Page 3 of A Game Plan for Love

“Yeah, man!” Dave responds, “I was at the game where you broke the record for yards caught. Absolutely insane.”

“Thanks,” Declan says. He slides into the chair, scooting it slightly closer to my side, before leaning back, eyes flickering between us. His eyebrows crinkle when he reaches my jumpsuit, and he blinks a few times when he sees my meal.

Unsure of what to say, I take another bite of salad as Dave asks Declan questions about the upcoming season. He’s completely forgotten about my presence, and I use the opportunity to check my phone. Seeing no messages from Meagan, Nora’s babysitter, I tune back into the conversation.

“So, Addie works for you?” Dave asks.

“Addie and I worktogether,” Declan amends, and I roll my lips to hide my smile.

Take that, Dave.

Some athletes see staff as below them, but the culture in Seattle is different. Support staff are treated like equals, because without us, Declan and the other players would have a very hard time doing their jobs. There would be no taped ankles or pre-game smoothies. The equipment would never get washed or make it to games. Coach Barrett and the general manager know this, and they make it a priority to make sure their players know it, too.

“She’s one of the best nutritionists in the league,” Declan continues, “And the world’s best smoothie maker according to Deon Adams.”

“Not too bad on the eyes either. Bet it’s nice to have some eye candy at work,” Dave jokes.

Bile rises in my throat, and I feel like an idiot for allowing his treatment all evening, but for him to talk about me like this to Declan—to someone I work with—is embarrassing on another level. How do I explain that this is a first date and there will never, ever be another?

My cheeks flame as I muster up the courage to meet Declan’s gaze, but he’s laser-focused on Dave.

“Excuse me?”Declan’s voice holds a dangerous edge, so different from the goofy flirt I’m used to hearing about at work.

Dave gulps, but is saved from having to respond when the waitress hands Declan a massive bag of food. The dinnerware on the table rattles as he rises, and I begin to sink into my chair, hoping the wood will absorb my body, when he reaches out his free hand toward me.

“Let's go,” Declan commands, wiggling his fingers, enticing me to put my hand in his. Instead, I stare at it like an idiot.God, his hands are large.He leans in, voice lowered so only I can hear him. “Do you want to be here?”

I shake my head, and it’s all Declan needs as he rips me out of my seat and against his chest. Heat radiates off of him as he faces Dave with thinly veiled disdain.

“You should learn how to speak to women with respect,” he pauses, focused on the top of Dave’s head. “And your toupee looks like shit.”

Dave’s hand flies to the crown of his head, but I’m ushered out the door before I can register his response. Declan’s hand is a comforting weight on my lower back as we exit the restaurant and into the warm June air.

The wind whips hair in front of my face, and I push the rogue strands away to get a good look at Declan. He’s so tall that I have to tip my chin just slightly to make eye contact.

“Were you on a date?” he asks.

Maybe it's the genuine concern in his question or the insane events of the last hour, but my composure splinters, and I begin to laugh. It grows uncontrollable until I’m bent over in tears. I’ve had a lot of embarrassing moments in my life, but being saved from a terrible date by a player I work with has to be in the top five.

“Please tell me you weren’t on a date with that douchebag?”

I can’t stop laughing, and my sides begin to cramp.

“Unfortunately,” I choke, pulling out my phone and immediately deleting the app I downloaded. “I am done with dating apps,” I declare, throwing a fist into the air.

Declan shifts on his feet, warily watching me. The street lamps illuminate the concern crossing his features.

I quickly sober up at his discomfort. He thinks I’m crazy, I can see it in his eyes; probably thinks I have terrible taste in men, too.

“Well…Thanks for the rescue.”

I offer him finger guns because apparently I haven’t embarrassed myself quite enough, and I slowly creep away from him, walking backwards.

He gives me an odd look, one that morphs into horror right as I slam into a light pole, body ricocheting forward from the hit. I shriek, preparing to land on my face, but Declan’s in front of me.

I slam into the slab of concrete he calls his chest instead.

“Are you okay?”

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