One would think after the previous two years of the same event, the staff would be used to seeing the players, but the fanfare speaks for itself. And this is where I don’t fit in with the others. As I stand here, awaiting a busload of athletes I won’t even be working with, I start to get antsy. There are so many other things I could be doing right now, like inventory of my supplies or reviewing internship candidates. Miriam has been retired for a few months now, and the only assistant I’ve ever had recently quit to pursue other careers, which means I’m on my own until I find a fitting replacement.
I start to tell Hope I’m going to head back to work, then the sound of an approaching engine riles up the crowd. A second later, a giant motor coach painted in purple and gold, along with the Seattle football team’s logo, drives through the gated entrance.
The chatter only intensifies, fading to a slight buzz only once the bus is parked and they’re all trying to contain their excitement. While I’m not a giant fan of the team like the rest of them, I wholeheartedly understand their elation. Living here can become monotonous at times, so I understand how the arrival of celebrities tends to wind them up.
One by one, players step off the bus, large purple duffel bags slung over their broad shoulders. They look almost silly, like Hulk clones all huddled together as Anderson makes his way toward them with his always-present clipboard.
“C’mon,” Hope hisses. “Let’s get closer. I want to see if I can touch one of them.”
I throw her a horrified glance as she starts to walk off. In a swift move, I clutch the back of her shirt and pull her back to me with a laugh. “Please don’t be like that.” I nod toward the gaggle of camp counselors who didn’t bother to change out of their swimsuits for the occasion.
“Ugh,” Hope says with disgust. “Do they always have to be so flaunty about their hotness?”
I raise a brow. “Did you just say ‘flaunty’?”
She shrugs. “I did, and I’m not taking it back.”
Laughing, I give my friend a little nudge. “Play it cool. Trust me. Any guy worth dating won’t fall for that, anyway. They’ll fall for your hotness exactly as you stand.”
Hope frowns and stares down at her work uniform, which is just a pair of khaki shorts and a white polo with Camp Dakota embroidered into it. “Yeah, but no one will be able to see my hotness under this frock.”
“Just wait until they see you in your cafeteria uniform.”
Absolute horror registers on Hope’s face as she takes in my words. Most of the regular staffers get called to take up odd jobs as needed, and Hope absolutely despises the cafeteria duties. I’ve never seen my friend look so mortified. “Seriously, Silver? You are the worst.”
She turns back to the group of guys while trying to stifle a laugh, but even while suffering from wardrobe insecurities, she’s filled to the brim with good humor.
“Holy shit.” The curse flies from Hope’s mouth so fast, I barely have time to register it before she’s gripping my arm. “No way.”
I follow her gaze and squint to see a straggler stepping off the bus. He’s tall and seemingly built like the rest, but I can’t see much beneath the black hoodie that’s pulled over his head and the dark shades that hide his eyes.
The way Hope’s jaw has practically fallen to the asphalt makes me all the more curious. “I don’t understand. Why are you freaking out?”
“Is that King?” she asks, her eyes wide. “It can’t be. There’s no way he would be caught dead here.”
I have no idea whom she’s referring to. “Why not?”
“Because he’s…” Her stare follows the man’s movements.
Her elaboration doesn’t help me make sense of her freak-out, not in the least. “Because he’s what, Hope?”
“Because he’s Kingston freaking Scott. The king of all defensive ends. A god-like masterpiece of epic proportions. Just look at him.”
Squinting, I try my best to see more of the guy who now looks like he’s in a heated argument with another player. I twist my lips, focusing back on the heated one. “He looks…” I try to find something positive to say. “Very…” And I’m coming up empty. “Grumpy.” When her eyes bulge at me, I jump to my own defense. “I can’t even see him. He’s all covered up.”
My nonchalance makes her wince. “I’m starting to question our entire friendship.”
“Over my attraction to a sweatshirt?”
She lets out a laugh. “Okay, I get it. But c’mon. You’re telling me you took one glance at Kingston’s file and didn’t feel an ounce of anything?”
I give her question some serious thought, reviewing his name over and over in my mind until something clicks. Kingston Scott. Kingston Scott. Kingston Scott. But nothing connects. For the life of me, I can’t remember ever seeing the guy’s name in the records I’ve reviewed. “I know nothing,” I tell her honestly. “Must have skipped over him on accident.”
Hope rolls her eyes while laughing. “Only you, Silver. Only you.”
Grinning at my friend, I squeeze her arm. “I’m heading back to work now.” When she starts to argue, I narrow my eyes, signaling that I’m not taking no for an answer again. “See you at dinner.”
This time, she doesn’t argue. “Okay, fine. You get back to work. I’m going to find us a couple of guys to get to know better.” She winks, effectively causing my chest to heat with embarrassment.
I don’t doubt that she will.
I make my way to the empty staff room in the main lodge and pour myself a cup of coffee. The room is quiet save for the television that someone left on. The Bexleys strictly enforce the no electronics rule around camp with this one television as our exception.
There’s a cooking show playing now, and I smile when I recognize it as one I’ve watched with Hope before. Desmond’s Kitchen is an adorable reality-slash-cooking show that features the owner of a cooking school in Seattle alongside his girlfriend, Maggie.
I find the remote and aim to turn it off when I’m caught in what’s playing out on screen. Desmond is creeping up behind Maggie, who is cutting strips of dough to make pasta. She’s so focused on her task that she doesn’t see Desmond kneel behind her until he places a hand on her hip.
She looks over her shoulder, and then her eyes pan down. The moment she sees him, her face morphs from confusion to shock to excitement as she registers what’s happening. The volume is too low for me to hear his words, but it’s enough to make her fall to her knees and tell him, “Yes!”
A bundle of emotions heat in my chest and behind my eyes, until I’m fighting back tears from the proposal playing out on the screen. It’s such a beautiful moment, a sweet and thoughtful gesture, but it also makes me sad to know it’s something that may never happen for me.
After taking a moment to collect myself, I grab a muffin leftover from breakfast and head to my office. I start to think about Hope and her reaction to the NFL players who arrived. It’s a mystery to me how she can be so content with having a meaningless fling with a guy who will be in and out of her life within the week. Then will she do the same thing next week, when a fresh set of guys come through? She could get attached to one of them—or worse, her heart could get broken.