Page 161 of Just for the Plot

“I knew you had a heart in there,” Maple whispers before picking up my phone and texting Bennett back.

Graydon:It’s Maple. Graydon would be more than happy to chat with Cougar tomorrow. I’ll make sure he reports back with the correct information. As for Bower, if you want, I can introduce myself and kind of feel her out as well, that way you have information from both sides.

“How the hell are you going to do that?” Graydon asks.

“Shhh,” she says, pushing more muffin into my mouth. “Let me handle this. I know what I’m doing. You just need to worry about talking to Cougar.”

“And how the hell do I talk to him?”

“I’ll send you questions. It will be easy.”

“I mean…how can you go wrong when you have prepared questions?” OC asks. “Seems like we’re all going to win after this.”

Maple:Approach him calmly. Ask him how his day is going, how he sees the season faring, and then casually ask about the date you set him up on. Stay light and breezy, and you can’t mess this up.

OC:Agreed. Light and breezy, Graydon. Light and breezy.

Graydon:Why the fuck were you included on this text thread?

Maple:I thought it might be helpful.

OC:Yeah, because she sees my value, something you tend to look past every chance you get.

Graydon:I hope you gag today.

I stuff my phone in my pocket, hating every goddamn second of this, and begrudgingly walk over to Cougar, who’s currently doing bench presses in the weight room.

“Need a spot?” I ask.

“Sure,” he answers. “Thanks.”

Not something I’d normally do, but I keep thinking about the promises Maple made me.Thathas propelled me to step out of my comfort zone.

He pumps out four more reps and then I help him set the bar on the rack before he sits up and turns toward me. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, awkwardly standing there, unsure how to make the transition from not ever communicating with this guy to his love life.

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing me skeptically.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Because it sort of seems like you’re just standing there, like you’re either constipated or you want to ask me something.”

This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want stupid questions. I didn’t want to have any sort of interaction, and lastly, I’m not fucking good at this shit. It doesn’t come natural to me.

“Are you constipated? Because I have some prunes in my locker. I tend to eat them when I get to the stadium to keep things loose before the game, get all the weight out, if you know what I mean.”

Jesus Christ.

“Not constipated,” I answer. Just extremely uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he drags out. “So then is there something I can help you with? Because you’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. You haven’t moved. Quite sure you haven’t blinked.”

I’ve fucking blinked.