Page 20 of A Whole New Trick

“You’re a professional athlete, Dane. Your body is a machine. It doesn’t matter if you have muscles on muscles. You need to give them proper fuel if you want them to function at peak capacity.”

My chest puffs out at her appreciative description of my body.

It deflates with her next words. “No wonder the team is concerned about your endurance.”

The reminder that the quality of my game time performance has been called into question grates my nerves. I haven’t made one damn mistake all year. That’s not an exaggeration. All sports reporters point to me winning the Hart Memorial Trophy at the end of the playoffs, regardless if the Ranchers make it to the finals. My season has been that good.

For the Ranchers to criticize me in this way really ticks me off. So much so that when my agent told me teams were sniffing around about whether or not I’d be available for a trade, I told him not to outright discourage the idea.

Unaware of my internal seething, Morgan continues to take note of the items in my pantry before moving on to the fridge.

I’ve never been embarrassed by my food choices, but my body tenses when I hear her snort at the sight of the jug of mango orange juice on the top shelf.

The entire time she works, Eli tries to catch my attention. I ignore him. My little brother is a menace. He’s the only person I told about what happened at the club. Not even Cam saw us make out on the dance floor. He’d been too preoccupied trying to find Morgan’s friend to shoot his shot.

I didn’t tell Eli Morgan’s name, but I did say I had a moment with a friend of a friend, which will likely bite me in the ass sooner rather than later.

A balled-up paper towel hits the side of my face.

I scowl at Eli.Knock it off.My glare says.

Make me. His says back. Then, he looks meaningfully at Morgan and mouths, “Is thatthegirl?”

“Shut the fuck up,” my lips form in response.

“Okay.” Eli and I abandon our silent argument as Morgan turns around. Once again, I’m taken aback by how attractive she is as she focuses those wide brown eyes on me. “What’s yourchef’s number? I’ll text him or her my meal plan for the week sometime tomorrow.”

Eli barks a laugh.

My features tighten.

“What?” Morgan looks between us. “What am I missing?”

There’s no point in beating around the bush. “I don’t have a chef.”

She blinks. “So… who cooks your meals?”

“I do.”

She blinks again. “Youdo?”

“Cooking is a loose term for what transpires in this condo,” Eli remarks.

“Shut up,” I growl.

My annoying brother just laughs.

See what I mean? He’s an absolute menace.

“But…” Morgan hesitates, floored by the information. “That doesn’t make sense. Almost all high-level athletes have professional chefs. At least during pre-season training and the actual season.”

“Yeah, well...” I shrug. “That’s never really been an area of concern for me.”

She mutters something inaudible under her breath. Based on the exasperated hand she runs down her face, I assume it’s not flattering.

“I don’t think you’re cooking skills are up to par for the meals I want you to add to your diet.” She chews her bottom lip as she thinks. “We need to get you a chef as soon as possible.”

I snap my eyes up from her mouth. “Is that really necessary?”

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