Chapter 13 Sydney
THIRTEEN
SYDNEY
“So, how awkward is it?” Finley asks as the guys run through plays.
Since it’s the week before the preseason begins, practices are open to friends and family.
She talked me into watching with her, but I know she only wants me here to occupy her kid while she stares at Theo like a teenager with a crush.
Of course, I said yes. I’ll take any opportunity I can get to hang out with Norah.
“How awkward is what?” I ask, bouncing the baby on my hip as she chews on her teething toy. Her pink Renegades shirt is soaked with drool, the giant heart-shaped sunglasses on her face moving up and down with every chomp.
Finley looks around, ensuring that we’re not within earshot of anyone else.
“Steele. You’re not still trying to act like he didn’t fudge your brains out, are you?
” Last week, Theo had a nightmare that Norah’s first word was motherfucker, so now, none of us are allowed to swear around her.
It’s been a struggle, but we’re starting to get the hang of it.
My eyes go wide, my voice lowering to a frantic whisper-yell.
“Would you shut your mouth? This place has cameras everywhere. Well, except from there to there—” I point from midfield to the far end zone.
“Where I’m pretty sure Maddox and Liv used to do some freaky sh”—pausing, I catch myself—“sugar during their meetups.”
It seems like just yesterday that my sister was secretly coaching our backup quarterback, forcing him to forgo any kind of steady sleep schedule to sneak into the practice facility every night.
He sucked ass—harsh, yet true—but she whipped him into shape like she was born to coach…
because she was. I still have no idea how they did it for months without getting caught, though, because this place really does have one hell of a surveillance system.
“Relax,” she says. “Nobody cares what we’re doing over here. Now, come on. All I do is hang out with a seven-month-old all day. I need some excitement in my life.”
I huff a flustered sigh, my shoulders slumping.
“Yes, it’s awkward. One minute, he’s a raging asshole, doing and saying whatever comes to mind, even when I’ve explicitly told him to behave.
The next, he almost seems like there’s more to him than just some problem-child with a short fuse.
I can’t figure him out. The fact that we’ve fudged only makes it all more complicated.
At the club, I was in control. Out here, who knows if I can stop him from acting out if someone ticks him off? ”
“It’s a shame you can’t take the P out of PR.
He can’t fudge things up if you never take him into public, right?
” She giggles, and as always, Norah follows suit.
My niece loves a good laugh session, and she’ll join in every chance she gets.
I tickle her little tummy, and she curls inward, drool transferring onto my shirt.
“Ten steps ahead of you, Fin,” I reply with a mischievous smile. “After his little outburst at the hospital, I knew I’d have to get creative with his community outreach, which is why I’m taking him to the animal shelter today.”
“That’s genius,” she says. “And if he steps out of line, you can tell Angus to bite him.”
A laugh bursts from my chest. “Angus is eleven years old. His teeth wouldn’t survive it.”
I turn my head to the field just in time to watch Maddox hand the ball to Steele.
He runs through a gigantic group of guys, several managing to get their hands on him, but failing to bring him down.
He’s too fast. Too strong—bulldozing right to the other side and crossing into the end zone.
Some of the guys clap and cheer, obviously warming up to the idea of sharing the field with him.
Now we just need the fans to feel the same.
Ninety minutes later, I’m leaning against my car in the players’ parking lot.
Practice ended about a half hour ago, and now I’m waiting for Steele to shower before we head to the shelter.
It’s after five o’clock, which means there won’t be many people there, but that’s probably for the best. I think I got my message across about him shaping up at the hospital, but I still don’t fully trust him not to act impulsively if he doesn’t like something.
I’ve been racking my brain to figure out how I’m going to paint him in a more positive light.
I can’t remember the last time my father put this much faith in me to fix something for him, and to be honest, it feels good to know that he believes in me, despite the fact that I have no knowledge of the game.
Usually, I’m an outsider when it comes to the Renegades, but this gives me a way to be part of it all and make a difference, which is something I’ve never really been able to do.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts as Steele emerges from the building, fresh from his post-practice shower.
He looks infuriatingly delicious in a pair of black sweatpants and a crisp white T-shirt, his inked arms stretching the cotton like it was tailored just for him.
Memories of the way he gripped my hips as he pounded into me play like a dirty movie inside my head, and I internally slap myself because he’s an asshole and I shouldn’t want him now that he’s shown me who he really is.
I quickly go over the things he said about the team—my family—as he closes the space between us, strengthening my resolve a bit.
He called them a joke, then made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with them.
If my dad weren’t so determined to put together a team the city can celebrate for years to come, I’d have already knocked Steele’s ass out and sent a video of it to every sports news channel I could find.
That’s what he deserves, but I refuse to let the Renegades down.
There. That’s better.
Welcome back, feminine rage.
“Hey,” he grunts quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What’s the plan? I can follow you to wherever we’re going, so you don’t have to bring me back here after.”
I shake my head. “There’s not a lot of vacant parking there, so we should probably just ride together.
” We’ve been working to expand the shelter, but it’s been a slow process.
And with the influx of new adoptables lately, the inside has been more of a priority than the outside.
We’ll get there, eventually, though. I’ll make sure of it.
“Alright,” he replies with a tight nod, rounding the hood and slipping into the passenger seat. I open the driver’s side door, lowering in behind the wheel and glancing over at him. He looks like a giant in my little sports car, his knees scrunching up against the dashboard unnaturally.
“Shit,” I say with a cringe. “Your shirt. I was going to snap some photos for your social media today. You don’t have any Renegades gear in your car, do you?”
He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a flat line. “I don’t.”
