Page 8 of Rookie Season
Soon, we’re pulling into my designated spot in the parking garage and going up the elevator to the loft. I hit the button for level three, and the doors close. It’s only a three-story building, and the elevator doors are soon opening again. Mitch is standing there, already waiting for us. He holds his arms out, and Paige runs to him. He picks her up easily and rubs his beard against her cheek.
Paige shrieks and pulls away. “Daddy, stop!”
Mitch steps forward, slapping me on the back. “Thanks, Noah. I owe you.”
I almost mention the first line thing, and ask if he can move me, but Iwantto be on the first line.
Instead I simply say, “No problem.” I eye the shiny red door that’s bare except for a gold, metallic 3B attached to it. “You want to come in?”
He wrinkles his nose. “There’s absolutely no part of me that wants to know what goes on in there.”
I snicker. I could tell him no one else is home, but I really just want to take a proper long, hot shower and go to sleep on that luxury mattress.
“See you on game day,” Mitch says, walking into the elevator, Paige still in his arms.
I nod, and Paige waves as the elevator doors close again.
When I’m back in my room, my laptop is still sitting on my bed, and I remember the ESPN highlights. But my eyes feel heavy and tired, so I put that off until tomorrow because the steam shower is calling my name. Stripping my clothes off, I walk naked to my bathroom. Turning on the water as hot as I can stand it, I watch as it cascades from the top of the shower like a waterfall. Steam soon billows around the spacious, tiled room, and I step into the hot water with a deep sigh. I inhale the steam and relish how the hot stream of water soothes the muscles in my back and legs.
The only way this could be more perfect, is if I had some music to relax to.My eyes snap open, remembering Fisher said this is a smart loft and every bedroom and bathroom has speakers. It creeped me out at first, but maybe it’ll come in handy.
“What was the name of the smart assistant…oh right.” I shake my head. “Archibald, play spa music.” There’s a quick blink of an LED light, and then soothing forest sounds emit from the hidden speakers in the room.
I close my eyes again, smiling to myself. Is it weird to call out my roommate's name while showering? Probably.Archibald always goes by his last name, Fisher. Understandable, since he doesn’t look like an Archibald at all.
I’m completely relaxed for the first time all day, the locker room drama and Paige’s dance instructor finally filtering out of my head…
CHAPTER 4
ALLEGRA
“What an absolute asshole,”I mutter to myself as I walk out of the studio, my dance bag slung over one shoulder and Harry’s crate tucked under the other.
Because seriously, who in their right mind would show up to collect a seven-year-old child over half an hour late?
Men with handsome faces and dark eyes who think they can do whatever the hell they want, that’s who.
I snort in indignance. It’s not that I minded spending extra time with Paige. She’s adorable—equal parts sensitive and sassy, which kind of reminds me of myself at that age.
But that’s double the reason her dad shouldn’t have kept her waiting!
And on top of that, he keptmewaiting, too.
But even as I simmer, IknowI’m projecting. He wasn’t actually an asshole, per se. Or at all, really. More just…inconsiderate. Or the victim of a bad traffic jam. Or perhaps just one of those guys who thinks his time is worth more than everyone else’s. His poor wife.
Fresh start,I remind myself.I drove all the way from Atlanta to San Francisco for a fresh start.
And as part of that fresh start, I vowed not to give any man any more power over me, or any more of my brain space. So right now, I need to forget about the hot dad back there and go check out my new apartment.
“Almost home now, Harry,” I say as I climb into my white Volvo SUV, which is loaded to the brim with all of my stuff, clothing still on hangers piled on top of suitcases and boxes and my favorite fluffy white blanket in the back seat.
I free poor Harry—whose official name is Harry Styles the Third, may Harry Styles the First and Second rest in peace—from his crate, and sigh as he gives me a narrow-eyed glare and leaps away from me to sit atop two boxes stacked in my passenger seat.
I reach over to scratch his chin, and he mewls at me.
“I’m sorry, Harry; I’ll make it up to you,” I promise as I reach for my phone and pull up the pin Fisher sent me for the bar he’s currently at.
Harry glares at me in response, and I hold up my hands in a pose of surrender, because yes, after thirty-six hours already in the car as I drove here in a rush, my cat is now my best friend and closest confidante, and Ireallydon’t want him to be pissed at me. He’s the only toxic man I’m willing to put up with.
