Chapter 15 I straighten my shirt-a sapphire-blue top I put entirely too much thought into when getting dressed this afternoon. I'm not the type of girl who obsesses over what she wears. I throw on something appropriate for the occasion and go about my day. But every T-shirt felt too casual, and every button-up too stuffy, and this is definitely not a sundress type of situation. I need to look professional, yet cordial ... and I have no idea if I pulled that off. "I probably should've called Audrey for advice," I mumble, gathering my bag and phone before heaving a breath and then climbing out of my car. Gray's neighborhood is abuzz with kids on bicycles and adults on porches, watching the children play. The warm air is perfumed by thick shrubs hosting soft pink peonies in front of the apartments to my left. A screen door to my right is propped open, and eighties music floats on the breeze. My fingers tap a quick text to my friends. Me: I'm at Gray's. Pray for me. Audrey: You don't need prayers. You got this! Gianna: You don't need prayers. You need condoms. Audrey: GIANNA. Gianna: No Bardot this time? Me: One of you is helpful and one of you is not. I'll let you think about that. I slide my phone into my purse and exhale slowly. This wouldn't be so terrible if I knew what to expect. My text exchanges with Gray have gone well since our truce, and he's been amenable to my suggestions with quick replies. As far as I know, he hasn't missed an appointment or practice either. But I can't help but wonder if they haven't gone a little too well. I'm afraid to hope this can work out because when your hope goes up, it's just a harder fall back to the ground. I press the doorbell and say a quick prayer of my own since I can't count on my friends to do it for me. You've agreed to a truce. Don't go in there assuming the worst. I frown. Don't give him the benefit of the doubt, either. Aim for a nice neutrality. Energy flickers in my chest, but I'm not certain if it's from anticipation or dread. My thoughts run amok as I consider how he's going to react to seeing me in person again. It's our first time together since the Magnolia Peace Accord, and my first time at his apartment since Picture Gate. I don't know whether I'm walking into an ambush or preparing for a picnic. It's impossible to steady my erratic pulse as Gray opens the door. He peers down at me with his dark eyes, studying me intently as if seeing me for the first time. A white cotton shirt hugs his torso, and a pair of black sweatpants kiss his thighs. I don't know him well enough to know if he shaves routinely or not, but it's evident that he hasn't met with a razor since I last saw him-and I hate that he looks even better with the scruff. "Hi," he says. There's no warmth, but his tone is also void of a chill. Is that a win? I don't know. "Want to come in?" "Sure." "Great." "Great," I say, stepping through the doorway. The apartment looks about the same as it did the last time I was here, except a little more lived-in. A patchwork quilt is draped over the back of the sofa like the one my grandma had when I was a kid. A set of dumbbells sits in the middle of the living room floor, and his chessboard has been placed in the middle of the coffee table. The boxes, however, are gone. And the picture that caused our last tiff is nowhere in sight. "You expected to find boxes, didn't you?" he asks as he closes the door. "Yeah. You had practice on Thursday and Friday and were with the team at the game yesterday. I didn't figure you got up on your one day off and unpacked." "Were you going to finish it for me?" I drop my bag onto the sofa and then meet his gaze. My first reaction is to bristle at his question. Instinctively, my hackles rise, and I mentally prepare a defense. My brain tells me he's judging me-insinuating that I didn't finish my job and he's deciding my worth. But something makes me pause. I'm not sure if it's his relaxed posture or the slight tilt of his head, but I don't fire back. Instead, I wait. A lick of humor tickles his lips as he presses them together. "Hey, I'm kidding, you know." A slow breath releases from my lungs. No, I didn't know. "I did a couple of boxes each night," he says. "There wasn't too much left. Besides, despite what you and Renn might think, I'm capable of basic tasks." He turns his back and heads toward the kitchen, and I lean against the sofa and watch him move farther away from me. With each step he takes, my shoulders soften, and I breathe a little easier. I relax a little more. This is uncharted territory, as we're usually arguing by now. The thing that throws me for a loop, though, is his admission that he was joking. Or maybe it's the idea that he was joking with me in the first place. That hasn't happened before ... has it? "Renn doesn't think you're incapable of basic tasks," I say, as he grabs two glass bottles from the fridge. Staying focused on the work aspect of things is an arena I understand. So I keep us planted there. "That's not really my takeaway from being assigned a babysitter." "Did you ever consider that he just wanted to support you?" Gray hands me a bottle, unscrews his lid, and takes a long drink. His eyes never leave mine. "If Renn thought you were incapable, he wouldn't have traded for you," I say in defense of my boss. "He obviously thinks you're talented and can