Chapter Four
Presley
Media day is always chaos. Branded chaos with logos, microphones, and smiling athletes and management, trained to give just enough without ever giving anything real.
I stand along the sideline, clipboard tucked under my arm, sunglasses pushed up into my hair, watching the field while three separate interviews happen at once. Cameras flashing, drones flying and catching every view possible, reporters calling out names, and PR staff hovering like hawks.
I feel a tug on my wrist and look down to see my almost-three-year-old niece, Seraphina. I crouch down to her level.
“Hey, stinker.” I laugh, tugging my wrist back. “You trying to steal my watch?”
She giggles. “Mine, Auntie Pwes.” Her tiny fingers tighten with impressive determination.
“Yours, huh? Everything is yours, isn’t it?” I tug her ponytail.
“Everwyting,” she states proudly.
I glance up at my sister, Alie. Her arms are crossed, and she watches us with a knowing smile on her face.
“Alie, your daughter is a thief,” I say.
“She doesn’t get it from me. I’m a rule follower,” Alie shoots back.
“Pardon me? I was an angel,” I say, standing.
“Ha! Pres, you once stole Dad’s credit card to buy concert tickets after he explicitly told you that you couldn’t go.”
I gasp. “That was a strategic acquisition—which you also benefited from, I might add.”
Sera giggles and watches us like we’re the funniest people alive, which I choose to take as validation.
“Up,” she demands, arms reaching up to me.
I hand the clipboard to my sister, and I don’t hesitate to scoop her into my arms and prop her on my hip like I’ve done a hundred times before. She smells like sunscreen and something sweet—and likely sticky. My niece tucks her face into my neck and rests her head on my shoulder.
She has a way of calming my nerves. Not that I’m nervous, more like anxious energy today. Some tension I’ve been carrying around all morning.
That’s the thing about kids. They don’t care about pressure, expectations, or jobs that require keeping personal lives off the field. They just want to feel safe and loved.
And this little girl in my arms is smothered with love by my family. I also have a feeling Liam Pitz—her dad and our new quarterback—is already wrapped around her finger, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Okay,” I murmur, swaying slightly. “I can hold you for just a minute, but then I need to go do my job, okay?”
“No,” she says with a little sass in her tone.
I smile into her hair. God, I love this kid. “Sera, I have to work. I promise I’ll play with you later.”
“Mine,” she says, clutching my shirt.
I laugh and look at my sister.
Then, because my instinct never shuts off when it comes to Saint, I glance toward the field and see him across the field, being interviewed.
He’s in shorts and his practice jersey, his helmet tucked under his arm, and I can see sweat glistening in the sun on his neck.
I can’t hear the questions, of course, but I know his body language like the back of my hand.
He answers her questions confidently, politely, and practiced.
Like he always does.
But I also see the way his jaw clenches when he doesn’t like a question or he just wants to be done with the interview. I also see how his fingers tighten on the face mask of his helmet.
I tilt my head to the side, curious about what’s making him uncomfortable.
“Pres,” Alie says, interrupting my thoughts, “what are you staring at?”
“I’m not staring. I’m monitoring,” I say automatically.
“Uh-huh.”
I adjust Sera on my hip. “What? It’s literally my job.”
“And yet, somehow, you’ve managed to monitor Saint specifically for the last”—she looks at her phone—“thirty seconds.”
I shoot her a look. “Would you like me to list the other twelve players I’ve also checked on this morning—including Liam Pitz?”
She blushes. “Okay, I get it. But I gotta say, I do enjoy this version of you.”
“What version?” I look back to Saint.
“The one where my big sister looks like she wants something she can’t have.”
And that is part of the problem. But I can’t deny that images of us having sex in the trainers’ office are running on a loop in my mind.
I mean, Jesus, it was the best sex I’d ever had, and honestly, it’s exactly what I fantasize about when I allow myself to think about him as more than my best friend.
I do stand by my decision to keep our relationship in the friend zone though. I cannot lose him. He’s too important to me, and it would devastate me if we ruined our friendship because we wanted to scratch an itch.
With a quick kiss on the cheek, I set my niece back down, and my sister hands me my clipboard as the scrimmage begins.
They aren’t wearing pads, and it’s a no-tackle scrimmage, but they are wearing helmets.
The sound of Liam calling plays and coaches barking from the sideline gives me a rush. I love what I do.
