Page 33 of Whiskey Wednesdays

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t. “The players are professional athletes, and I know we’ll all behave… professionally.”

Okay, that was dumb. But I was flustered and mad. Someone snorted, and a few of the players snickered or nudged each other. Ben watched us carefully. I didn’t want him to intervene, and I didn’t want the team’s first impression of me to be arguing with their stupid, sexist coach.

“Half of them aren’t even twenty-one yet, Ms. Cruz.” Coach Bailey started turning away.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Ben, what do they call you?”

“Ben. And sometimes Doc.”

I turned to Phyllis. “And what do they call you?”

She pursed her lips as if trying not to smile. “Nurse Ratchet behind my back.” Several players laughed. She shrugged and glanced at Coach Bailey. “Or Phil.”

I turned back to Coach Bailey and raised my eyebrow.

He sighed and held up his hands. “Fine. It’s not worth arguing over. But if you have any problems, I want to know about it.”

Nodding slightly, I stepped back. My first introduction to the team couldn’t have gone much worse.

Ben stepped forward again. “We need to get your annual concussion tests completed. Please sign up so we don’t have to hunt you down. That’s it from us.”

A few of the players groaned, but most just nodded, and they got back to getting showered and dressed.

Jackson came over and patted my shoulder. “Hey, Belly. Don’t take it personally. Coach Bailey is an ass sometimes. How’re your dad and Elodie getting along?”

I smiled, happy to see a familiar face. “They’re great. It’s like they’ve known each other forever. Elodie’s learning her letters and numbers right now.”

Jackson had gone to lunch with us after my tour of the arena with Connor, and he’d talked and joked around with Elodie and me while Connor mostly sat back and watched us.

Several players came up and introduced themselves after Jackson broke the ice. A tall, redhead with a boyish face pushed his way through and grabbed my hand.

“I’m Rudy Robard. I play right defense.” He shook my hand vigorously. “So is it against any rules to date one of us?”

I grinned, thinking he was joking. He looked at me expectantly, and I realized he was serious.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Rudy. I don’t think that’s a good idea, especially after Coach Bailey doesn’t even want you guys to call me by my first name. But thanks though.” I slowly pulled my hand out of his grip.

Another player with great facial hair and tattoos wrapping around both biceps smacked Rudy on the shoulder. “Real smooth, Rudster.”

The guy turned to me and smiled. He was a little older than Rudy, and kind of slick. He stood a little too close, and I stepped back.

“Isa,” he drawled out. “I’m Wyatt. And it’s too damn bad you don’t think it’d be a good idea to hook up with one of us. I’ll have to change your mind.” He grabbed my hand and shook it, then rubbed my knuckles with his thumb.

I stared at him, wondering what the hell was going on. Luckily Ben and Coach Bailey were talking with a player in an arm sling on the other side of the room.

Jackson put his hands on his hips. “Fuck off, Wyatt. McCoy wouldn’t be happy.”

I turned to Jackson with wide eyes.

Wyatt squeezed my hand almost too hard, then he let it go. “McCoy, huh? How do you know him?”

I noticed the players around us had gone still at the mention of Connor’s name.

“My dad works for him. And since his daughter came to live with Connor, Dad helps take care of her.”

Wyatt grinned and rocked on his heels. “Good to know. Welcome to the team, Isa.”

When he stepped back, a few other players introduced themselves and welcomed me. Luckily, everyone else seemed fairly normal. I finally slipped away and walked over to Ben and Coach Bailey, who were listening to Phyllis talk with the injured player.

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