Page 18 of Just Say Yes

“She’s not here,” Grandpa grumbled.

“What?” I tried to act like I didn’t know who he was talking about.

“MJ. She doesn’t work today. We’re stuck with the bratty one who sighs so much she’s starting to sound like a leaky tire.”

“Mr. Brown ...” a whiny voice sounded from behind us.

When I turned, a young nurse with too much makeup and a pissy look frowned at him. “You aren’t supposed to be wandering around.” She sighed, and I nearly cackled when it sounded frighteningly similar to a tire leak.

Her eyes flicked to me, and immediately her demeanor changed. “Oh, well.” She smiled wider. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Beth.”

She held out her hand, and out of politeness, I shook it. “Nice to meet you. Logan.”

She giggled and smoothed down her straight hair. “Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Olympian.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, please don’t call me that.” I laughed uncomfortably.

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes and giggled again. “Mr. Gold Medal.” She purred the words, and I stifled an eye roll of my own.

Her sticky-sweet perfume overtook the space between us as she moved closer. Her eyes stayed locked on me, and the look in them was more than appreciative but not appropriate for anywhere outside of a bedroom.

I moved away. “Hey, Grandpa. Let’s head out.”

Beth blinked, stunned a bit by my abrupt change in conversation, but I’d seen and heard enough to know a swift exit was the best idea.

Without so much as a backward glance, I braced my grandfather’s elbow and practically dragged him down the hallway.

Thankfully, Arthur Brown was still strong and nimble. When we rounded a corner, I stopped.

“Smooth moves, kid,” he teased.

I glanced over his shoulder, half expecting Beth to have trotted after us. “Just getting a little tired of all of the attention, that’s all.”

He scoffed. “Well, at least your head’s not up your ass. That one is trouble. She looks at you and sees nothing but dollar signs and Division One babies.”

A visceral shudder worked its way through me. Women and babies were thelastthings I needed, especially when I was struggling to keep my career from imploding.

All I needed to focus on was maintaining my performance and avoiding distractions.

Besides, there wasn’t anything particularly enticing about Beth. I’d seen jersey chasers ruin promising careers and athletes throw everything away for the attention of a woman.

I was far too focused for that.

MJ’s face flashed in my mind, and I pushed down the fact that the thought of her was becomingdangerouslydistracting.

Maintaining your focus took effort.

Oftentimes players were treated like gods—they could do no wrong. Many started at young ages, moving out of the house at fourteen or fifteen years old, like I did, to move to where a solid coach and team could elevate your skills. Many were given slack in school to focus on the sport.

A lot of men I had come to know in the sport had been brought up with inflated senses of celebrity and ego. They were used to getting everything they wanted ... including women.

I was also lucky enough to have a grandpa who had a knack for bringing me back down to earth. “Well,Mr. Gold Medal,” he teased. “Come on.” He waved a bony finger toward the end of the corridor, toward the exit.

I smiled down at the man who had supported me every step of my career. Even the awkward days when I couldn’t hook the ball to save my life. He had been my first coach and the one to encourage me to find someone who could elevate my skills. He had stepped in when my father stepped out. Grandpa didn’t just teach me rugby; he taught me how to stand tall, how to fight for something I wanted. Even when Dad wasn’t around—and, honestly, even when Mom couldn’t be—I always had Grandpa. If he wanted to spend the afternoon dragging me around town, I owed him more than that.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I know your mother didn’t raise a liar, so you are taking me out. I’d like to swing by the bookstore and get Greta a new book, if that’s all right by you.”

---