Page 58 of The Home Grown
“We’ve got this. You’ll be fine,” I say, almost pathetically.
“Yeah. Fine. Absolutely fine,” he says, keeping his head angled towards the gap between his knees.
I’ve known Danny long enough to know he’s the opposite of fine. But I’ve also known him long enough to know he wouldn’t want me pressing him. He’s the type of guy who keeps himself to himself from a feelings perspective.
“You know, there’s still time to relieve some of the stress, if you know what I mean.” I wag my brows at him, trying to lighten the mood.
He scoffs.
“Still on your drought?” he asks.
“Of course,” I grin.
I googled the whole ‘no sex or personal time’ thing and by all accounts, the body just absorbs back what it doesn’t expel—but I’m feeling it. I have this strict rule against happy endings before games or practices, but I know later I’ll be desperate for a release.
Before I can stop my sub-conscious, it’s playing out a scenario where I’m texting Ellie, asking what she’s doing.
I can see her now, scowling and rolling her eyes—which only serves to get me a little more excited.
I have to force myself to think of something else—anything else.
And the GM pings to the forefront of my mind and, thankfully, kills the excitement. Instead, I’m lumbered with the memory of the conversation I had with him, then the follow-up I had with Vicky—something that dominated my thinking space during the drive here last night.
“Hey, do you know anyone who makes websites?” I ask Danny, remembering the trail of thought I led myself down last night.
Danny cocks a brow at me.
“Websites? You’re so random at times.”
“Yeah, websites. You know, a set of related webpages typically used to provide information.”
Danny blinks at me. “I know what a website is, you idiot, but why? Are you scheming something?”
“Nah, nothing—just wondering … I know someone who needs one, and I just thought you may know someone,” I say.
“Of course, I know someone, and so do you,” he says.
I glare at him, puzzled, and he stares right back at me, as if he’s waiting for the metaphorical penny to drop.
“Jenna, you dull bastard.”
Jenna? Well, why the hell didn’t I think of her? She’s decent at it too, but—I audibly gasp, causing Danny to raise both his eyebrows.
“What?” he says.
“Jenna does websites and Vicky does social?—”
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he asks.
But we get a five-minute warning, killing the conversation.
Danny stands up, reaching to grab his gloves and I reach for my own pair, slipping my hands inside and flexing my fingers.
“You’ll get used to them,” says Callum Greer, the Team GB starting goalie, stopping behind me.
Even though the guy plays for the worst team in the league, he’s a pretty decent fella. I’ve known him for years. He’s the same height as me, a little over six-two, but he easily has another ten kilos on me—all muscle. I make a mental note to see what he does in the gym next time the opportunity presents itself.
“How’s it going, boys?” he says. “Looking forward to camp?”
