Page 21 of Just Playin'
I keep a cool head even with my insides freaking out like a hooker on crack. “Sounds good.”
When Coach James rounds the corner of his office, I throw my fist into the air. This is what I’ve been working toward the past six months, and I’m beyond stoked that I’m another step closer to returning to the position I was born to play.
My excitement doesn’t linger long. The ringing of my cell phone quickly nips it in the bud. There’s only one person who calls me after a training session. It’s the same person who relentlessly nags me after every game. My ex—Lillian.
The tightness in my jaw weakens when I dig my hand into my locker to pull out my phone. The name flashing across the screen isn’t who I was anticipating—far from it.
With a wonky grin, I swipe my finger across the screen before pushing it to my ear. “I nearly fired Danny when you didn’t call within the first two weeks. Figured he must have forgotten to include my number in your package.”
“Uh. . . yeah, sorry about that.” Willow doesn’t sound sorry—not an ounce of coyness has invaded her sweet Australian twang. “I got caught up with life. You know. Busy and all that.”
The honesty in her tone has me wondering how long it was before she lost the bucket I had attached to my hip the five days following our meeting. I was a little greedy with the Chinese, so it’s only fair I paid the highest penalty.
I’m snapped back from my thoughts when Willow asks, “Do you remember me saying there may be instances where my forming friendship with Becca and Dalton may cross over with your stale-ass relationship with them?”
She can’t see me, but she must intuit my head bob because she continues not even two seconds later, “This is the instance I was referring to.”
Half of her words are drowned out by someone groaning in the background. If it sounded anything like a pleasurable groan, I’d be pissed, but this doesn’t sound anything like that. It sounds like a groan of pain.
“Becca is in labor, and I can’t get ahold of Dalton. I’ve been ringing his cell phone non-stop. He ain’t answering.” She sounds as anxious as the panic roaring through my body. “I don’t know what to do, Elvis. This isn’t what I signed up for when I became Becca’s friend. I like her and all, but this is above my paygrade.”
She continues blubbering as I race through the locker room. I assure her everything will be fine when she takes a much-needed breath. “Just keep Becca calm untiI I get Dalton to her.”
“You’re with Dalton?” The relief in her voice can’t be missed.
“No, but I know where he is.”
I burst through the door where Dalton is holding a press conference about our upcoming game. He must see something on my face because he leaps to his feet faster than I can snap my fingers. Cameras and the reporters behind them follow his race across the room.
“What is it?”
“Becca.”
I only say one word, but its breathless delivery speaks volumes.
IPULLinto Dalton’s driveway five minutes later. Our travels from the stadium to his house were made as if I’m not on the verge of losing my license. The citation I got for running a red light three weeks ago already gained me points, much less the speeding ticket that arrived in the mail along with it. The red camera citation is on Willow’s shoulders, but I’ll accept the speeding ticket. It was snapped during my mad dash home.
“Thanks.”
Dalton flings off his belt with the same force Willow used three weeks ago before he races up the stairs. I swear to God he returns not even ten seconds later with an ashen-faced Becca under one arm and a bursting-the-zipper suitcase under the other.
Just as he veers to the left, a sight more beautiful than the excitement on his face enters my vision. Willow is following his gallop down the stairs. She’s wearing a shirt similar to the one she had on the last time I saw her, but her jeans have been cut off to expose inches upon inches of her tanned thighs.
Not noticing my bugged-out eyes, she ushers Becca into the passenger seat of Dalton’s Range Rover before assuring him she’ll lock up everything before leaving. I’m not shocked when Dalton gives her his immediate trust. He has a good knack for reading people. It’s why I should have listened to him when he warned me to stay away from Lillian. He knew in under a minute what took me nine years to figure out.
Once Dalton’s taillights blur in the distance, Willow spreads her hands across her hips, flips her head back, then closes her eyes. She takes in numerous deep, relieved breaths before they slowly flutter open. When she spots me gawking at her like a freak at a peek show, she shyly waves before mouthing, “Thank you.”
Wanting more than unspoken words between us, I switch off my ignition and clamber out of my car. The more I struggle to extract myself from my vehicle, the more worry leaves Willow’s face.
By the time I’m standing in front of her, she’s smiling broadly, and I’m sweating like a pig. “I think it’s time for a bigger car.”
Her teeth graze her sexy-as-fuck lips as she nods. “It’s fun to watch at a circus, but you’ve got to have more than one trick up your sleeve if you want to make it big.”
After squeezing my nose and making ahonknoise, she pivots on her heels and climbs the stairs.
I follow after her. “So I take it your friendship with Becca is going well?”
She flashes me the most adorable smile over her shoulder before nodding. “Away from Dalton, she’s great. But them together. . .” A gag finalizes her sentence. “I haven’t seen so much PDA since the last time I saw my parents.”
