Page 14 of Pucking the Grump

Who taught her the value of self-care, real self-care, not the “buy yourself a bottle of prosecco and take a bubble bath” variety?

The answer is painfully obvious: no one.

With a dad like Coach, it’s really no wonder she missed that particular “how to take care of myself” skill set, and I know for a fact she doesn’t let anyone else close enough to try.

Poor pumpkin.

She clearly needs an intervention, whether she likes it or not.

“Hello, Mr. Stone?” A brisk female voice I don’t recognize snaps me back to the present.

“Yes, hi, I’m here,” I say, injecting a note of strain as I add, “So sorry about this. I know it’s terrible timing with training camp just starting, but?—”

“Not at all. These things happen,” the stranger interrupts efficiently. “The migraine’s been logged into the system. Just make sure you get a doctor’s note if you’re out for more than two days.”

“Absolutely. Thank you.”

“Before I let you go, I wanted to let you know that Remy Lauder also called in sick today. Food poisoning, apparently. But it could be a virus of some kind. There might be something going around the office.”

I offer a mildly interested hum. “Really?”

“Yes, so if you start feeling sick to your stomach, that might be why. Just be sure to stay home if you’re actively vomiting or running a fever. We don’t need this spreading through the team like wildfire.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Thanks so much. I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good one, and I hope everyone else stays healthy.”

I end the call and exhale a satisfied sigh. Another item off my list, and it’s not even mid-morning yet. I really am on fire today, especially for a man who’s allegedly down with a migraine.

“Oh my god. Shit!” comes a hoarse shout from the bedroom.

A beat later, I hear a thud and footsteps on the thick carpet.

“What time is it?” Remy demands from behind me. “My alarm must have died or something.”

I turn with a smile to see her standing in the hallway, hair wild, eyes panicked, still in those cozy pajamas I find unreasonably sexy for some reason. She’s just so…snuggly in flannel.

“Stone! The time,” she demands, when I admire a second too long.

“It’s almost ten,” I tell her calmly, “but don’t?—”

“TEN?” She shrieks. “I’m two hours late for work! How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me? Fuck” She drags a hand through her hair. “My phone. Where’s my phone? I need to call the office?—”

“No, you don’t. Take a breath, woman.” I step toward her, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. “It’s all handled. No need to stress.”

Her eyes narrow into dangerous little slits. “What do you mean ‘handled’?”

“I mean that I texted the office from your phone a couple of hours ago, explaining that you have food poisoning from some nasty sushi and won’t be in today.”

“You WHAT?” She lunges for her purse on the coffee table, frantically digging for her cell. “How did you even get into my phone? It’s passcode protected!”

I shrug, determined to model chill for her. “I accidentally memorized your code when we were ordering pizza last summer. You know, that time my phone was dead, so you treated and accidentally got pepperoni instead of sausage?”

Now her eyes are dangerously wide. “That was three months ago!”

I shrug again, offering her my most charming smile. “What can I say? I have a photographic memory, especially when it comes to numbers. But I swear I’ve never used it before. Scout’s honor. I would never violate your privacy like that.”

“I’m going to violate your privacy in a minute,” Remy mutters as she scrolls to the message in question. Her shoulders relax the slightest bit as she reads. “Okay, well, at least you didn’t make me sound like a nutjob.”

“Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

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