contribute to the team. Otherwise, he would've left you in Denver." Gray takes a seat on the sofa. He props his bare feet up on the coffee table next to the chessboard. "You always take up for Renn, don't you?" "I generally side with people who are right, and Renn is almost always right." "What if he was wrong?" I shrug and sit as far away from him as I can on his one piece of furniture. His question seems straightforward, but I can't help but wonder if it's not. If it's to be taken on the surface, that's one thing. But if it's theoretical, that's something else completely. Is he suggesting Renn is wrong about him? "To be honest," I say, slipping off my shoes and tucking my feet beneath me, "Renn has never been wrong. If he was, I'd probably just stay out of it." "Why are you so loyal to him?" Are you not? I start to ask that, but change my mind. Because if the answer is no, then that puts me in a pickle. I can't really be loyal to Renn and know that Gray is not. But I can't work for Gray and keep stuff from Renn. It seems I'm reminded every time I'm here that it's better not to know everything. "Why are you asking so many questions?" I ask and then take a sip of water. He sits up and places his bottle on the floor beside him. His attention switches from me to the chessboard. He takes a white pawn and advances it two spaces. "Why do you take offense to me asking questions?" "I don't." Not exactly, anyway. I put my feet on the floor. Then I lean forward and move a black pawn two squares, mirroring his move. "I'm just not sure why it matters." He moves a knight. "Maybe it doesn't." "Good. Then we can avoid that going forward." I move a knight to defend my pawn and ignore the smirk on his face. "Are you getting used to the calendar? I know it can be confusing at first, but I swear it'll make both of our lives easier once you get the hang of it." "I find it a pain in the ass, honestly. It makes me feel like I'm on probation or something." I laugh. "Does that make me your probation officer?" "You're definitely more like a warden." He chuckles, grinning at me. "I can actually see you as a warden. You'd have the convicts shaking in their prison flip-flops." "Oh, hell, no. I'd be terrified. I'm not cut out for prison life in any form." He snorts. "Come on, Astrid. You can't tell me that having control over hundreds of people at one time doesn't turn you on at least a little bit." "Well, when you put it like that ..." He moves his bishop, pinning my knight to my king. "On a serious note, I do like how you've color-coded things. It's efficient." Everything works better when it's color-coded. "Thanks." I grin, advancing a pawn so he needs to decide whether to capture my knight or retreat. "I took longer than you'd imagine choosing those colors." He studies the board, weighing his move. His lashes are so long, so dark from this angle that they look fake. "That's really not that hard to believe." I lean back into the sofa again and glance around the room. It's a decent size-probably a quarter bigger than mine. A window on the opposite wall allows a good amount of light in, definitely enough to grow a plant or two. If he had a few things on the walls and maybe a chair or reading lamp, this place could be downright cute. He retreats. "Do you have a calendar like that for your life?" "Of course, I do." I move another knight forward. "I have a personal one, a work one, Renn's, Blakely's, and now I have yours. But, believe it or not, I kinda love it. I was always the kid who scored high on organizational skills in high school. It feeds my soul." "Calendars feed your soul?" I nod. His dimples shine in his cheeks. "You need a hobby." "You are not the first person to tell me that recently." He laughs as he castles his king. The sound of his laughter catches me off guard. It's the first time I've heard it, aside from the occasional chuckle at my expense. It's in stark contrast to the argumentative, taciturn man I usually encounter. Wrapping my head around the fact that Gray is both men is difficult. "Speaking of hobbies," I say, moving a bishop. "Do you do anything during the offseason that I should know about? Classes? Jobs? Endorsements? I just want to make sure to cover everything, and I know a lot of guys have side hustles after the season is over." Gray leans back, resting against the cushions and watches me. No scowl. No glares. No tight lips or clenched fists. The tension that's usually biting the air around us is nowhere to be found. In its place is a quiet understanding. A truce. It's oddly relaxing to sit peacefully with Gray and have full-sentence conversations without snapping at each other. I appreciate it but I also don't quite trust it. Because, if I trusted it, I think I might like it. "Do I take classes?" he asks. "Nope. I should probably consider what I'm going to do after I retire from rugby, but I keep putting that off. Side jobs? Not right now. Endorsements? Yes. Actually, I have a few emails from a sports drink company that I just signed a deal with requesting deliverables-which I think are just videos they want me to take myself. Maybe I could forward those to you, and you could handle them?" I grab my clipboard from my bag and unfasten my pen from the top. "If you could get that to me tonight, I can reach out to them tomorrow morning." I write a note to myself at the