Page 49 of Tempting the Player
“Sometimes.”
“It’s not talking,” I mutter as I step up to the counter. I turn off my earpiece as I order.
When the barista tries to hand me both drinks, I only take one. “The other one is for a friend. He’ll be swinging by to get it in just a minute. Tall, dark hair, has this angry, broody look about him. You’ll know him when you see him.”
She chews rapidly on the gum in her mouth and nods, then sets it down on the to-go counter.
I press on the earpiece. “Bought you something and left it at the pick-up counter.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know.” I take my coffee to a table in the back. I look around for Hendrick, but as usual, I don’t see him. It’s not very busy right now, so if he’s in here, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding. On cue, the door from outside opens, and he steps through. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how devastatingly hot he is. Even trying to hide, he draws attention.
The barista flashes him a much bigger smile than she did me as he takes the drink. He tips his head to me before heading back outside, probably to watch more sports news.
“Thank you,” he says a few seconds later.
“Did you try it yet?”
“No. Why?”
“Don’t thank me until you try it.”
It goes quiet and then he curses lightly while coughing. “What in the hell is that?”
“You’re welcome,” I sing-song.
He grunts, which makes me want to roll my eyes. I guess he probably had to keep a strict diet while he was in the NFL. I wonder if he misses it. Then I remember I can just ask.
“Do you miss playing football?”
“Not yet, but it hasn’t been that long.”
“So you practice with the team, but you don’t play in the games?” I did a little bit of research, but the sports lingo went right over my head. Also, it’s possible I was too distracted by the photos that came up of him in his uniform. Hendrick Holland in football pants...wow.
“The practice squad is where they move guys off the active roster to keep developing them or serve as backup in case someone gets hurt, or in my case, it’s a place to let washed-up players teach the rookies a thing or two. The schedule is the same as the guys on the active roster, except we don’t travel with the team.”
“And you’ll do the same thing next season?”
There’s a pause before he answers. “I don’t know yet. My contract ended in December after their regular season was over. My agent thinks they’ll offer me a new contract for the practice squad, but I don’t know.”
“I’m surprised more people don’t recognize you. Your disguises are a little too good.”
He chuckles. “It’s not Archer’s clothes. I didn’t play enough for that type of attention.”
“You should. Your face deservesallthe attention.”
“I went pro too early. I should have stayed and developed more in college. Maybe then I wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” he says. “I don’t know why I said that. I hate that phrase.”
“Me too.” I laugh lightly. I want to ask him more, but a shadow falls over the table and I look up to see Paris beaming down at me with her beautiful smile.
“Oh no,” I mutter so softly I’m surprised when he asks, “What’s wrong?”
The seriousness in his tone has me certain he’s about to bust in here ready for fight mode.
