Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Tristan
The doughnuts-and-Michelle show I was expecting has turned into Maddie leading a social media crash course with the guys. Michelle stands behind her, and I’m relieved to watch her scarf down two sausage rolls along with what seems to be a bear claw.
Today, she ordered fruit to go with the doughnuts, and while Maddie drones on and on about branding ourselves and the importance of positive representation of the Aces on god-knows-what platforms are popular these days, Michelle practically decimates the fruit offerings, too.
Finally, Maddie wraps it up and Logan stands, applauding loudly.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s how you do it,” he says, stomping his feet like she’s just fucking scored a goal instead of given the most boring presentation I’ve seen since I sat through the team’s financial adviser’s explanation of Roth IRAs and 401(k)s.
Which I remember exactly fuck all from. Unsurprising, considering my attention span is about as long as a goldfish’s on uppers. As far as I can tell, though, my investments are doing fine.
Maddie looks both alarmed and pleased by Logan’s attention, though, and I idly wonder if something’s going on between them.
“Oxford,” Coach Garrett barks, and Michelle nearly drops her plate in surprise. “Do you have a briefing for us, or can we get back to work?”
I’m about to tell him off myself when I see the fight enter Michelle’s eyes.
There’s my girl.
“Why, yes, I do, Coach. Thank you so much for so politely asking me,” she tells him, lifting her chin.
I glance back at where Coach leans, arms crossed, against a wall, and my eyebrows raise at the faint ruddiness in his cheeks.
Is he…embarrassed?
Michelle smiles sweetly at him, and I cover up my laugh with a coughing fit.
Half the guys turn to look at Coach, too, and whispered conversations break out throughout the room.
“All right,” she says loudly, clapping her hands for emphasis. “It was brought to my attention, by several interested parties, that I don’t know how to dress casually—”
“Oh, that’s one way to put it,” Connor heckles.
Djimon dissolves into laughter next to him.
I glare at them both, cracking my knuckles.
“Thank you so much for that brilliant observation, Connor.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, thumping a fist on his chest without missing a beat.
To my surprise, Michelle snorts in amusement. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—”
“Don’t interrupt her again, Ford,” Coach barks out.
Michelle rubs her temples, and I can’t decide if I’m amused at this shit show or irritated on her behalf.
“Tristan took me shopping.” A deep crimson flush starts on her neck and creeps up to her face, and an echo of that heat rises in me, too, because I know exactly what she’s remembering.
A few murmurs break out, and I glance around murderously, making up my mind on the spot.
“Right, so I took her shopping, and she picked out some things that aren’t for work.” The words burst out of me, surprising Michelle.
“I realize now,” she continues smoothly, ignoring the snickers and laughs, “that having clothes that are just for fun is a good thing, and that I’m more likely to go do things with my friends if I actually have something to wear that’s casual and comfortable.
So thank you, Tristan, for helping me with that. ”
“Fashion show,” someone heckles, and I glare at Connor, who mimes zipping his lips, locking them up, and throwing away the key.
Djimon pretends to catch the key in midair, opens his mouth, and fake eats it.
“Did you just?” Michelle stares at him, then glances at me. “Did he just?”
“Yep,” I tell her.
“You will not wear a soggy bottom?” Marino yells at her. “To the big charity dinner, yes?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, and Maddie raises her iPad to cover her face, her shoulders shaking.
“Did you not listen to anything the blond woman said?” Vincenzo asks aggressively, shoving his shoulder.
“Hey,” Marino shouts back, standing up and shoving him.
“It is not a soggy bottom,” Vincenzo insists, standing up, too, now yelling, his hands gesturing dramatically. “It is underbake, that is what he calls it!”
“They’re both true, actually,” Maddie manages through a wheeze. “We’re calling the charity dinner the Great Soccer Bake-Off.”
“I will dress on theme,” Michelle interrupts, avoiding eye contact with me. “No soggy bottoms, though.”
It doesn’t hurt my feelings that she won’t make eye contact. If she looks at me, she’d be as cooked as a British biscuit by the latest baker to be banished from the tent.
That knowledge eases some of the tension in my chest, and I lean back, ignoring the still-arguing Italians, my attention fully on the beautiful, exasperated woman at the front of the room.
My woman.
“Any more questions?” she asks, making a show of checking her watch. “Because you all have to practice, and I have to—”
“Are you dating Gold?” Connor drawls.
The room goes silent, and there’s no way she can deny the blush spreading across her face now.
“Yes,” she says, raising her chin and staring him down, daring him to say something else. “I am proud to be his girlfriend.”
My heart squeezes so hard with affection for her that it’s painful, my cheeks hurting from the wide smile on my face.
She just claimed me, in front of everyone, like she’s not ashamed of me. From the way she’s beaming at me from the front of the room, I might say she even looks damned happy to be my girlfriend.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my entire life.
“Holy shit, the bet worked, bro,” Logan calls out, his hands cupped around his mouth.
“Our Michelle, declaring her heart’s feelings in front of all of us?” Vincenzo declares dramatically, popping out of his seat, his fingers pressed to his thumb as he gives an exaggerated chef’s kiss gesture. “The ultimate cold brew has been achieved.”
“That’s not…that’s not the phrase.” Connor gives me a pained look while the group erupts into laughter, with Vincenzo assuming a highly aggrieved air, shaking his head and sitting back down.
“Achievement: Ultimate Chill unlocked,” Logan yells again, high-fiving everyone around him and generally acting like he’s just won the World Cup.
I can’t help laughing, loving the way Michelle is both blushing furiously and grinning at me and the team’s happy response to her declaration.
Chaos erupts, the Italians arguing in earnest now. Connor jumps up and down, hanging off Djimon like they just scored the sickest trick shot ever. Maddie outright gawks at her, and the rest of the team chants our names like we’re in goddamned grade school.
I love it.
A whistle blows, and Michelle covers her ears, wincing.
“Get your asses on the field now.” Coach Garrett sounds more pissed than usual. “If you think you’re getting a light practice because tomorrow’s a game day, you’re fucking wrong.” He blows the whistle again, and the team practically sprints out.
“Thanks, Coach,” Michelle tells him weakly.
He jerks his head, giving her a cool look. “Have you heard from Lauren this week?” he asks.
“I haven’t texted her.” She gives Coach a curious look. “Why? Is she okay?”
“Check on her for me?” he asks, something nearly tender in his voice.
My eyes widen. What in the world? Since when is Coach tender with anyone? I purse my lips. Huh. Good for him.
“Um, okay, sure thing, Coach.” Michelle doesn’t look nearly as shocked as I feel. Nah, she’s fighting another grin.
He nods once, then picks up his whistle as he turns his attention to me.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I grumble, but I jog up and plant a kiss on Michelle’s mouth before sprinting out to join the rest of the team.
As if I wasn’t going to steal a kiss after she just told everyone we were together.
I’ll be riding that high all weekend.