Page 67 of Unwritten Rules
“Y-yeah, I’m adjusting well, Dad.” I clear my throat and slip a smile onto my face.
He raises a brow at me. “And you’re okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
God, am I really that obvious?
Dad’s knowing eyes search my face for any sign I’m lying. If this were Mum, she would notice straight away I’m not being truthful. She pointed out my ‘tell’ when I was ten and being questioned about a broken pot plant in the backyard. I broke it by accident when I was kicking around one of Dad’s old rugby balls, not realising the ball would go in the complete opposite direction when not kicked correctly. As soon as Mum noticed I was picking at the skin around my left thumb, she knew I was lying. Apparently it was something she had picked up on over the years, but didn’t say anything until that moment.
I still my hands, snapping my head down to see my pointer and thumb fingers hovering over my left thumb, the skin around the nail raw.
Shit.
Flattening my hands on my thighs, I force a bright smile that doesn’t quite touch my eyes. “I promise I’m okay. You know how this job can be. I’m just tired.”
“You have been spending more time with Raya lately, so that could also be adding to the tiredness,” Dad points out.
Relief washes over me and I sink back into the seat. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”
“And I’ve noticed you’ve been spending extra time with Sinnett outside of his scheduled session slots this week. Is he needing extra support with his quad?”
Oh, crap.
I definitely haven’t been as slick as I thought. I didn’t consider what others might think seeing Sinnett and me together at work. From the outside looking in, the interactions could be passed off as nothing more than friendly, or Sinnett asking his physio for advice. But if Dad is taking note of it, based off what he has seen with his own eyes or what the other staff have told him, then I need to be more careful around Sinnett moving forward.
I clear my throat and plaster on a smile. “Oh, he’s fine. You know how he is with following a schedule. It’s non-stop questions with him, which I don’t mind answering.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “He’s doing great, recovery-wise.”
Dad nods. “That’s great to hear, Tate. Just remember what I told you about not dating the players. I’m not doing it to be annoying or unfair. I made a promise to your mother to protect you, so that is what I’m trying to do.”
I swallow hard and nod. I’m in desperate need of fresh air. “Yeah, sure. I understand, Dad.”
“Also, when are you getting your car back? The mechanic has had it for ages.”
Shit. I had forgotten about my damn car. Sinnett hasn’t given me an update on the status of it, other than his guy is working hard to get everything fixed, but because it’s an old model, he has to order parts in, which could take time.
“Soon,” I answer, voice wavering at the edges.
“Well, we should look at getting you a new one like we talked about,” he says, not fazed by my vague response. Dad glances down at his watch and reaches for the car door. “We better get inside before Todd starts to wonder where I am.”
Phew. Dodged a bullet there.
As we approach the back entrance to the stadium, the echo of voices from the crowd filing into the space thumps in the back of my mind. It’ll never cease to amaze me how passionate and dedicated rugby fans are, especially the Wolves’ fanbase. Each week they show up, no matter if it’s an away or home game; they’re always there to support the team with their cheers and chants. It’s a dedication I’ve never witnessed before.
“What is your favourite game night of the week?” I ask, following Dad down the long hallway to the Wolves’ locker room.
“I would say tonight, Fridays.”
“Why?”
“It’s always a good crowd,” he tells me, glancing over his shoulder. “A lot of fans travel from work straight here, and families bring their children hoping to have a fun night after school.”
“That’s commitment,” I comment. “What’s the crowd meant to be like tonight? Is it a sellout?”
“I’ve heard from Todd that it’s close to being sold out.”
I exhale a sharp breath and step into the sheds behind my dad, my view blocked by his large frame. He spins on his heels to face me, crisp polo shirt in place and black dress pants recently dry-cleaned. I tilt my head back to meet his eye, ignoring the feel of a certain pair of ocean eyes watching from across the room.
Even without seeing him, I feel him. Like my body is drawn to his, seeking out his touch. It’s a strange feeling, and not something I’ve gotten used to—even after spending the past five days with him in some capacity. Late-night drives have become a new routine for us.
