The Trouble with You (Rixon Raiders 1)

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man.” Asher clapped me on the back. “Just be careful. That chick is crazy. And this thing with her, Jase, and Thatcher is only going to get worse before it gets better.”

Which is exactly what I was worried about.

We’d all expected Thatcher to make a move during Rivals Week but there had been nothing but crickets. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t hit back though, it just meant he was biding his time. Waiting to strike.

“Chase, Bennet, get your asses over here, ladies, we’ve got drills to run,” one of the assistant coaches yelled. With a final glance at the bleachers and Hailee, I stuffed down all the thoughts running through my head and focused on the task at hand. Kicking some defense ass.

After a grueling practice, I hung back while the rest of the guys stalked into the locker room. Coach was busy talking to Hailee. She had a sketch pad in her hands and a smile plastered on her face as she showed him whatever it was she’d been working on.

“Chase, come over here, Son,” his voice boomed across the field and I tore my helmet off and jogged over to them. “What’s up, Coach?” My eyes grazed Hailee’s face as I swept a hand through my damp hair, but she kept her gaze firmly on the pad in her hand.

“Can you show Miss Raine to the storage room? She wants to dig through some of the old picture albums for…” He glanced at her and she smiled.

“Inspiration.”

“Inspiration, right.” Coach pressed his lips together. “Can I trust you to show her?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“And if you need anything else, just ask.” He gave her a stern nod and left us alone.

“Hey.” I gave her a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, thanks.” Her eyes darted around mine.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you, after the other n—”

“Let’s not do this,” Hailee said, clutching the sketch pad to her chest like a shield. As if she needed armor against me. The thought punched me square in the chest. “I need to concentrate on this project if I want to get it done in time and I can’t afford any… distractions.”

“Is that what I am?” The corner of my mouth tipped. Being a distraction to her sounded like something I could get on board with.

“Cameron, I’m serious.” She gave me a narrowed look, but I was sure I caught a sparkle in her eyes.

“No distractions.” I held up my hands. “I promise. Come on, I’ll show you where the storage room is, but I should probably warn you, it smells like years old cleats in there.” Her nose wrinkled, and I chuckled. “Did you think painting the team would be all glamorous and shit?”

“I don’t know what I thought.” She was still clutching that shield of hers. “To be honest, I’m feeling a little out of my league here.”

“Let me see what you have.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Her fingers gripped the pad tighter. “It’s only a rough sketch at the moment. I wanted to catch you in action.” A sexy blush spread up her neck and into her cheeks and I didn’t miss the way she almost choked over the word ‘action’. “I’m thinking of doing a less traditional composition, something that captures the essence of the sport rather than just the player.”

“Sounds… complicated.” I had no fucking clue about art and compositions or any of that stuff.

“It isn’t, not really. But I need enough raw material to work with.”

“So, can I…” I held out my hand, hoping she would indulge me. Hailee peeked up at me with wary eyes, her fingers gently tapping the sketch pad. Awkward silence stretched out before us.

“It’s okay,” I started after what felt like an eternity. “You don’t have to—” With a soft sigh, Hailee finally handed the pad over to me and I flipped it open.

“Holy shit, Hailee, this is amazing.” She’d captured Grady, one of the other senior players, mid-drill, throwing his body against the blocking sled. It was only rough, but the lines and shadowing caught the impact in a way I would never have thought possible. “You’re really talented.” I started to flip to another page, but she grabbed the pad.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Hang on, I want to see more.” I wrestled it off her, holding it just out of reach, and turned another page. My mouth fell open, the air sucked clean from my lungs.

“Like I said,” her voice was small, uncertain, “It’s just a rough sketch at the moment. Something to work with once I’m in the studio.”

My eyes drank in every detail. The curve of my arm as I prepared to throw the ball, my wide stance and narrowed gaze as I sought out my teammate across the field. The intricate shading around the fourteen on my jersey, giving the illusion of the material moving with the air.