Page 26 of Unwritten Rules
I nod. “You told me that Sinnett is my top priority, so I’m throwing everything I can into this plan. Besides, I got the feeling from my conversation with him today that he’s keen to do whatever it takes to get back onto the field as soon as possible.”
“He’s a tough kid, I’ll give him that.”
“And stubborn,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
Dad chuckles. “That, too. But the plan sounds great. Once you’re done with it, forward it to Todd, the head assistant coach, for him to review before we pass it along to Sinnett.”
I nod. “Will do.” A wave of nerves rolls over me. What if Sinnett doesn’t like my plan and refuses to follow it after the effort I put into it? A kick to the teeth would hurt less, no doubt.
Dad slaps his thighs and pushes to his feet, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. Should we order in something for dinner?”
My stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding me I haven’t eaten since lunch. “Chinese would be great.”
“Consider it done.” Dad leans down behind the dark grey lounge and shoulders his backpack. “You’re doing great, Tate, really. I knew you would be perfect for the job.”
His words ease the self-doubt clawing at my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
When he leaves the living room, I blow out a long breath and close my eyes. I hope I can live up to Dad’s expectations.Working with top athletes is out of wheelhouse, and the last thing I want is to let him down by not looking after his players properly, including Sinnett.
Our relationship is being rebuilt, brick by brick, and I just pray the gust of wind that is my secret of sleeping with his star halfback doesn’t blow it down.
Chapter Eight
SINNETT
Isee the horde of reporters before they see me. They're lingering by the entrance to the training facility, cameras trained on my car and microphones in hand, ready to bombard me with what feels like endless questions.
Knowing there is no other way to escape them, I heave a sigh and step out of the car. I feel all their judging gazes on me as I reach into the back seat, retrieving my gym bag. Keeping my head down, I focus on my scuffed black and white shoes as I take long strides in their direction. When I'm in earshot, the game of twenty-one questions begins.
“Sinnett, how is the injury?”
“When do you think you'll be back on the field?”
“We've heard reports that the quad injury is so serious that you might not see another game until round fifteen. Is that true?”
“Sinnett, what's your rehab plan?”
“Can you tell us when you'll be joining the Wolves on the field?”
“How do you think the Wolves have been performing without you?”
It's question after fucking question with these people. If they're not asking about my injury, they're wanting to know about my dating life, which is something I prefer to keep private from the public and media. To them, nothing is off-limits. And try as they might, I never answer their questions, no matter how much of an asshole it makes me look. I don't need them twisting my words into a story that suits them.
Lifting my head, I keep my eyes forward as I side step them, dodging their cameras and letting their questions sink into the back of my mind. Cool air whips at my face as the door to the building is flung open. It closes behind me with a soft click, drowning out the relentless voices of those parasites.
The walk to the change rooms is short, and I make sure to wave at each staff member I pass. The rest of the team arrived an hour ago, ready to hit the field to practice some new plays Coach Phil wants to test out. Lucky me, I got to sleep in and arrived just in time for my session with Tatum.
My heart slams into my throat at the mere thought of her name. Of her face. And that damn vanilla and floral scent that is embedded into my skin.
I told her that I respect her father enough to not break his rule, but fuck me is it difficult. She's been in my head since the night we first met, and I don't know why. Every time I try to force her sweet face from my mind, it stubbornly digs its heels in the ground, refusing to go. And then I'm left to replay our interactions over and over and over again. Seeing her today, being so close to her, is only going to make it worse.
Tossing my gym bag onto the bench in front of my locker alcove, I roll my head from side to side, partially relieving the tension pulling at the muscles. It's just one session. I can make it through without wanting to remind myself of how well Tatum's hips fit in the curve of my palm, or how her sweet scent is like succumbing to a sugar rush.
I find Tatum in her office, hunched over her desk as her eyes skim over a stack of paperback. Leaning my shoulder against the door frame, I watch her for a moment. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, and her brows are slightly creased. Jade eyes sweep across the page, oblivious to my presence. Tapping the pen in her hand against her chin, she releases her lip and exhales a soft breath. My fingers itch to tuck the stray pieces of hair that have fallen from the bun at her nape behind her ear.
Even in a state of concentration, when no one is supposed to be watching, she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes. I can't describe the feeling that overcomes me when I gaze upon her, but I know it's far too big for me to dissect right now.
You're already failing and the session hasn't begun yet.
