Page 25 of Play Me
Sure, I have. But I’ve also apologized for it.
Ignoring him, I proceed. “The other thing you should know is that I don’t do excuses. We can’t communicate or problem-solve if you give me a bunch of bullshit when you fuck up. Got it?”
“Then it looks like we’re not going to solve many problems, doesn’t it?”
He holds my gaze like a vise. They’re like looking into pools of the cheap chocolate you get at Easter. On the surface, it’s dazzling. But once you settle into it, you realize it’s highly unsatisfying and will only give you a stomachache.
A woman from the media department walks by, opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but reads the room and waves instead. Before she slips into the staff entry to The Royal Café, she does a quick, not-so-subtle perusal of Gray. I roll my eyes at her little grin.
The lobby of the performance center is one of my favorite places in the Royals facilities. When Renn bought the team a couple of years ago, he completely remodeled every square inch of the building. Nothing was overlooked or untouched. However, the best transformation occurred here, in the entrance hall, where both players and staff are welcomed every day. The glass ceiling gives it a bright, solarium-like vibe. The team colors of purple and gold lend a sense of regalness to the space. Several plants dot the area thanks to Renn’s plant-loving sister-in-law, and screens highlighting team facts have been deftly positioned on the walls.
It's exciting and inspiring—unless you’re here to be a babysitter.
“I don’t know how things were done at the other teams you’ve played for,” I say. “But here you’re expected to be on time.”
“I’ll do my best.”
His cool aloofness—and complete disregard for the seriousness of the day—irritates me. I don’t know how anyone walks into their first day of work with the casualness of a beach day. And Ireallydon’t know how I’m supposed to manage this. Sure, I expected a level of incorrigibility, but I expected it aimedat me. I didn’t think he’d fly a fuck-you flag to his team on day one.
May God help me.
“All right. Let’s get on with it since we only have forty-five minutes before you meet with the strength coaches,” I say, glancing at the time on my phone as I turn toward The Royal Café. It took me forever to organize his first day and fit as much as possible into his schedule. He won’t appreciate it, I’m sure, but it makes me feel accomplished … and it’s good for the team, which means it’s good for Renn. That’s what matters to me.
“There’s no rush.”
I stop so suddenly that my sneakers squeak against the floor. “There’s no rush?”
“Yeah, there’s no rush.” He shrugs, the corner of his lips lifting. “I moved the strength assessment to this afternoon.”
A flush stings my cheeks. I clutch my clipboard, trying to process his statement. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to shake the apparent cobwebs clouding my head. “You didwhat?”
“I had a workout at four forty-five, anyway. I just moved the assessment in that slot.”
“You can’t just do that.”
“I can.” He leans forward, that ridiculous dimple dotting his cheek. “And I did.”
My heart pounds as I struggle to keep from losing my absolute shit.
“While we’re at it, I shot an email to the nutritionist who created my diet plan,” he says, grinning with an air of arrogance. “We’re modifying it. So if you’re going to send groceries my way again, you better make sure you check that out before you screw it up.”
He can’t be serious.
“You need to stop,” I say, the words a thinly veiled warning.
“I need to stop what, exactly?”
“You need to stop screwing with the plan. I spent a lot of time putting that together for you and?—”
“Oh, like you care.” He scoffs. “You didn’t put that together for me. At best, you put it together to save your ass. At worst, you did it to piss me off.”
I start to fire back a retort but pause when a group of players leave the café and head toward the wellness center. Thankfully, they don’t notice us on the other side of the lobby. I’m not in the mood to deal with multiple athletes at once. I’m trying desperately not to kill this one.
“You’re right about one thing,” I say, leading him toward the café. “I don’t care whether you succeed or fail. But I care ifIdo, and that’s dependent on whether I wrangle you or not.”
He bristles at my side, but I ignore it.
“This is where you’ll get your food, drinks, and snacks,” I say as we enter the cafeteria, fitted as a café. “Obviously, it’s all free. This section is only for players, and the rest of the staff use another area.”
