Page 59 of A Game Plan for Love

The dickhead groans.

Oh god, I know that groan.

I whip around and Declan is leaning forward, hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

“That wasn’t my smartest decision,” he groans.

Jack and Deon give us odd looks, but his position covers the agony on his face, so it looks like he’s catching his breath, and not recovering from attack.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, “It was instinct. My brain wasn’t expecting to be touched like that at work.”

He raises a hand. “This makes me less concerned about your safety.”

“You’re concerned about my safety?”

My chest bursts.

“Well, now I’m concerned about mine. Any lower and my balls would have been in my stomach.” I snort, but hand him a water bottle once he’s standing upright. His eyes flicker along my body, and I shiver. His brows furrow. “Are you cold?”

He mistook the reaction, but also, yes. All the time.

“It’s a bit chilly.” Goosebumps pebble my flesh, as if to prove my point.

Declan frowns and spins, searching the sideline. He spots what he’s looking for and jogs over to the equipment manager. There’s a sweatshirt in his grip when he returns.

Before I can protest, he slides the massive hoodie over my head. When my head pokes out, he pauses, and his eyes burn withwant. My knees wobble.

I drop my water bottles to slide my hands through the sleeves.

“Stay warm,” he says, backing away.

“Where are you going?” I call out.

The distance between us grows, and his smile grows. “Far away from you!” he yells, “You’re distracting me while I’m at work.”

He spends the rest of the game on the opposite end of the sideline, and we only interact when he needs water. I am the picture of professionalism, only ogling him when his back is turned. The seconds tick away at the end of the fourth quarter, and the players begin to celebrate the win.

I collect stray water bottles and snacks and put them back into bags to carry to the locker room when the equipment manager passes by.

“Brad!” he pauses, bags hanging over his shoulder. “Let me give you the sweatshirt back.”

I start to pull it over my head when his words stop me. “The sweatshirt belongs to Monroe. Made an intern get it from his bag in the locker room.”

He continues, but I stand rooted to the ground.

Declan’s small gesture shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but there’s something special about knowing he cares enough about me to send an intern on a mission to keep me warm.

I hear Nora far before I spot her.

Maren’s home sits on a large plot of land, and I work my way through the back gate like instructed to the greenhouse where she told me they would be all morning.

The backyard is massive with a back porch spanning the entirety of the ranch-style home. There’s a grill in one corner, and a rocking swing in the other, and hanging pots of flowers along the trim.

Flower beds full of bright purple and pink impatiens line the staircase, but the showstopper is the massive glass greenhouse in the left corner of the backyard. A bright yellow door calls invitingly, and the interior is shrouded by dozens of plants.

I crack the door open, and Nora’s giggles fill the air, followed by Maren’s laughter. On quiet feet, I slip inside with the hope of watching them for a moment without notice.

Nora and Maren are kneeling on small foam blocks, and they’re elbow deep in a pot full of dirt. Smears of brown cover Nora’s face and clothes, but her smile illuminates as Maren hands her a plant, and Nora gently places it in the pot. They work together to pack in the soil, and when they’re done, Maren hands her a watering can and Nora diligently waters the plant.

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