Chapter 21
Alex
I’m a scattered mess today. I’m still hurt by how quickly Tenny moved on, but I’m also reeling from the tender way he took care of me when I’d been in the ocean yesterday.
The ocean.
I went into the ocean yesterday.
My mind still can’t believe it.
I’ll admit, I’d rented the crappy apartment on the south end of the Virginia Beach boardwalk because as much as I’d never planned on getting in the water ever again, I still feel tethered to the sea.
Mags used to joke that salt water flows through my veins.
From my tiny balcony, I can see the surfers paddling out at the 1st Street Jetty.
It’s become my morning ritual to drink my coffee while watching the wet-suit clad figures ride to shore.
Amelia would be irritatingly accurate in pointing out that by renting an apartment within walking distance of one of the most popular surf spots in the area, my subconscious might be trying to tell me something.
I just hadn’t realized how much I wanted to get back into the water until I’d blindly followed Tenny yesterday.
At the time, I hadn’t considered my longstanding fear. All I’d thought about was the defeated hunch of Tenny’s shoulders and how I needed to make sure he was okay. Only when I’d been thigh-deep did panic squeeze the air from my lungs.
Afterward, when Tenny unceremoniously dropped me at my car, I drove the short distance to my complex in a state of numbness that I’ve been in ever since.
Getting through airport security and my flight earlier today, I was essentially a zombie.
Even now, as I enter the Stallions’ ballpark, I’m in a fog.
That’s why, instead of scouting the field and taking notes as the players move through batting practice and warm-ups, I stumble into the clubhouse.
I just need one minute to snap out of it.
Hopefully, there’s an unused office or equipment closet that I can use to give myself a mental kick in the pants.
When I see a slightly ajar door to what looks like an abandoned office, my shoulders drop in relief. But as I get closer, the voice slipping through the crack sounds familiar. I pause beside the door frame, leaning against it.
“I told you to go see the sports psychologist that Trevor recommended,” she says.
The masculine groan makes my heart pause midbeat.
Is that…
“Lots of athletes have superstitions.”
Yup. That’s definitely Tenny’s voice. As much as the reporter in me really, really wants to hear this conversation, the right thing would be to continue down the hall.
“Do they have six?” Arizona challenges.
I take a step back only to be yanked to a stop. A loose nail on the door frame has caught the sleeve of my blouse.
“Probably more,” Tenny challenges before sighing. “Fine, I need to work on it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.”
I grimace, silently trying to free the fabric. This gauzy garment seemed like a good idea with my linen trousers because it’s considerably warmer here than in Virginia, but now the delicate fabric is seconds from ripping.
“And who’s always right?”
“Never you.”
Arizona scoffs. “Which superstition can’t you complete today? The Sour Patch one or the sunflower seed one?”
“No, um. There’s a new one.”
“Tennessee.”
Meanwhile, my shirt has decided that it can’t be parted with its new soulmate—the door. I fiddle with the delicate fabric, mentally trying to cover my ears.
“The new reporter, Alex…”
When he says my name like it hurts, my brows furrow, and my fingers still.
“Friedrich and I like how she always gives you a hard time. What about her?”
“I…” Tenny clears his throat. “I need to tap her knuckles before a game, but I don’t think that will happen today.”
“Is she not there?”
My heartbeat is suddenly deafening in my ears.
“She should be. It’s just…”
“Why couldn’t you have made it easy on yourself, like tapping Rory’s knuckles or something?”
At the mention of the woman Tenny kissed while I was trying to figure out my feelings, I resume my work, more frantic than ever.
If I have to rip the sleeves off this shirt, I will.
I have a white tank beneath it; maybe I can get away with just wearing that.
Internally, I sigh, knowing it’s not professional enough for camera.
“Rory and I are over.”
My fingers still again.
“Aw, really? I’m sorry, Ten.”
“It’s fine.” His hard tone makes a shiver run down my spine.
“Come on,” I murmur, pleading with the last of the gossamer fabric still stubbornly attached to the nail.
Suddenly, the door flies open, and I’m face to face with Tenny. His eyes widen before several things happen in quick succession: hanging up his video call, he tugs me into the cramped office before shutting the door behind us, using his big body to block my exit.
