Chapter 9 #2
Guilt builds in my gut, almost as uncomfortable as the pain in my shoulder, and I can’t help thinking about the way Savannah said I’m only sometimes nice.
Before I nearly mucked everything up in her flat last week, I was practicing by texting her compliments because she makes it easy, but saying nice things isn’t the same as doing nice things.
Savannah mutters something under her breath, shifting the box in her arms again.
I step forward and take the box from her, shocked by the weight of it. “Where do you need to take it?”
She tries to grab the box, but I twist it away from her reach. “Logan, I can carry it. It’s fine.”
“You can,” I agree without giving her the box. “Where am I taking it?”
“I’m not letting you get anywhere close to those boys.”
Her words feel like a slap, and I stare at her in shock for a long few seconds before glancing at the ongoing practice. She can’t be serious. “Just what do you think I’m here for?” I growl.
Savannah stands her ground, folding her arms as she glowers at me. “I can’t imagine any other reason you’d come to a high school practice than to try to get to Lola through her kids.”
“I’m her kid.”
“You’re a grown man,” she snaps back, then gestures toward the team. “They’re just boys, Logan!”
Snarling a little, I take a step back before my frustration boils over.
“I am well aware, which is why I’m all the way over here.
” It’s not like I’ve given her many reasons to think well of me, but I can’t believe she thinks I could ever stoop so low.
“I’m not stupid enough to talk to them, Spitfire.
” I look down at the box I’m holding and sigh.
“I thought you could use some help, but if you really think so poorly of me, then I’ll hand this box back over and be on my way. ” I hold the box out and wait.
Everything in her body language, from her clenched jaw to her lifted shoulders, tells me she wants to keep arguing, but she sighs and nudges the box back toward me.
She looks tired. More so than normal. “Fine. I usually leave the food with one of the coaches. But you have to promise you won’t interact with Kacen or Blaze. Keep them out of this.”
I wouldn’t have to think about using my brothers if she would do her part, but I keep that thought to myself.
“Won’t say a word,” I tell her and gesture with my chin for her to lead the way.
I’m not entirely sure I want to stick around, given her opinion of me, but now that I’m here with her, nothing can pull me away.
She smells like basil. Basil and something sweet, which I discovered a week ago when I stupidly pulled her onto my lap. Vanilla, maybe? Catching a hint of her scent now makes me wonder how she tastes.
I should not be wondering that.
Without losing the wariness in her expression, Savannah leads the way to the pitch.
As I follow, I shift the box to my uninjured arm, both to ease the strain on my injured shoulder and so I can lift the flaps and peek at what’s inside.
Savannah looks back and groans. “That box weighs a ton, and you’re holding it like it’s nothing. Seriously, you’re huge. How in the world do you play winger?”
I stop mid-stride and look at her with my mouth slightly open. “You know what position I play?” I haven’t told her that. Why does her knowing my position make me want to smile?
Crimson rises in her cheeks, but her embarrassment stays subdued beneath the proud way she lifts her chin. “I learn as much about my clients as I can so I can ensure they get what they need out of their meals.”
“You’d have to know the focus of each position for that to have any bearing on what you prepare,” I point out.
She rolls her eyes. “Uh, yeah. I’m aware of how sports work. I know a lineman is going to be different from a cornerback.”
“I play footy, not football, love.”
“Why in the world do you call rugby footy?” Savannah gives me a frustrated look that makes me chuckle.
I lift an eyebrow and lean closer to her.
I’ve missed this over the last week. Bantering with her.
Annoying her. Being close enough that I can see the ring of blue around her green eyes and get a deep breath of that sweet scent of hers.
“Because I’m an Aussie, love. Everything is footy in Australia. ”
Frowning, she starts walking again, but not before I catch the blush rising up her cheeks.
I’m a big fan of that blush. Remember the bet, Logan.
As if a silly wager with teammates who hate me would make her less enticing.
I’m definitely going to need to find a better reason to keep this thing platonic.
“I thought everything can kill you in Australia,” Savannah mumbles.
“That too.”
We’ve reached the edge of the pitch, and Savannah’s attention turns to the nearest coach.
While they talk, my eyes find Kacen and Blaze among the other players running down the pitch and throwing the ball back and forth in pairs.
Kacen is a natural, his movements light and controlled.
