Page 99 of Just for the Cameras
Graydon:You didn’t cause anything. My father did.
Maple:But I was the reason.
Graydon:You did nothing wrong…other than not know how to fit a damn helmet on your head. Don’t lose sleep over it, Baker.
Maple:I will, though. I feel guilty.
Graydon:Would it help if I sent you a picture of me, showing you that I’m fine?
Maple:I mean…maybe?
After I send the text, I immediately want to take it back, because what am I doing? Am I flirting? No, I’m not flirting. I’m just…I’m trying to make sure he’s okay. That he didn’t, I don’t know, come out of practice with a brain injury or something. The last thing I need is for him to come to the zoo with said brain injury and accidentally fall into the shrimp fridge because his brain isn’t working. We just got new fridges, and his goliath of a body would for sure demolish them if he tripped and rammed into them.
So yes, I’m just looking out for the safety of the fridges over here by asking for a picture.
Nothing else.
My phone dings, and I scramble to open the picture.
Graydon comes into view, once again in more of an aerial shot where I can see his handsomely carved jawline and dark eyes framed by a black eye. His thick chest and flat pecs are on full display while a pack of ice rests on his ribs.
What the hell happened?
Then I read his text.
Graydon:See? I’m fine, Baker.
I type back furiously.
Maple:Besides the black eye and the ice on the ribs. What happened?
Graydon:Put my helmet on wrong.
Maple:I’m being serious, Graydon.
Graydon:And I’m telling you I’m fine. So don’t worry about it. Okay?
Maple:I’m worried. Is this how you’re always going to be treated?
Graydon:No, if I refrain from punching my dad. But if he says shit about you, then yeah, this is how I’ll be treated.
Maple:He’s just going to goad you now.
Graydon:Yeah, he will.
Maple:I’m not worth the pain.
Graydon:Trust me…you are. See you tomorrow, Baker.
I stare down at his text, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering like crazy as I attempt to process it. From the dark, dangerous glares he offers me to the sensitive, supportive texts, to the compliments in front of his dad, I don’t know how to read him. And the more time I spend with him, the harder and harder I’m finding it to dislike him.
CHAPTER 20
GRAYDON
“Don’t forget to ice,” mytrainer calls after me as I move out of the training room, freshly showered with an ice pack strapped to my ribs from where I took a brutal beating at a late-night individual practice.
I won’t get into the details, but Coach Keenan kept his word, and I know if we were any closer to the season starting, I wouldn’t have had the same treatment. I might have been fined, if anything, but he knew what he could get away with, and he went for it, letting his assistants know what exactly to put me through. Hit after hit as I had to run sprints against their blocking pads…with no protective gear.