Of course, he doesn’t. He doesn’t even like it here.
He’s not going to willingly wear the logo across his chest unless there’s something in it for him.
The other guys are different. I rarely see Maddox in any colors besides purple and black.
Theo, Emmett, and Jett are the same way.
Even Austin reps the team every chance he gets.
That’s just who they are…and that’s why fans love them.
I need to get Steele to walk the walk, too.
Otherwise, the city will never accept him as one of their own.
I consider running inside and asking one of the equipment managers for a T-shirt, but we’re on a bit of a time-crunch as it is.
Every piece of gear has to be accounted for, and paperwork has to be filled out when it’s given.
Even the owner’s daughter can’t walk in and grab whatever she wants without going through the proper channels, and every minute we waste is one less we’ll have at the shelter.
“Wait!” I shout, remembering that I have an entire bag of clean clothes in my trunk.
My washing machine hasn’t been draining properly, so I’ve been taking laundry to my parents until the repair company is able to fix it.
Thankfully, I was too tired to bring last night’s load up to my condo, so it’s still right where I left it.
As fast as I can, I pop the trunk, exit the car, and dig around until I find what I’m looking for. It certainly isn’t perfect, but it’ll get the job done.
“What is that?” he says with a quirked brow when I plop back down in my seat, holding the soft, purple material in my fingers.
“A shirt,” I state, taking it by the sleeves and holding it up to reveal the Renegades logo. His quizzical expression hardens, his jaw ticking as he looks from it to me.
“Why do you have a men’s shirt in your car?” The question comes out with a deep growl, immediately sending me into defensive mode as he shoots daggers at me through lowered brows.
“Why do you care?” I toss back, my features pinched tight.
“It has a Renegades logo, and it’ll fit you.
It may not be brand-new, but at least you’ll look like you actually give a shit about this team.
Maybe you haven’t read through the comments on your social media posts lately, but the fans can tell you hate it here. ”
His entire frame goes taut, the veins in his arms and neck bulging angrily. I swear I can hear his molars grinding as he takes a deep inhale through flared nostrils, letting it out slowly before he speaks. “I’m not wearing clothes you got from some other guy, Sydney.”
I huff an incredulous laugh, unable to stop myself.
Of course, he’d be more concerned with where the shirt came from than the fact that the people of Cleveland think he’s disingenuous.
“You’re such a child. Not that it’s any of your business, but I wear it to bed.
Despite what you may think, I don’t walk around in lingerie unless I’m—” I cut myself off, because he knows exactly what I mean, and neither of us needs to be reminded of it right now…
or ever, really. We should just take that memory, shove it into a box, and punch it into outer space for the sake of everyone involved.
I say that like I haven’t been diddling to said memory almost every night for the past two weeks.
It was hot. Sue me.
Seemingly satisfied with my answer, he exhales, the tension in his shoulders releasing.
If I were a betting woman, I’d say he’s a bit jealous.
He’ll have to work through that little dilemma on his own, though, because we are never happening again—despite how much the idea of taking a flogger to his ass every time he misbehaves intrigues me.
And trust me…it does.
I toss the shirt into his lap before pressing the ignition button.
The car’s engine roars to life, and I drive away, acting like I can’t feel his eyes on me while we make our way toward the lot’s exit.
It flusters me, making me feel like a bug under a microscope as his stare burns into the side of my face from three feet away.
It’s intense, to say the least, and it makes my traitorous skin prick with heat.
“Fine,” he finally mutters as I turn onto the main road, relief flowing through me when he frees me from his scrutiny.
But the reprieve doesn’t last long, because in one swift move, he grabs the hem of his T-shirt and roughly peels it over his head.
I can’t stop my foot from shooting out to the brake, the car coming to a screeching halt as I whip my gaze to where he sits completely naked from the waist up.
“Jesus fuck, Sydney!” he growls, turning to look out the back window. “You’re lucky there’s nobody behind us. What the hell are you doing?”
My cheeks pinken, eyes the size of dinner plates as I try not to stare directly at his chest. I’m normally cool, calm, and collected—and I’ve been with my fair share of wildly attractive guys—but even though I’ve seen every inch of Steele, I’m still taken aback by the sight.
The intricate tattoos that cover his arms and shoulders.
The nipple piercings that are practically begging to be tugged and toyed with.
The tight rows of defined abs he’s clearly worked hard to maintain.
This asshole has no business being so hot.
“Buckle up,” I croak in a pathetic attempt at self-preservation, although there’s no way the dumbfounded look on my face isn’t giving away every dirty thought that’s slamming into me in rapid succession.
I make a mental note to yell at my own reflection later, admonishing myself for letting my hormones get the best of me.
Is he hot? Of course, he is. And he knows what to do with every inch of that amazing body.
But I can’t forget who he really is…and what we’re doing here.
If I want to show my family that I’m not just the aloof youngest daughter, and that they can rely on me when they need something, I can’t get distracted.
Least of all by a guy who doesn’t respect our team or the city we love.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, putting his head and arms through the holes in the shirt before pulling it down and fastening his seatbelt.
The material is a bit snug, clinging to every one of his muscles like it’s practically painted on, but it’s better than going in there and taking photos without any type of branding to be seen.
If we can show the fans that he’s not ashamed to represent the Renegades while simultaneously portraying him in a much more positive light than they’re used to, that’s a great first step in getting them to accept him as a member of their beloved team and to lay off my dad for signing him.
So far, the general consensus is that—while nobody denies Steele’s talent—they still think he’s a major liability in the locker room.
I need to change their minds, even if it’s only smoke and mirrors.