Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

His expression is all business. Until his chin lifts and he spots me. Then a smile lights up his face.

Mercy. I scream mercy.

He walks inside looking sheepish. “Is this the new yoga place that just opened?”

“Yes, it is. How can I help you?” I say, pushing back the excitement punching through my chest.

“I’m here to take the class.”

Dev pokes her head out and gives Grant a quick up and down. “Get in here already,” Dev orders with a roll of her eyes and a big smile. “Before you cause any more mass hysteria.”

Feeling the collective attention of the entire class on the back of my neck, I turn and, yep, find everyone staring at us––or rather, staring at my roommate. “Are you a beginner?”

His eyes shift from me and away, his mouth pursing, his color high. “At yoga…” His bright blue eyes return to me and he murmurs, “And relationships.”

I’ve been high on diet pills. I’ve been drunk more times than I care to admit. But I have never felt as good from unadulterated joy as I feel right this minute. With this man standing before me making himself vulnerable in a way he never is.

An unrelenting grin pries my lips apart. “Me too…at the relationship part, I mean.” For the first time in my life I feel lucky. The possibilities feel endless. Hope is making a comeback. Could this be the start of something real?

“Mandy––”

“Yeah?” I say, frowning at the strange look on his face.

“I don’t know who Ivy Stone is.”

“I figured,” I say, smiling. “Find a spot and take it easy. This is not a competitive sport.”

Nodding, Grant walks to the back of the room and takes everyone’s attention with him.

“I don’t know, Phil…I don’t. That’s my answer…You make any moves without consulting me and Barry and we’re going to have a big problem,” I hear Grant practically yell into the phone.

The sound finds me at the kitchen sink as I finish rinsing all the fruit I bought; strawberries, plums, red grapes. I crane my neck to look through the window and examine the heavy scowl he’s wearing, the stiff way he’s pacing. I’ve never seen him so angry.

“What are you gonna do if the kid is a bust or he gets injured?…of course it can happen. How many first-round picks have the Browns flushed down the toilet?…you gotta do what you gotta do and so do I…uh-hu, yeah…I can play anywhere I want. Remember that.”

He ends the call and stares at the phone, the look of a man with a serious problem. Then glancing up, he catches me watching. His frown fades, gives way to an exasperated smile aimed at me. So sweet, that smile. Swoon. I am one swoon from becoming a love zombie.

He’s been working out every day. He’s completed his PT. He’s been eating high-protein plant-based food and low-sugar carbs thanks to the food I cook for him. Everything to fight inflammation in his one-hundred-and-thirty-million-dollar body. I can’t ever wrap my brain around how much money that is. He should be almost fully recovered by this time next month.

Something doesn’t seem right, though.

Charging into the kitchen, he grabs a water bottle out of the refrigerator.

“What was that about?”

His head tips back. “Phil––” He side-eyes me. “Do you know Phil Sutton?”

“The manager of the Titans?”

Grants nods. “They drafted a linebacker in the first round…with talk of my injury and retirement…they wanted an insurance policy.” He exhales tiredly and looks off, shaking his head in dismay. “I don’t know…I don’t know. They might try and trade me. I have a feeling they’re going to.”

My stomach bottoms out. I’m in shock. Traded? To another city?

“What?! But…but you’re a legend. You’re indispensable to this team…you’re the face of the franchise!” I grip the marble counter for purchase. Lose him now to a trade when things are just getting started?

He scoffs. “For the right price, everyone’s on the block.”

He looks suddenly tired, worn-out. And it sucks to see him slipping back in to the depression I found him in all that time ago.

“Grant?” He looks at me. “Try to stay positive. You’re doing everything right. The doctors said the MRI looks good…right?” We haven’t discusses it at length. Although every time I ask he implies everything is going according to plan.

He nods again, wiping away any lingering doubt I had. “I’m going out of town next weekend.”

I’m a little taken aback. This is the first I’ve heard of it. Risking a glance, I find his expression flat. The atmosphere has suddenly turned chilly.

“Oh…okay. We’ll miss you.” I don’t say anything else. I let it hang out there. I’m not going to ask where he’s going because technically I have no right––technically.

“I’m…ah…being given an award––the ESPYs. So I’ll be in L.A. a few nights. Meet up with Barry, my agent.”

“He’s Cal’s agent, too. I know Barry.” Wow. The awkward set in real fast. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”