
“It’s fine,” I say as she leans against the counter behind her, studying me.
Wanting to see her more eye to eye, I step in close, then lift her up by the waist and set her on the counter.
A surprised gasp parts her lips as my hands remain on her sides.
I tell myself to take a step back, but my body doesn’t listen.
I cup her cheek, inspecting her eye. “You didn’t ice this.”
“I did,” she says.
“Then why is it still swollen?”
“Maybe because my body is trying to heal a fractured wrist too?” She shrugs.
“It’s fine. Reminds everyone not to mess with someone like me.
” She attempts a menacing expression, but it just makes my lips tilt up in a smile, because nothing is menacing about her.
“Oh my God.” She sits taller. “Oh my God, did I just make Graydon St. John smile?”
I roll my eyes dramatically.
Continuing, she says, “Call the papers. Alert the town crier. Tell the gossip rags. Graydon St. John knows how to smile.”
“Are you done?”
“Do you want me to be done?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Then I’m done.”
“Good.” I study her eye some more. “Have you had any headaches or dizziness?”
“None. What about you?”
“Yeah, my headache is sitting on a counter right in front of me.”
Her face falls flat. “Not funny.”
“I thought it was.”
I touch the bruising. “Is it sensitive?”
“A little, but nothing bad. I think it just looks like shit. I seem to bruise easily. Although from the look of it, you do too.”
“No, this is well earned, yours is from knocking your head with a helmet. Big difference.”
“Are you going to tell me how it was well earned?” she asks.
“Nope.” My eyes connect with hers, and she presses her hand to my ribs.
“Does this hurt?”
Didn’t think I would like it as much as I do. How I wish it was skin on skin, though. Now that would feel better. Maybe rip her T-shirt off and mine—
Stop.
This is Maple, not some hookup. Jesus Christ, when was the last time I got laid? I think back for a second, trying to remember, which means…it’s been awhile.
That must be why I’m liking her touch so damn much.
“Does it?” she asks, looking concerned.
“No,” I answer.
“Are you sure? Because you looked pained for a second.”
Yeah, because for some asinine reason, my body and my stupid brain are telling me that I like you touching me, and I really don’t know how to process that.
“Positive.”
“And this is the—Oh,” Phil says as he enters. The position Maple and I are in is not a position that screams sex, but it doesn’t scream acquaintances either. “Pardon, I was just showing Hank around.”
Hank.
Why is that name so familiar?
Maple pushes at my chest and squeals as she hops off the counter, just as Slutty Little Glasses appears at the door.
No fucking way.
I watch as Maple launches herself into his arms and hugs him tightly. Well, as tightly as she can with a fucking brace on her arm. “You got the job? Oh my God, this is so amazing.”
The job?
What job?
And amazing?
I could actually think of many more adjectives to describe this moment. Amazing is not one of them.
“I did.” He hugs her tightly, his hand splaying across her lower back, and this innate need to rip him off her squeezes at my chest, begging me to make a move.
He has about one second to fucking pull away before I force him to.
Luck is on his side because she releases him and steps back.
“You hired a good one,” Maple says with so much excitement that I wonder where this girl has been hidden this whole time.
She sure as hell isn’t that excited around me.
Then again, do I give her anything to be excited about?
“When we were together in Peru, I learned so much from him. He cares so much for the flamingos.”
Wait…this is Peru Boy?
Slutty Little Glasses is Peru Boy?
That…that’s information that I didn’t want to fucking hear because I remember the look in her eyes when she spoke about Peru Boy, the dreamy stare. The yearning. The dreaming. And this is him?
Irritation claws at me.
A low, pulsing panic erupts in my chest.
And for the first time since I met Maple, I have the distinct sense that maybe…fuck, maybe I have “feelings” for her.
Jesus Christ.
“If I haven’t mentioned it, you look really great,” OC says as he leans against the wall of the building where we are waiting for our last shoot of the day.
We’re all wearing our team gear and jeans, looking like a bunch of fuck boys being bent over by their team ownership, and the only thing on my mind right now is how Maple is with Slutty Little Glasses.
Probably laughing it up and touching each other and talking about old memories of being in Peru.
What are the goddamn chances?
“They’re going to Photoshop my eye,” I grumble as I take a sip from my stupid zoo water bottle.
“Wasn’t talking about the eye, man.”
“Yeah, you seem kind of…down,” Bennett says as he peels a banana, then takes a big bite.
“I’m not down,” I say, even though I kind of feel down. Jesus Christ, I need to get my head checked. Shouldn’t I be angry? Shouldn’t I be spitting fire? Should I have already kicked over one of the godforsaken lights they shined on us during the interviews?
“Uh, you kind of are. What’s going on?” OC asks just as Maple walks by, Slutty Little Glasses walking beside her.
“Hey,” she says, waving and then turning her attention back to him as they head toward the front of the zoo.
I watch them, studying their body language, attempting to force them apart with sheer mental power. But they don’t budge as she laughs and bumps into his shoulder while he places his hand on her back for a mere second before laughing as well.
And just like that, a spark of anger fires off in the pit of my belly, and I can practically feel myself snorting, ready to charge the asshole.