I scan the field, watching everyone’s movements, posture, and signs of strain or injury.
Halfway through the second set, one of my rookie wide receivers pulls up short on a play.
“Shit.”
I make my way over to him, and by the time I reach him, he’s slightly bent at the waist, one hand on his thigh.
“Talk to me, Alonzo,” I say, dropping to a crouch beside him.
“Hammie,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just a little tight.”
“Please tell me you stretched properly before you started today.”
“I did. I was on the field with everyone else.”
I nod. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad?”
He huffs out a breath. “Five.”
“Okay, go ahead and sit for a few and see if it eases up.”
I walk him to the bench, running through the possibilities in my head. Likely a pulled muscle, which would be the best-case scenario and easily treatable. Sprain wouldn’t be good.
I kneel in front of him and straighten his leg out.
“You didn’t feel anything pop, right?” I ask.
“No, nothing popped.”
“Okay, that’s good.” I press gently along the muscle, watching his response. “Feels tight, but I don’t think it’s torn. But I want you sitting out the rest of the day.”
He drops his head back. “Come on, Doc.”
“Done,” I repeat. “You push this, and you could be out for weeks, not days. And trust me, you don’t want to be going into camp with an injury. I’m going to go grab some KT Tape.”
He sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”
I stand and signal to one of my trainers when I feel it. That tingle of awareness whenever Saint is near.
When I turn, he’s literally right behind me, and I practically run into him.
“Oh, sorry.” I place my hands on his chest, and my spine goes straight. Be professional, I remind myself.
His helmet is off now, his hair damp, and it looks like he’s pushed it back from his forehead. Eyes lock on me in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
“You’re good,” he says, voice low, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Did you need something?” I step back, brow raised.
“Nope. Just making sure no one steamrolls our schedule today.”
“Uh-huh.” I look at him, wondering what he’s doing. “Right, well, stay hydrated.” I turn to walk away to get the KT Tape.
“Will do, Doc,” he says, sounding amused.
I pause and fight the urge to turn around, then keep moving toward the building.
The second I step inside, the noise dulls, and the cool air hits me.
“Pres, you okay?” Alie says, looking concerned, holding Sera’s hand. “Someone get hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t buy it. Try again.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I repeat, wondering what she’s reading in my expression.
“Presley Grant.”
“Aliette Grant.”
She sighs. “Why are you flushed and avoiding eye contact? You flew in here like something was on fire.”
“I’m not. Just need to get some tape and get back out there.”
She smiles. “Okay, but you’re sure you’re okay? ”
I shoot her an annoyed look. “I’m good. It’s getting hot out there though. I’m ready to wrap this day up.”
Sera walks over and reaches for me, her little hands wrapping around my legs.
“Pwes, okay?” she asks.
Thankful for the distraction, I bend down and wrap her in a hug. It’s like she knows I need a little love, and I immediately soften. I love this girl.
“See, all good.” I smile brightly.
Alie watches me for a long second, then sighs. “Okay, but, Pres, you don’t have to be fine all the time. Can I take a guess?”
“Nope.” I stand and hold Sera’s hand. “I promise I’m good. I gotta run though. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I put a hand on Sera’s back and guide her over to my sister.
I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but I’m not ready to tell her that I slept with Saint and that it’s been on my mind today.
I know she wouldn’t judge me or anything, I just don’t know that I can admit to someone else that what I feel for him might be more than friendship.
Especially if I can’t admit it to myself.
The locker room is empty when I walk in. The players and coaches haven’t started to come back in yet.
I move to the supply room to look for a special line of KT Tape for Alonzo. The door to the locker room opens, but I don’t hear anyone talking, so I peek around the corner and see Saint walking to his station with his head down, a slight limp to his walk.
He hasn’t seen me yet when he takes a seat. One elbow braces on this thigh, and the other hand rubs his knee.
My chest tightens.
For just a second, I watch him. Not the player, but the man I know. I think about our conversation the last time I was at his house, his honesty, and the truths he shared with me. I know that wasn’t easy for him to do.
I clear my throat. “Knee bothering you?”
He doesn’t look up.
“A little, but I’m good,” he says.
I walk toward him. “Saint—”
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re rubbing it, it’s not fine. That knee isn’t cleared for anything strenuous.”
“Strenuous?” he echoes, amused. “You’re really sticking to that?”
