Chapter Six
Six
Michelle
I need this. I need the players to be the face of this PR attempt, and I need them to want to do it.
If winning this game of shuffleboard is what it takes, then that’s what it takes.
And doughnuts from the team every Friday morning would definitely improve front office morale. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.
Maybe because I’ve been sleeping like shit on the pleather couch in my office and can hardly think straight.
Exhibit A: chugging an IPA.
Exhibit B: the growing urge to kiss Tristan Gold.
It’s not lost on me that exhibit A might also be influencing exhibit B, but as long as it doesn’t install a fish tank and shag carpet in my car, I’m good with it.
Probably.
Honestly, I’m so competitive that turning down this bet wouldn’t have occurred to me even if I hadn’t made the extremely poor choice to chug an IPA…and the worst part is, I think I might actually benefit from Tristan’s so-called chill-out lessons.
Social anxiety is a real bitch.
“Are you ready?” Tristan asks me, so close his forearm brushes against mine.
“Ready to show you how it’s done,” I say, and he laughs, his white teeth flashing.
I do not, in fact, show him how it’s done.
I stare at the chalk lines clearly denoting his team the winner, frustrated and completely free of my IPA buzz.
“You did good,” Tristan says, wearing a shit-eating grin that only makes me scowl harder.
“Don’t be patronizing,” I snap. “I did awful.”
“I tried to help,” Logan says from the other end of the table, holding up both hands in the universal sign of surrender. He’s smiling, too, though, and a part of me wonders if he helped throw the game toward the other team.
Tristan crosses his arms over his chest, and I’m almost too annoyed to notice the way it makes his pecs bunch up under his thin T-shirt.
Great. Now I’m tired, annoyed, and perving on him.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon for your first lesson,” Tristan tells me, grinning.
“I have to work—”
“On a Saturday?” Tristan asks, his eyebrows climbing.
I blow out a breath, then roll my shoulders, a stress knot forming between them, where it always does. “There’s a lot to get done.”
“You need these lessons even more than I expected if you’re working every weekend. I’ll pick you up from your office at noon.”
“Two,” I say, negotiating out of habit. Well, that and I meant what I said about having a ton of work to do. Mark’s going to be breathing down my tense neck if—
“Noon,” Tristan says, interrupting my anxious thoughts, then holds up a hand as I start to object.
“You lost, Oxford. You don’t get to set the terms. Besides, that’s when we get done watching tape after morning workout.
” He bumps me companionably with his shoulder as he swaggers by, and I catch the hint of his bodywash or cologne. My face heats all over again.
“Fine,” I call after him, and he just looks over his shoulder and winks at me.
Ugh.
I hate losing.
“He’s a good guy,” Logan says, and I glance over to where he’s walked to stand next to me. “You’ll have fun.”
“I know he is. I just…I shouldn’t have made the bet at all. Not to mention, now I’m going to have to work extra hard to get the rest of you guys on board to do even more for the organization than you all already do.”
He makes a disbelieving noise, then laughs when I shake my head. “We’ll do whatever you need us to do. We were always going to. We’re tired of being shit on in the press, too, you know.”
I grimace. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you didn’t—”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s different for you. We all know it is.”
“Please,” I say, making my own noise of distress. “I don’t have to get out on the field and play after they talk about us like that.”
He gives me a searching look. “I don’t think what you do is anything less than putting on your cleats and kicking ass. You just do it in a different part of the building.” He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “You got this. I’m glad you came out tonight.”
“Yeah,” I say, making myself smile at him. “I am, too.”
“Now go get some sleep. You look like shit.”
A real laugh bursts out of me, and I give him an incredulous look. “Wow, thank you.”
“Just thought you should know. Sleeping in your office isn’t good for you.”
I sigh. “Does everyone know?”
“Pretty much. I think it was news to Gold, though. He looked furious about it earlier.”
“Furious?” I echo, confused. Why the hell would he be angry, let alone furious?
“Go home,” Logan says. “You’ll feel better when you wake up tomorrow.” He grins at me. “At least, that’s what my mom always says.”
I laugh again. “She sounds like a smart lady.”
“Of course she is. She raised me.” He claps me on the shoulder, like an old friend. With one last long look, he wanders off, leaving me to make my rounds and say goodbye to the people still hanging out.
I think about what he said the whole way back to my apartment, though.
I think about it as I shower and brush my teeth and climb into my bed, which admittedly does feel much, much better than the shitty couch in my office.
I think about Tristan Gold being furious about me sleeping there, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why it would make any difference to him at all.