Double Score

The doors retracted.

“Sam,” Cavan Grainger greeted me.

Thank God there was someone else in the elevator. I already needed a distraction from my own brain. I didn’t care if we talked about the fucking weather. He could say anything at this point.

“How’s it going?” I didn’t know Cavan well. He was on the rookie roster. He had been nominated to take my place this year as the coordinator of the Dean.

“Ready for tonight?” he asked.

I nodded. “Couldn’t be more ready. What about you? First time on Monday night. Big game too.”

He shrugged. “Trying not to think about that part.”

“Yeah, focus on the plays. That’s all anybody needs to do.”

The elevator deposited us in the lobby. We walked to the conference room together. I left Cavan to search for coffee before taking a seat. Only half of the team was here. They would slowly trickle down from their rooms. I hated to think how many were hung over, and how that was going to affect the game.

I didn’t have that kind of hangover. No, mine was worse. There wasn’t enough water or aspirin to get rid of the way I felt when I was with Natalia.

8

Natalia

The yoga outfit wasn’t bad. At least I wasn’t walking home in a black dress. This walk of shame looked as if I had gone for an early exercise class. No shame in that.

I had lifted Sam’s heavy arm and slid to the floor, dressing in the darkness of the room. I didn’t want to wake him. I was worried he would go back on what we agreed in the bar. I didn’t want him to call or know where I lived. I definitely didn’t want to tell him I was a professional cheerleader.

It was better this way. I’d pretend he was in town on business and would never be back in Austin. It would be easier. I didn’t have his number, either. We made an agreement, and my leaving before he awakened was the only way I knew how to stick to it.

Because if I woke up in his arms and took one look in his gorgeous eyes, I’d undo all of it.

I’d program my number in his phone. I’d tell him my horrid history with the ballet and the Goddesses. I’d tell him I loved pasta even though I shouldn’t. That I loved scary movies and hated football. I’d tell him my last name or even my middle name. If I had stayed and looked in those eyes, I’d have told him anything he asked.

Last night I had given him something I’d never given to another man. There wasn’t a name for it. It was physical and primal, but it was deeper than any connection I’d ever felt. It was the reason I had to leave. It was the reason I snuck out. It was the reason I was questioning every step I made on the sidewalk.

For a little while, I knew where he was. He was in the Austin Grand Hotel in room 621. But I didn’t know when he was checking out or where he was going. I had to drive home and stay there until I knew for certain it was past check-out time. I had to force myself to put the key in the ignition and drive home. Because if I didn’t, I’d race back to the hotel and break the promise I made. And as much as I wanted to see Sam again, I didn’t want to break a promise to him. It was the main thing holding me back. Right now, it was the only reason my foot was on the gas pedal.

I didn’t wear a watch. Instead, I checked my phone a hundred times before noon. I did a load of laundry and completed an hour’s worth of stretching. I would do the entire routine again before the game, but I had to find something to do to keep my mind off last night.

I jumped when I heard my phone ring, and for a quick second, let myself think it was Sam calling. I scowled at myself. It was Heather.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

She laughed. “I saw you leave last night. Just checking on you.” I knew she wanted a juicy story.

I ran water in the sink to rinse out my bowl from breakfast. “How about you? Looked like you were having fun.”

The truth was I hadn’t paid attention to what Heather was doing. I spent my time talking to Sam and making a stupid decision. I wasn’t a very good friend.

“Oh my God, we had the best time. Aren’t you glad you went?”

“Yes.” I threw my bowl in the dishwasher. “Now I don’t have any guilt about that tradition.”

“You’re turning into a real Goddess. You know that?”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned.