Page 43 of Just for the Cameras
After Maple bolted last night, which thank God she did us both a favor, I sent her a quick text as to where to park, where to meet me, and what to wear.
I considered taking it easy on her, giving her a general understanding of football and my position, but then when Coach Keenan startedgoing off about how it was insane that I needed my own social media campaign to make the Foghorns look better because I couldn’tjust follow instructions, I decided to ditch my plan and give her the works.
Yup…she’s training with me today. Let’s see if she can keep up.
I lean against the stone wall, watching as a sedan pulls past security and finds a parking spot. That has to be her because it’s the only car in the parking lot that is at least ten years old.
Although, mine is about eight, so it’s not like I can say much. I just don’t care to spend my money like my teammates do.
I watch as she steps out of her car and slings a bag over her shoulder before locking up.
Under the parking lot lights, I catch a glimpse of her in a pair of leggings that cling to every inch of her legs, making them seem longer than they actually are. Her tight-fitting tee shows off her full chest but grossly masks it with a fucking flamingo on the front—of course. Her long, blond hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail like normal, swishing across her shoulders as she makes her way across the parking lot.
And for a second, and I mean just a second because it’s all I’ll allow, my eyes wander over her curvaceous body and the way her hips swell just past her narrow waist, sexily swaying with every step. Then there’s the slenderness of her neck, unmarked, ready to be claimed, while the fullness of her lips nearly drives me to the point of wanting to take a few more seconds to stare longer.
But it’s a fleeting moment because as she approaches, it’s hard to miss the scowl on her brow and the disdain for me in her body language.
She might be sexy as fuck, but the feeling is mutual.
When she reaches me, I dangle a lanyard out in front of her and say, “This is for you. It’s your key card to get into the facility. You’re allowed to open the door, but you are to wait by it until I come to retrieve you.”
She takes the key card and studies it for a moment before slipping it in her bag. I push off the wall and flash my own key to the door before opening it for her.
We’re at the practice facility, a large dome field with training equipment, a weight room, and everything you could possibly need when it comes to catering to a shitty-ass football team that hasn’t even made it to one playoff game in over a decade.
I will say this, though—even though we don’t win, our facilities are top-notch.
State-of-the-art training room with every physical therapy device you can think of, which is great for me as I start pushing toward the older end of football players. The kitchen is fucking phenomenal, and I always stop by for at least two meals and snacks. The weight room has everything I need and more. And the practice field is a soft turf that doesn’t leave you scratching at the end of practice.
For a losing team, we have it pretty good.
Kind of feel bad for someone like Maple, who has to work in a building that smells like bird shit and seafood.
“This way,” I say, nodding toward the field, where I plan on warming up before hitting the weight room.
She follows me closely, her eyes scanning every inch of the facility as I lead the way to an empty practice field, which is just the way I like it. No one likes to wake up as early as I do, especially when we’re not in season, so it’s the perfect time to get my work in without others bothering me.
“Wow, I expected a whole lot more people.”
“Just us,” I say as I walk over to my zoo water bottle and take a sip. I watch her study the water bottle, the smallest of smirks on her lips. She probably loves that I use the damn thing, and not that I want to admit it, but it’s a pretty nice water bottle. “Don’t think much of it. It was left in my truck, and I forgot my other one.” At least that’s what I’m telling myself…and her.
She grumbles under her breath, then sets her things down on one of the benches that line the field. While she gets situated, I take a peek at her ass in her leggings because, well…I apparently have no self-control, andshe has a really nice ass. She fishes through her purse for a few seconds, then pulls her phone out.
Turning toward me just in time for me to lift my gaze without getting caught, she says, “Before we get started, we need to take a picture so I can make a post.”
“What kind of picture?” I ask.
“Well, it can be a selfie, or it can be a video of us waving, or we can stand side by side, not touching, and stare at the camera like vampires. You tell me what the almighty Graydon St. John wants to do.”
Sassy this morning.
“Glad you have my title correct.” She rolls her eyes. “Just do a quick selfie and get it over with.”
“Are you going to smile?”
“Do you want me to smile?”
“Do you know how to smile?”
