Brock isn’t wrong that there’s some type of chemistry between us, but that’s what scares me. Look at the craziness that’s already infiltrated my life just from him saying he finds me attractive. It’s hard enough to earn respect and be taken seriously in this business, how would that work if people thought I couldn’t be impartial because I was dating the star of the San Francisco Infernos?
Me: If I said it’s not you, it’s me, would that sound too cliché?
Brock: Really? You’re using that line on me? You might as well have said you had to run and wash your hair.
I chuckle and debate what to write back, then decide just to be honest.
Me: The kiss was… amazing. No complaints there. I just think it’s better if we keep our relationship strictly professional.
Brock: Better for who? Because my blue balls disagree. ;)
I laugh out loud while a warm feeling invades my chest.
Me: Well I apologize to you AND your balls.
Brock: I know a way you could really show them you’re sorry…
Me: I’ll bet you do. *eye roll emoji*
Brock: In all seriousness – I’d really like to get to know you better. Let me take you to dinner.
I stare down at my phone. My fingers poised to type no.
I want to say yes. More than anything. But I can’t do it at the expense of my career that I’ve spent so much time and effort building.
Brock must grow impatient when I still haven’t answered a few minutes later because another text comes through.
Brock: Tell me what I need to do to get you to give me a chance.
The idea of leaving it up to fate is appealing. No decision is still a decision and at least this way the outcome is out of my hands. It’s also a convenient excuse, but I’ll take it.
Me: Tell you what… if you score a hat trick tonight, I’ll go on a date with you.
Brock: Oh, so something super easy then.
I smile at the screen. He’s not wrong. While he’s definitely capable, it’s not something that happens often for a player. If it happens, I’ll have to believe that fate played a role in pushing us together.
Me: That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.
Brock: I’ll take it. Just make sure you wear the shoes on our date. ;)
7
Brock
I sit in the pressroom after the game with Los Angeles, unable to stop grinning at the cameras. I had one of the best games of my career tonight, thanks to a little extra motivation.
I just wish I could’ve seen Kelsey’s face when I scored my third goal tonight. Was she relieved or did panic flare in her eyes the way it did on that sidewalk after we kissed?
“Allen, you were on fire out there. What was going through your head when you scored the hat trick?” one of the reporters I don’t recognize asks. He must be a local Los Angeles reporter.
“I was thinking what a lucky guy I am.” My gaze darts briefly to Kelsey and away. I don’t want people seeing me looking at her.
I try not to pay her any extra attention at these things since my blunder because I know she doesn’t want the attention. But I swear to God it’s a struggle of epic proportions. All I want to do is memorize every expression on her face, every curve of her body, every cadence of her voice.
It goes back and forth for a while between me and the reporters. I’m out here alone tonight because of my hat trick at the behest of the team’s press coordinator.
Just when I think things are wrapping up, another guy I don’t recognize raises his hand and I nod to accept his question.
“Have you been surprised at the response to you calling Kelsey Callaway beautiful in front of the press?”
Jesus, these guys aren’t doing me any favors.
I resist the urge to glance her way and clear my throat to buy myself some time, unsure how to handle this question in a way that won’t cause the spotlight to shine any brighter on the two of us.
The press coordinator must be able to sense my uneasiness because he starts to step up beside me, I’m sure to tell everyone that question time is done for the night, but I wave him off.
“Listen, I’d like to publicly apologize to Miss Callaway. Because of my comment, she’s been thrust into the spotlight in a way she shouldn’t have been. She’s a professional who deserves to work in an environment she feels comfortable in. I fear I may have put that in jeopardy with my actions. I’d appreciate it if everyone would leave her alone and let her do her job.”
A bunch more questions are shouted out all at the same time, but I stand, flicking my gaze quickly at Kelsey. I spot a small smile on her lips and hope that I made the right choice.
I leave the room with questions flying at my back and head to the locker room to gather my things before heading to the team bus.
Damn it. I have Kelsey imprinted on my brain and it seems nothing helps to get her off my mind.
The guy I room with went to grab some dinner and drinks with some of our teammates, but I opted to stay back at the hotel and order dinner to my room. But now I’m sitting here obsessing over whether I did the right thing by responding to that reporter’s question about Kelsey.
I just secured a date with her and I can’t help but feel like maybe I fucked it up.
Unable to take the not knowing any longer, I pick up the phone on the nightstand and dial zero, then ask the front desk to connect me to Kelsey’s room.
She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Brock.”
There’s a brief pause before she responds. “Hey…”
“Sorry to bother you. Hope I didn’t wake you up.” I glance at the clock and wince. It’s later than I realized.
“No, I wasn’t sleeping yet. But why don’t you text like a civilized person?”
I chuckle, relieving some of the tension bunching my muscles. “Because people read what they want into a text. This way, I can hear what you really mean.”
She sighs. “All right.”
“Well, before I rub it in that I did, in fact, score a hat trick tonight, I need to know if I fucked it up anyway with how I answered that reporter’s question tonight.”
She doesn’t have to ask what question I’m referring to, we both know.
“I thought you handled it well. As well as it could be handled.”
I push my hand through my hair. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought if I refused to answer, that might just make things worse because they might think there’s something going on between us worth digging up.”
“Well, I do owe you a date.”
I can’t tell if she’s happy about that or not, so I decide to offer her an out.
“Look, if you’re really not interested, you don’t have to go out with me. I’m not in the habit of forcing women to spend time with me.”