As I watch, Blaze drops the ball every time it’s passed to him, and he looks like one wrong step will send him toppling into the grass because he’s so stiff.
He’s leaner than his older brother, which should give him an advantage when it comes to speed, but he and his partner are the last to finish the drill by a full minute.
“Just a friend,” Savannah says, pulling my attention back to her.
I meet the coach’s gaze and nod a greeting, and I have to hold back a smirk when his eyes widen as he takes me in. Unfortunately, my smirk comes out anyway when I catch Savannah rolling her eyes at me again.
She’s complimented my muscles enough for me to know she appreciates the body I’ve built, but I’m more concerned about if she actually considers me a friend. Though I doubt my bout of panic last week helped anything, I care more than I’d like about her opinion.
Why do I care? Professional distance should be a good thing. I’m going back to Sydney in a few months, and I’ve never been one to bother with relationships, romantic or otherwise. My focus is rugby.
Besides, losing people hurts less if I don’t get attached to them in the first place.
Hold up. That’s not a thought I’ve ever had.
The sharp blow of a whistle from the coach next to Savannah brings a wave of boys our way before I can truly consider the implications of the realization I just had, and I’m suddenly swarmed by sweaty teens because I never put the box of snacks on the ground.
They come with a variety of thank yous for Savannah and curious looks for me, but most of their interest is in the food.
Kacen is one of the last to arrive, and rather than take one of the foil-wrapped burritos, he steps up to Savannah and gives her a soft smile. “You’re awesome for doing this, Sav.”
At this point, she doesn’t need my strength for anything, and I agree with Savannah that I should keep my distance from the Shafer boys. But my body seems frozen in place the instant she smiles back at the boy.
It’s not a romantic smile. That would be way out of order. But her smile is warm and natural, something she’s never given me. Not once. Why has she never smiled at me like that?
Probably because you haven’t given her a reason to, you drongo.
“You’re the one who made it happen,” she says, flicking Kacen’s shoulder pad and grinning. “Don’t tell your mom, but I’m bringing you and Blaze some high-protein brownies on Saturday.”
“Are you a scout?”
It takes me a second to realize that Kacen asked me that question, and panic floods my system. I promised I wouldn’t talk to him, but he’s looking right at me, waiting for a response. Glancing at Savannah, I lift an eyebrow.
She sighs and nods, giving me permission with a healthy dose of warning in her gaze.
Turning back to Kacen, I stuff my hands into my pockets and tilt my head. “Er, scout?”
“Yeah. You know, for colleges?”
With the way he’s looking at me with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, he’s not going to like my answer. “No.”
Kacen narrows his eyes. “Then who are you?”
Whether I’m speaking the truth, I reply the only way I can. “Friend of Savannah’s.”
The kid’s eyes jump to her, and she shrugs, which doesn’t clue me in to her real feelings about me. “Cool,” he says and reaches into the box to grab a burrito. Then his focus returns to Savannah. “You’re really bringing brownies?”
Much as I’d like to keep listening to them, some shouts on the pitch pull my attention toward a few of the boys having what looks like a heated conversation.
No, not a conversation. As I watch, two of the boys tower over a third, firing taunts at him and laughing.
When one of them pushes the third boy in the chest, I look for the coaches.
They’re all chewing the fat instead of paying attention to their player being bullied and too far for me to say something without the rest of the team hearing me. That would likely make the situation worse.
Cursing under my breath, I set the box on the ground and am about to tell Savannah about the skirmish, as if she might be able to do something, when one of the bullies shoves again, this time pushing hard enough to knock the boy onto his back.
And I’m on the move.
“Hey,” I growl when I get closer, and the two bullies jump, backing up. As soon as they get a good look at me, they scurry away, leaving the third boy lying on the pitch. It’s only now that I realize it’s my half-brother, Blaze, and I freeze. I’m not supposed to talk to him either.
But the kid looks like he just had the worst practice of his life even before his teammates ganged up on him, and I can’t just walk away.
“You good, mate?” I ask, holding a hand out to him.
Glancing to where his coaches are still absorbed in their own conversation, he wrinkles his nose and makes no move to take my outstretched hand. “Fine,” he grumbles.
“You don’t have to take that, you know.” I jerk my head in the direction his teammates went. “What were they saying to you?”