Chapter Seventeen Lily
Chapter Seventeen
Lily
Pretty much from the moment I walked in, I was gaping like a little kid. Absolutely no chill—which was never my favorite look.
Look! We spend money on all the things! every inch proclaimed.
Everything was big. And shiny. And no matter where I turned, that logo from his quarter-zip was right in my fucking face. While a very serious man with a very serious badge checked my ID, I pursed my lips and looked around the sprawling lobby.
“You sure he knows I’m here?”
Bryce shrugged. Maggie turned a cartwheel in the middle of the lobby, garnering the applause of a few massive-looking guys who passed by.
“Exactly how sick are your grandparents?” I asked him. The text from Robin had been scant in details, which didn’t help someone of my skeptical nature.
He shrugged again. “I dunno. Grandma just said they were super contagious and couldn’t drive and we needed you to take us.”
“Huh.”
While Mr. Security Guard typed up my information for some official-looking guest pass, I glanced over my shoulder, doing a double take at the sight of a massive photo of Barrett on the opposite wall, shaking the hand of a white-haired woman in a white Chanel suit.
Speaking of suits.
His frame, large and broad, was fitted in a charcoal suit tailored to absolute fucking perfection. Whoever had cut that thing deserved a raise—several of them, in fact. My heart fluttered behind my ribs at the proud tilt of his jaw, the confident gleam in his eye.
“Here you go, Miss Townsend,” the security guard said, sliding the visitor badge across the desk.
That was big and shiny, too, attached to a red ribbon, Buffalo printed on a repeating pattern in blocky white letters.
God, I bet they all saw that word in their sleep.
“This will get you access throughout the building.”
“Everywhere?” I asked. “Like, I can break into Barrett’s office with this thing?”
His eyes never left the screen in front of him. “You can try.”
“Hmm. I think I’ll pass.”
“Probably wise.”
“Thank you.” I pulled it over my head and let it drape over my Dolly Parton sweatshirt, which he eyed, bushy eyebrows rising briefly.
I straightened the hem where it hung over my jeans and combat boots, then nodded at Maggie. “Let’s go, superstar. You’re going to have to lead the way because I have no friggin’ clue where anything is in this monstrosity.”
The guard cleared his throat.
I gave him a small smile. “Sorry. It’s very lovely.”
He shook his head and turned back to the computer at his desk.
“This way,” Maggie said, skipping off to the right and down a gleaming hallway lined with more giant pictures. Players and coaches from the past. Iterations of jerseys and snapshots of very large men holding trophies over their heads. Everything in white and red and silver.
We passed a few employees who knew the kids by name, and every single one of them gave me a curious once-over. God, they’d think I was the nanny. Or they’d think I was the fiancée.
A groan got trapped in my throat because I wasn’t even thinking about how people might pay attention to me in this whole little favor.
We took a few more turns, and I was hopelessly lost, when a striking woman with curly brown hair and killer curves came out the double doors at the end of the hallway, her face softening into a smile when she caught sight of the kids.
“There you are,” she said. “We’re getting everything set up for you, Maggie.” The kids sprinted down the hallway, eliciting laughter from both of us. She paused, tilting her head as she looked me up and down. “I’m sorry, I was expecting Coach’s parents. You are . . . ?”
“Lily.” I cleared my throat. “I’m the neighbor. They’re, um, sick or something. I’m just playing chauffeur today.”
“Got it.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist and blew out a harsh breath through puffed-out cheeks. “We need to head in there. You ever watched a practice?”
“Never watched anything about anything.” I shrugged. “Sports aren’t really my thing.”
She smiled, deep dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Then this should be fun.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Wren, by the way. If any of the guys bother you, please let me know.”
“Eh, should I expect that?”
Wren looked me up and down again. “Yes.”
“Oh, goodie.”
She laughed at my dry response, and I let out a beleaguered sigh and followed her toward the large double doors. When she pulled one open, I stopped short, mouth falling slack.
It was massive, which . . . duh, it was a fucking football field, but the sheer scope of the space—filled with absolutely huge men running and laughing and lining up and throwing things and wow—was so much more than I’d expected.
People were everywhere, players in ripped T-shirts and tight white pants, some in helmets, some not.
Cameras were set up off to the side, and a white backdrop covered in pastel-colored flowers held up a fluorescent-pink sign that spelled out Midfield with Maggie.
