Page 35 of All This Time
“Great.”
We stand there awkwardly until Glenn comes racing up to us. “Mr. Adams!”
Fletcher’s face changes drastically from analytical to grateful. “Just Fletcher, please.”
Glenn sighs. “I like Mr. Adams. It’s more authoritative, and I’m all about following authority.” He winks and I close my eyes, warding off the secondhand embarrassment. “Anyhow, can you sign this please?” He holds out a Carolina Thunder calendar, one that I recognize because Imayhave flipped through the pages when I was at the general store a few weeks ago, just inspecting the layout, of course. It wasn’t because I wanted to see the picture of Fletcher in his uniform, which didn’t do much to hide the bulge in his pants.
“Sure, Glenn. I’d be happy to.” He takes the calendar and sharpie from Glenn and flips to the month of April, signing across the page under his picture. “There you go, man.”
“Gah. Thank you!”
“Why on earth do you have that calendar? You don’t even watch football,” I say.
Glenn laughs. “Oh girl, the pictures alone are enough spank bank material for me. Plus, when I heard that Lucifer was coming, I had to get something for him to sign.”
“Hey, Glenn?” Fletcher asks.
“Yes, Mr. Adams?”
He looks directly at me while he speaks. “Why do y’all call me Lucifer?”
“No reason,” I interject, but Glenn literally hip checks me out of the way and leans over the counter, staring straight at Fletcher.
He flicks his eyes over to me and then back to Fletcher. “We aren’t allowed to say your name in the salon because Laney thinks bad things will happen. If we do, we have to put a dollar in the jar.”
I grind my teeth together as Fletcher grins in my direction. “Is that so?”
“Glenn, you’re fired,” I say.
Glenn waves me off. “Honey, if I had a dollar for the number of times you’ve fired me, I could retire early.” He winks at Fletcher. “Thanks again, Mr. Adams.”
Fletcher waits for him to leave before turning to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, I’ll be at your place at six tomorrow with food, and then you’re going to tell me why you hate me so much.”
Shaking my head, I say, “You can come over at seven, food isn’t necessary, and we won’t be talking about anything except wedding stuff.” Walking backwards, he grins before reaching for the door. “Laney, it appears you’ve forgotten how persuasive I can be. See you at seven.”
With that, he’s gone.
Standing frozen in place, adrenaline races through me, thinking about being alone with him tomorrow in my house with no one else as a buffer and very little space I can put between us.
Yup. It’s official. This man will be the death of me.
Chapter 8
Fletcher
Ropes Course, Reality, and Rage
God, how could I have forgotten how stubborn Laney Hart is?
“You okay back there?” Henley calls out to me as he increases the distance between us on the ropes course, leaving me further behind while I continue to mentally revisit my time at Laney’s salon yesterday.
She’s pissed. Like, deeply, soul-level pissed. I knew there was tension, but I didn’t realize she’d been nursing a full stadium’s worth of resentment for years. Clearly, I’ve got work to do.
“I’m trying not to injure myself so I don’t have to explain to my coach why I can’t play the game I’m paid to!” Holding onto the ropes even tighter, I traverse the boards beneath my feet, keeping a slow pace so I don’t fall, even though I’m strapped into a harness and connected to the cable above me.
Henley laughs. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“Not until I get my Super Bowl ring.” As I cross the last few boards and land on the platform, I release the breath I was holding. “Jesus, what a workout.”