“Yes. Doctor’s orders.” I put my hand on my hip. “Don't distract me with your charm by trying to get out of completing your rehab. You have two more weeks.”
“Funny,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. “Last time you said I was a distraction … didn’t seem like you wanted me taking it easy.”
My breath catches. “That’s not—”
“And if I remember right,” he adds, softer, “you were the one who stopped fighting it.”
I turn my back to him because I don’t want him to watch me unravel.
“You’re getting some ice,” I say as I walk away.
“I didn’t ask for ice.”
“I’m not giving you the choice.”
I walk over to the freezer and reach in to grab one of the packs. When I turn, he’s standing right behind me. I don’t know how he moves without me hearing him.
He steps in closer, crowding me till my back hits the freezer door, one hand flat against the metal beside my head. Immediately, for the second time today, my thoughts go back to the day we had sex.
The way his hands felt on me. The way he kissed me. The way he made me come like I never have before.
My breath catches when he leans in close to my ear.
“Presley,” he says lowly, “have you been avoiding me today?”
I can practically feel his body heat wrap around me.
“Of course not. It’s crazy out there today. I’m just busy trying to keep track of everyone.”
He’s too close. I need to get out of here.
“Here, take the ice and put it on your knee,” I say, holding it out for him to take.
He doesn’t take it. Instead, his gaze drops to my mouth for a second before lifting to my eyes again.
“Seems like you’re running, Doc.”
“I’m not running. What are you talking about?” I huff.
“Did I get too deep for you the other night?”
The vulnerable look in his eyes makes my heart stutter.
“No, Saint. I’m glad you told me about your family.”
“Hmm.” His gaze traces my face, and I can practically see the vulnerability return to something that looks a lot like desire.
“I’m still working. I need to get back out there.” I place a hand on his arm.
“They’re wrapping up. Team will be heading in soon, so what else do you have to do?” He tilts his head to the side.
I sigh. “Saint.”
My pulse kicks harder. And I need to change the vibe real quick because I could probably be convinced to give in by the look in his eyes.
“Alonzo pulled a muscle, so I need to put some KT on him.” I shrug and smile, like it’s no big deal.
“Why don’t you do that after he showers?”
He’s right. I should wait until he’s cleaned up.
His hand shifts, and then his other hand presses against the door on the other side of my head. I’m pretty much trapped now.
All it would take is one moment of weakness again. Another bad decision toward ruining our friendship.
The problem is, I know exactly how he feels now. How he moves inside me. And how my panties are now wet with the thought of doing it again.
“So, what is it you need to do right now?”
“Saint, I can’t do this,” I say, my voice a little tighter than it was before.
He tilts his head. “Do what?”
“This.” I gesture between us, frustration building. “Whatever this … tension is.”
“Tension.”
I shift my weight to relieve some of the pressure I feel between my thighs.
He notices, and his mouth curves. Like he knows. Like he sees my weak spot and is about to strike.
And that … pushes me over the edge.
“Rehab,” I snap, pressing the ice pack into his chest. “Focus on rehab.”
His hand closes around my wrist, just for a second. “Hard to,” he says quietly, “when you’re still the biggest distraction I’ve got.”
He releases my wrist. “I want you to wrap me.”
I give him a you’ve got to be kidding me look. He’s capable of wrapping the ice pack around his knee.
I sigh. “Fine, let’s get it done.”
I move around him before he can say anything else and grab a roll of Ace wrap from the closet.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
He sits back on the bench, but I don’t miss the smile he’s trying to hide.
I kneel in front of him and set the KT Tape and the Ace bandage next to me on the floor. I hold out my hand, and he hands me the ice pack.
I set it on his knee where I want it and keep it in place with one hand. Then I pick up the Ace wrap and, with my teeth, pull it to unravel it.
I can feel him watching me while I work. Just as I finish, he leans forward and tucks a piece of fallen hair behind my ear, then cups my cheek. His face inches closer, and I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Don’t, Saint.”
“Don’t what?” he asks, looking at my lips.
I put my hand over his on my cheek.
His voice drops lower. “You think I’m the only one doing this?”
I don’t answer because I know the truth. We’re both fighting this.
So, I do the only thing I can control. I pull his hand away, stand, and walk out. Fast.
Behind me, I hear that low laugh of his, like he does when he’s teasing me.
He knows exactly what he did. He knows how close I was to giving in.
But the worst part is … he’s not wrong.