“Hey!” I protest before confirming that, yep, my blouse sleeve is thoroughly ripped.
“How much of that did you hear?” He steps forward, nearly pushing me against the overcrowded desk.
“I wasn’t trying to listen. My shirt got caught on the door frame,” I tell him, gesturing to the torn fabric.
“Sure.” His tone feels like an icy slap. “More like you’re going to use the information in another story, trying to make me look bad again. Well, joke’s on you. Most professional athletes hold superstitions—ones that make mine look tame.”
I set my hands on my hips. “I wasn’t going to use the information against you.”
He shakes his head while rubbing his beard scruff.
“I wasn’t.”
“Alex, I can’t trust a word you say.”
He might as well have shoved me, the way my breath escapes in a sharp, pained exhale.
Tenny’s anger vanishes, his gaze skipping all over my face as he murmurs a curse.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His hand lifts, as though he wants to touch me, before he clenches it into a fist and draws it back. “I wasn’t thinking when I pulled you in here. Is your back okay?”
“It’s fine.”
My pride? It’s seen better days. The organ between my ribs? It’s thoroughly bruised too. I should be glad Tenny’s no longer dating Rory, but I’m sure he’ll just run out and get a substitute as soon as the game is over.
My teeth grind together as I hold up my fist.
“I’m not going to use this information against you,” I tell him, nodding toward my hand. “Go ahead. I don’t want to mess up your game.”
Tenny hesitates before tapping his knuckles to mine. “Thanks.”
“Oh, it wasn’t for you. It was for the rest of the Waves lineup. They don’t deserve you stinking up the field.”
“Wow.” He takes a step back, crossing his arms. “You really are a piece of work.”
I give him my most saccharine smile. “Takes one to know one.”
Tenny’s exhale is more of a growl. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
“Oh, no. Did I cause a slight hiccup in your day?” I give him a little pout. “Meanwhile, you ruined my shirt. What am I supposed to wear on air?”
Tenny rolls his eyes at me before opening the door, wrapping his large hand around my wrist, and tugging me—albeit, a lot gentler than before—into the clubhouse and toward his stall. He drops my hand to rifle through a hanging garment bag before thrusting a crisp white button-up in my direction.
“Wear this.”
I draw back like he just offered me a coiled rattlesnake. “I can’t wear that.”
“Sure you can.” He unbuttons it from the hanger before extending it again. “Zona is always stealing them and wearing them over leggings. Just tie it at the waist.”
I accept the shirt, but only because it’s actually a good idea, and I have no other options. This stadium is in the middle of nowhere. It would take too much time to go to a store, assuming I could find something appropriate, or go back to my hotel to change.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, I didn’t do it for you.” I’ve never seen Tenny’s smile look so malevolent. It doesn’t suit him. “I want you to be presentable when you report on my incredible game later.”
Before my brain can come up with a good zinger, Tenny marches toward the field exit.
I huff, blowing a strand of hair out of my face before finding a single-use bathroom to change.
“If he thinks he can insult me and then try to fix things, he can just—” I pause my muttering as I pull off my ruined blouse.
Fortunately, like most of my clothing, I bought it on discount.
There’s a ridiculous double standard for female reporters.
A man can wear the same suit on camera without anyone noticing, but if I don’t change my outfit every broadcast, someone complains.
It’s utter nonsense, but it also means I need to devote more of my meager paycheck to my wardrobe.
Setting it on the sink lip, I slide my arms into Tenny’s shirt. An involuntary groan leaves my lips as I’m enveloped in his bright, citrusy cologne. Now I’m mad for two reasons: that I had to change in the first place and that he smells this good while actively getting on my last nerve.
I pull my shoulders back, fixing my reflection with a hard stare. “It’s fine. Just ignore it. Or just don’t…breathe for the next few hours.”
With renewed indignation, I tug at the fabric, rolling the bottom of the shirt inward before securing it over my waist with a tidy square knot. With the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to my elbow, Tenny’s shirt looks very chic over my pants.
I should be overjoyed, but my blood simmers.
Whatever I thought we were before, it’s clear now—we’re definitely enemies.