Page 23 of A Game Plan for Love

“You spoil me.” I take the food without hesitation and pop a fry into my mouth. He watches while I eat, and though it could be perceived as creepy, it doesn’t feel that way.

It’s almost like he’s studying me, and there’s something thrilling in the thought.

As subtly as I can, I try to smooth out the frizzy strands of my hair. He leans back on his palms and crosses his legs out in front of him while he watches the room.

“So not only are you a professional athlete, but you also have a foundation, and manage to save women from shitty dates. Any other secrets you’re hiding?”

I extend my plate and he takes a fry. “Hm…I’m a part of a book club with my teammates’ partners, and I know every word toDespicable Me.”

“Oh, I love that movie.Minions, assemble!” I stick my finger in the air, and Declan laughs, loud and sharp.

He points a finger gun in my direction. “Fart gun!”

There’s a heavy pause, and then we both tumble over in laughter, and I wheeze until my sides hurt and my face flames to a million degrees.

“I’ve always wanted my own set of minions,” I admit. “They would make life much easier.”

Cleaning, cooking, entertainment, scheming. It could all be accomplished with just a few minions. They could also keep Nora company and give me some precious alone time. Sometimes, a girl just wants to pee in peace.

I laugh again, and Declan rubs his chest, staring at me with a bizarre look.

Uh…weird.

His muscles flex, and I have to rip my eyes away.

Work. I have work I need to do.

I rise from the turf, taking my notebook and shoving it back into my purse. It’s immediately sucked into the void of random items I’ve collected. It’s like Mary Poppins' bag of wonder, if you added random children's toys, trash, and snacks.

“See you tomorrow?” It’s meant to come out as a statement, but it morphs into a question at the end, like I’m pleading he’ll come and find me.

Not good.

“Promise.”

With that, I spin around and dash out of the practice area, running away from how my chest flutters from the conviction in the single word.

CHAPTER 7

Pink Pony Club — Chappell Roan

Addie

“Nora,wehavetogo!”

Bags?Check.

Coffee?Check.

Daughter?On my last nerve.

The sound of small feet pitter-pattering through the apartment muffles my groan, and I adjust the bags weighing on my shoulder. A dart of pink sparkles appears from the living room. Nora’s dark curls bounce as she skids to a stop, her favorite sticker book in her grip.

“Ready,” she says, clips bobbing in her hair.

She wins today.

Nora can wear her princess costume and tiara, and plastic glitter heels today, but tomorrow, I’m hiding the outfit. It’s the third time she’s worn it this week, and she refuses to let me wash it. There’s a pasta sauce streak down the center that has crusted over.

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