Two chairs sat in front of the backdrop, yellow velvet wingbacks with a small yellow enamel table between them.
It looked more professional than a fucking movie set.
And this was for a ten-year-old because they thought she was funny. The sheer amount of money that went into an operation like this threatened to make my head explode.
“This is not normal,” I said under my breath.
Wren glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
A football whizzed overhead, and instinctively, I ducked, covering my head with my hands, even though it cleared the top of my head by five feet and bounced harmlessly onto the emerald turf of the field.
“Holy fuck, death by football,” I muttered. “That’s how I’m gonna get taken out, isn’t it?”
“Heads up,” someone called about four seconds too late.
“Oh, no shit?” I called back.
He looked suitably chastened. “Sorry.”
Wren laughed. “You’ll be just fine, I think.”
In the center of all the organized chaos was Barrett, wearing that fucking quarter-zip that did unholy things to the shape of his biceps, along with a dark hat molded to his head.
His eyes were locked on to a clipboard. Another tall man in a backward cap, with a long black beard and tattoos on his neck, stood to his side, pointing at something that made Barrett nod.
His jaw was covered in stubble, which I’d also never seen, and a flurry of ticklish anticipation had me dragging my feet as I followed Wren.
Maggie got to Barrett first, and his mouth softened at the sight of his daughter.
They talked for a few seconds, Maggie excitedly pointing things out on the set.
Then she pushed up on tiptoe and cupped her hand around the side of his face as he leaned down.
Whatever she said made his entire frame go still.
Then his head snapped up, eyes locking on to mine even though they were under the shadow of his hat’s brim. His jaw tightened, and in response, so did my stomach.
Barrett had not known I was going to be there, then. That always made our interactions extra special, didn’t it? And now it was public. Even better.
He said something to the man off to the side and passed him the clipboard, then settled a hand on Maggie’s shoulder before she scampered off to the set waiting for her.
Wren glanced from Coach’s inscrutable face to mine as he strode purposefully in our direction, then cleared her throat. “Right. I think I’ll . . .” She gestured to the set and took her leave.
I swear, I almost clutched her elbow and swung her around to shield me from the intimidating approach of the massive man commanding this massive space.
It wasn’t until he came close enough to touch that I got a clear view of his eyes under the hat, and I fought the irrational urge to knock it off his fucking head because I didn’t like that I couldn’t see him clearly.
I glared at it instead.
“What are you glaring at?” he asked.
“Your hat. It looks terrible on you.”
His sigh was loud and long, but he must’ve been feeling charitable because he didn’t call me on my bullshit. Nothing Barrett had worn thus far made him look anything other than stupid hot.
He crossed his arms. “You’re here.”
“Astute as always.”
“Why?”
I gave him an incredulous look. “You expected your sick parents to drive them here?”
“My—” His face froze. “My what?”
I grabbed my phone and held it out for him. “This is the text I got.”
Barrett’s face disappeared again as he tipped his head down to read the text, his chest expanding on a deep, measured inhale that sounded a whole lot like annoyance.
I knew what he was reading, because I’d stared at it all morning before deciding that I could, in fact, handle seeing Barrett in scary, growly coach mode.
Robin: I’m so sorry to do this, but my husband and I are terribly ill. Would you be willing to take the kids to the team facilities? Maggie is needed there for her show, and she’d be devastated if they had to reschedule.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. It must have hit you fast, you were both okay yesterday.
Robin: Really fast. Just . . . knocked us completely over. Do you think you could pick them up at 3 PM? Maggie will have the address to the facilities.
Me: Sure, I can do that. Do you want me to bring you any soup or anything?
Robin: Oh no, that’s fine, thank you, sweetheart. We’re just going to hide in our room so we don’t get anyone sick. Tell Barrett we’ll see him when he gets home from work.
A rock had more expression than his face reading through the text thread, but a muscle twitched ominously in his jaw. Before he returned the phone, Barrett muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t understand, and when our fingers brushed, his eyes flashed dangerously.
“You seem surprised by this turn of events,” I said slowly.
His gaze traced over my face. “Astute as ever.”
“Oh, goodie, the man has jokes today.”
He ignored that. “My parents were perfectly fine this morning when I left for work.”
I blinked. “Your mom lied?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”