Chapter 13
Gracie
“I thought it never rains in LA.” I stand in the lobby, staring out at sheets of rain pummeling the courtyard between me and the dry safety of my car. The clouds overhead aren’t particularly dark, but the winds are blowing fiercely, sending the water sideways.
Even with my new Devils-branded umbrella in my hand, I’m no match for the rain.
“Yeah, global warming and all. Who knows?” Darby Green, one of the team’s physical therapists, shakes his head but keeps his head down like a bull prepared to charge the red flag. “What’s a little water? I’m going for it.”
I watch him hold a magazine over his head and jog through the center of the courtyard, where he splashes through a puddle. “Goddammit.” His words pierce the rain and the glass walls of the building, but he continues onward until I can barely see him in the distance.
“It can’t last,” I mutter, resigned to work another hour or so until this flash flood wears itself out, and I can leave without getting soaked.
Of all the days to skip lunch, I have to pick the one that has no foreseeable end. If I don’t want to drive home sopping wet, I need to wait.
Back up to my office I go.
As I’m walking down the hallway, I’m surprised to find Hunter coming the other way. This floor is all corporate offices, and I’ve never seen him up here. I’m pretty sure Gerald Moder is content with his performance, so I don’t think he was called here for a beatdown.
“Hey, you lost?” I ask, noticing that the assistant cubicles are empty.
Rain or no rain, people like to leave on time.
Maybe they have more to go home to than an empty house full of surf gear and a new muffin recipe.
I’m not complaining. I like work, and sometimes I do my best thinking when the office is empty.
A few executives are still at work with their doors closed, their muffled voices audible on the phone.
Hunter stops in his tracks, whips his head from side to side and feigns confusion at his surroundings. “Wait, is this not the gym? I wondered what happened to the weight racks, but these barbells are kind of awesome.” He lifts up a leafy plant from one of the assistant desks and starts pumping it.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure the trainers will be impressed by how many reps you can do of a pothos.”
“A what, now?”
I point at the plant. “That’s a pothos. And you’re right about them being awesome. They’re almost impossible to kill, which is why I have three of them in my house.”
He leans against the wall, and I notice that he’s not wearing workout gear. In fact, his hair is damp and slicked back, and he's wearing jeans with one of the team hoodies. “You have a house? Then why do you live with Kyler?”
“Because my house is in San Francisco. Kind of a long commute.”
“Oh, got it. You going to sell it so you can buy something here? Not a lot of inventory right now, but if you’re buying and selling in the same market, you’re always good. Interest rates are tricky, though, so are you considering keeping your house and renting something here?”
I cross my arms. “So many questions, soccer star. I had no idea you were so dialed in on real estate.”
“I’m dialed in on you, Tink. I could give two shits about real estate.”
I suck in a breath with such force I’m sure he hears it.
The back of my neck prickles with heat, and tiny beads of sweat form on my forehead.
He grins, aware of exactly what effect he has on me.
This is his game. He plays with women, knows what heart-stopping things to say, and understands how to make us want him.
I don’t want to want him.
“Well, it seems you know a lot about it.” My words sound garbled in the sloshing seas in my brain.
I start to move past him, aiming myself like a missile toward my office, my safe haven.
I just need to get there, close the door, and take off half my clothes because he heats me up like a damn pizza oven.
But he blocks my way, stepping directly in my path so quickly that I can’t stop moving before I run right into him.
My hands come up to brace myself, landing on his chest, which feels like granite beneath the soft cotton fabric of his hoodie.
I also catch a deep whiff of pine and fresh laundry. I inhale deeply.
He takes hold of my shoulders and walks a step backward, so I’m steady and my hands drop from his chest. They almost ache to touch him again, but I shove them behind my back preventatively. “Oops, sorry,” I say.
“My fault. I wasn’t done talking to you.”
I swallow thickly and look up at him. At this proximity, I’m acutely aware of how much he towers over me. I brace myself to have a conversation without melting into a puddle. I can do this, I feel certain. “Okay.”
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
I blink at him like he’s begun speaking in a foreign tongue. “Um…”
He pantomimes picking up a sandwich, taking a bite, putting it down, and chewing. Then he tilts his head toward me and motions between us. “Food. You. Me. Yes?”
I should tell him I had a late lunch. Or a really big granola bar. Or any other excuse I can come up with to avoid sitting across the table from him and trying to make small talk about real estate prices when I want to lick him like a melting ice cream sandwich.
“Yes. Sure. I could eat.” Apparently, my brain is on autopilot, only looking out for my basic needs.
“Great.” He looks at me. I look at him. “Did you need something from your office? You were headed this way.” He points behind him in the direction he was coming from, and for a millisecond, I wonder if he came up here to find me. To ask me to dinner.
But that makes no sense, especially since we live in the same place and hardly need to make plans to see each other.
I try to recall why I was going this way. “Oh, it’s pouring rain out there. I was going to wait it out before going to my car.”
He chuckles. “Has no one shown you the secret way to the parking lot?”
“There’s a secret way? Like with yellow bricks and elves and gingerbread cookies?”
“I think you’re conflating about sixteen different fairy tales, and as far as I know, no cookies.”
“Deal’s off, then.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Get ready for soak city, sister.”
I look down the hallway at where I can still see sheets of rain pouring down outside the building’s windows. I don’t want to eat dinner with him, wet like a drowned dog.
“Tell me about the secret way,” I whisper conspiratorially even though no one is around.
He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “Follow me.”