Page 33 of Lucky Shot

The man is a fucking diva to the nth degree. It’s not my place to ruin the kids’ opinions of their idol so I won’t, but I’ll sit my ass right here and stew about it all fucking day and wonder just how I’m going to bite my tongue for the rest of the week and not put the prick in his place.

Even worse, he’s charming. Like dazzling smile and quiet words of encouragement type charming that doesn’t mesh with the attitude he gives me when it’s just the two of us.

I watch him with the kids while hearing his playful words on the voicemail he left me the other night and try to square that he’s the same man.

He’s not.

He can’t be.

And yet . . .

Shame. I was rather looking forward to pushing your buttons.

Is that what he’s doing? Pushing my buttons? Purposely pissing me off because he doesn’t want to be here? But why? I told him not to come here yet he insisted.

That’s on him.

He can be mad at me all he wants, be difficult all he wants—I told him not to come.

And yet he’s here. An icon to the kids and a nuisance to me.

Because I feel like I’m looking at two different men—one I despise and the other I think I could actually like.

There is no liking. There is no wanting. You can find the man attractive, Whitney, but that’s it. Nothing else.

Not a damn thing.

And even if you wanted to, he’s way the fuck out of your league in so many ways it’s impossible to count.

I twist my lips as he ruffles the head of the little boy standing beside him while instructing a line of other kids as they run through the drill he’s set up. I’m a person who tries to find the best in people. At least I am now, which is a huge change from the skeptical teenager who first landed here. It was Patrick who taught me there are good people in the world who will persist until you believe them. Trust them. And I’ve learned that most people try to put their best foot forward from the get-go. Those who don’t? They’re not worth my time, but for some reason, I’m trying so hard to find the best in Hardy.

Maybe I want him to be what the kids want him to be so they’re not disappointed yet again.

“You guys ready for one of my favorite drills?” he asks the group of one hundred or so kids. Thank God I have enough volunteer staff to help wrangle and facilitate Hardy being here because I suspect we’ll have the full two hundred academy members here tomorrow once the word gets out that Alexander Hardy is here for the week.

Maybe that will mean some sign-ups for more players. With that comes a whole other host of headaches for my already slim staff that’s overworked and underpaid.

But it’s a headache I’d welcome. One that I’d gladly pick up the slack on if it meant more kids were here and out of trouble than out there eyeing the prospect of it.

“Awesome. Love the enthusiasm, you guys. Okay. So far today we’ve worked on foot skills and agility. Now it’s time to talk about defending.”

A quiet groan can be heard through the crowd.

“I know. There is nothing sexy—er attractive about defending, but it’s a necessity that every player must learn how to do. So, who’s going to volunteer to help me demonstrate the proper way to do the drill?”

A slew of arms shoot in the air at lightning speed and the word “Me” is said so frequently it’s almost like white noise around us. The kids bounce on their toes all hoping for Hardy to see and select them. He’s now solidified his idol status.

He looks over all of them and then turns to meet my eyes. He lifts his eyebrows and smiles. “How about it?”

“What? You need more purple Gatorade?” I say, my words dripping with saccharine.

His grin is a devastating flash of sex appeal, and the way he wields it, he knows it. “No. It seems now that I had that flavor, I don’t think I like it anymore.”

“If that’s not a euphonism for something, I don’t know what is,” I mutter under my breath.

But he hears every word no doubt, by the widening of his smile and the gleam in his eye. It’s like the man is impenetrable and if I were trying to gain some type of upper hand, by the way he saunters toward me, I have a sinking feeling I just may have lost it.

Not sure how, but I did.