Page 124 of Fumbled Into Love

Whatever I made tasted like dirt. I need insider secrets to make ice cream delicious enough for Nathalie. When she tried mine, she politely swallowed but couldn’t quite hide the disgust on her face.

It mirrored my own.

I am a quarterback, not an ice cream maker.

The chatter in the nutrition room is loud, and I weave through my teammates to Addie, towering over the blender and the other nutritionists. Her auburn hair is plastered against her face as she pours smoothies into cups, and greedy hands dart out to snag them the moment they land on the counter.

One player tries to take the smoothie cup directly from her grip, and the look Addie gives him could curdle blood.

“Hi, Addie,” I say, giving her my most charming smile.

She rolls her eyes.

“One minute.”

Addie spins around, tossing fruit into a blender. I choke at the stickers riddling her back. Hearts, stars, and cartoon characters pepper her polo.

“You have stickers on your back,” I whisper.

“For fucks sake,” she mutters, slapping her arm around her back to peel off the stickers. “I knew that goddamn book was a bad idea.”

She rips one, but the others are stuck on good, so I help her out and peel the remaining ones from between her shoulder blades.

“How’s your morning going?”

“I’m making smoothies for nearly sixty professional athletes who inhale them like they’re air, and I’ve done so covered in stickers.”

I throw my hands up in defense, and she slides a cup across the table.

“Try this.” I take a sip, and tropical fruits dance along my tongue. Bananas and coconut and… “What do you think?”

“What’s the orange stuff?”

“Passionfruit pulp.” She fiddles with her navy blue Polo, smoothing out the wrinkles and examining herself for any remaining rogue stickers.

I gulp down half the smoothie in one go.

“This is the best one yet.” I lean in conspiratorially. “What do you know about making ice cream?”

Her eyes narrow. “Ninja Creami for Christmas?”

I nod.

“I’ll print out recipes,” she says before darting away to clean up her station.

“Thanks!” I slip out of the crowded room to start mentally preparing for the final game of the season.

We’ve won the division, securing our spot in the playoffs, but I want to play well this game, knowing Nathalie is watching from the comfort of Maren’s couch.

I’m halfway to the locker room when my body is ripped to the left, and I bite back the shriek crawling up my throat. Flailing my limbs, I land a few blows to my attackers, using the time to escape from the vice-like grip I’m being held in.

“My smoothie,” I scream, terrified it’s going to spill while I’m kidnapped.

“Stop fucking flailing, Deon,” a familiar voice hisses.

“This closet is way too small for all of us,” another voice chimes in and I swear I’m going to kill them all.

“Let go of me,” I hiss, spinning to face the three idiots I’ve decided to be friends with. “Why are you dragging me into the equipment room in the dark?”

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