Page 5 of The Plan

“What?!”

He shakes his head like what he just said was ridiculous because it was.

“August, of course you are. Please don’t be dramatic right now.” I didn’t say that when I walked in here just so he could sign this bullshit for me. I genuinely felt bad for the last few days and knew he would feel better hearing me say it. Besides, it’s true. August has been my… everything since we were kids. He knows that. He’s just dramatic and needs constant reassurance.

“You’re just using me.” He says it in disbelief, like he’s just had an epiphany, but that’s bullshit.

“No, the fuck I’m not. Seriously, cut it out.” God, I can already tell he isn’t going to let this go. I should’ve never even asked him. He shakes his head and stares at me like he can’t believe whatever bullshit he’s making up in his head.

“That’s the only reason you came over today. That’s why you were all nice and let me hug youandput my arm around you for more than two seconds.” I look up to the ceiling, contemplating my entire idea. I don’t have time for this.

“That’s not true. I—” I cut myself off, deciding I’m not debating this with him. “Just shut the fuck up, will you? Come on.” I get up from the couch, and he gets up, following me out with a smile.

“Where are we going?” He sounds like his joyful self again, like the last two minutes didn’t happen, and he’s just happy to follow me like a lost puppy. This is why I don’t bother to waste my time arguing with him. Half the time, he isn’t even really upset and just wants the damn attention.Attention whore.

“Doctor's office.” I let him know where we are heading and skip the elevator, going for the stairs.

“Do you have physical therapy today?” Not if I can help it. I let August drive my car after he guilt trips me, and he ends up speeding the entire way there, so we make it twice as fast.

When the receptionist from earlier this week notices us, she, not so discreetly, fixes her hair, and I give her a little smile that makes her cheeks redden. As I make my way over to her, she rises from her seat, fixing her tight pencil skirt.

“Hi, Mr. Griffin.” She turns to August, and I swear she almost passes out. “August Hale.” She nods once and just stares for a beat. I would’ve thought she would be less prone to being starstruck, considering she’s working in a private officeforour baseball team. Other people come here, but it’s mainly athletes, so her shock genuinely shocks me. Then again, she is new here.

“Hey,” August leans in a bit to read her name tag, and I bite back a laugh as I catch her holding her breath, “Vicky.” He stands straight again and gives her his boyish grin. I am so glad I brought him.

I notice a Dodger hat on the corner of her desk and turn to August with a smile. “Why don’t you give her your autograph? Rumor has it she’s a huge supporter.” I send her a wink, and her chest falls and rises a bit quicker.

August gets to signing the hat, but she steals a few glances at me, clearly building the courage to speak up. As August hands the hat back, he looks over at the side of her desk and notices a jersey. “Hey, that’s your jersey number.”

I glance at Vicky, and her cheeks redden a bit more.

“Do you mind?” She asks shyly, and I smile at her, honestly so glad she asked.

“Not at all.” I take the jersey and slide the paper from my back pocket. “Why don’t we trade autographs?” I hold eye contact with her as I place the pen in her hand, and she barely looks down as she puts the pen on the paper.

“Is this an autograph signing or a doctor's office?”

Vicky is pulled out of her haze, and I grind my teeth together.I almost had it.

I keep my eyes on Vicky as Dr. Annoying makes her way over to us. From the corner of my eye, I notice August hugging her before she can reach us, giving me more time. I slide the paper closer to Vicky with a smile, but she glances down and reads it.Great.

“Oh, I’m not a doctor, but Dr. Gomez can sign that for you.”

Yes, Vicky, I’m aware of that. I technically don’t need Vidia’s signature. I know my coach is barely going to look at the damn signature, and I’d sign the shit myself, but Jackson's pain-in-the-ass self would notice my handwriting.

I tried getting another doctor to sign yesterday, but they wanted an evaluation, and apparently, my arm is only eighty-four percent healed, not enough to play in the damn major leagues.

“What’s this?” Vidia finally reaches us, but I quickly snatch the form from the desk and ignore her as I sign Vicky’s jersey. She thanks me shyly as I hand it back to her and turn to Vidia.

I stare at her for a second, then decide there’s no point in asking and put the form in my back pocket again.

“Does your arm hurt?” She knows I’ve missed four appointments, and since I’ve still been practicing, yeah, it fucking hurts.

Not wanting her to know she’s right, I bend my left elbow up and down while trying to conceal the pain in my face. “Feels great.” My voice comes out a bit strained, and she smirks.

“You still have a horrible poker face, Sire.”

August chooses that exact second to put his two senses in. “Didn’t you cut practice short yesterday because your arm was hurting?”

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