top of the page. "Any other deals I should know about?" He shakes his head. "I mean, I do have more. There's one with a burger franchise that my agent hates that I took, and another with a sportswear company. But both of those are at the end of their terms, and I don't owe them anything unless we negotiate an extension." "Keep me in the loop." "Yes, boss." My eyes lift to his to find them waiting on me. I sink back against the sofa, mirroring his posture. His grin pulls at mine. I don't want to slip and give him anything that breaks the strictly professional agreement we've created because we're finally on semi-solid ground. Yet the longer I look at him, the harder it is not to smile back. "There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asks, winking at me. My cheeks flush. He gets up and grabs his water bottle, then heads back to the kitchen. The silence isn't awkward-just noticeable. I scramble to fill it with something. Anything. "Do you want me to look into some side hustles for you?" I ask, reaching for my drink. "I know a guy who helps athletes set up camps and programs. I think he takes twenty percent of the proceeds, but it's still profitable." "Are you hungry?" I blink twice, staring at the television ahead of me. Am I hungry? "What?" "A snack. Want one?" He really is like trying to corral a toddler. "No. I'm good. Thanks, though." "No problem." I stand and then make my way to the kitchen, where I find Gray at the counter, peeling an orange. "Any thoughts on me reaching out to the guy about the camps?" I ask again. "Let's keep that in mind, but it's not something I want to do right now." He pops a piece of fruit into his mouth. "I don't know where I'll be this offseason. If I'm around here, I think I'll probably head home and spend some time with my brother." I climb onto a barstool while he peels another orange across from me. I pretend to make notes on my clipboard when I'm really trying to imagine Gray with his family and what home means to him. It's hard to envision and impossible to guess which version of him they get, or if there are more versions of this man I haven't uncovered yet. He offers me a slice of the fruit. "There were no peanuts involved in the cutting of this orange." I laugh and take the proffered piece, surprised but also touched that he remembered. Even Gianna sometimes forgets about my allergy. Our fingertips brush against each other as I take the section. His heavy, calloused pads sliding against mine sends a charge shooting through my veins. Despite the intensity, it's a quiet shock-one that's personal and intimate. I hold my breath a moment longer than necessary and soak in the lingering heat of the contact burrowing into my memory. As my heart starts to pound, my brain takes over. You're not a robot. He's a good-looking man, and it's been a fortnight since you've had physical contact with the male species. Relax. He clears his throat and grabs a towel from the drawer I piled them in the other night. Then he swipes up the juice that's been dripping onto the countertop from the piece of fruit in my hand. That I didn't notice was happening. "I'm sorry," I say, leaning back and refusing to look at him just in case he can read minds. "I didn't realize it was dripping." "It's no big deal." I quickly eat the orange slice, then drag my clipboard in front of me again, becoming engrossed in my notes. "What about groceries? Do you want to make a list of the things you like or want me to have delivered?" "Nah." He tosses the towel next to the sink. "You did a good job on it this week, even if I was afraid that you poisoned me." "I thought about it." I hide a smile, going over the list of questions I wrote down before I left home. "Do you have any doctors or specialists that you see regularly that are not with the team?" "Nope. Well, I do see a therapist from time to time." I cross that question off the list. "Well, that would be at the Royals facility, so I don't need to make a separate entry for them." He hesitates, causing me to look up. "I meant a mental health expert," he says, licking a drop of juice from his bottom lip. His eyes are the clearest, most unguarded they've been since I've known him. "But I'll handle those appointments. I kind of just make them when I need them." Oh. We watch each other carefully, both of us searching the other's gaze. I think he's gauging my response to his admission. I'm just hoping this isn't what will make him switch into cold Gray mode again. I clutch my pen, listening to each breath that fills my lungs. Gray doesn't look away or frown. He stands in front of me and lets me see ... him. It's almost as if he's reassuring me that he's holding true to his promise to make this work between us, and that he wants me to know it. That he's giving me this one super-personal bit of information as a token of faith. "Does that surprise you?" he asks, his voice gravelly. I place my pen on the clipboard and take a breath. "Honestly? Yeah. It does. I mean, a lot of people, men specifically, it seems, have a hard time talking about mental health." I give him a half grin. "But I think it's great you have someone to talk to, and I appreciate you telling me that." He holds a slice of orange in the air, and I put my palm out. "You're probably thinking that if I'd see my therapist more, I'd be less of a dickhead, huh?" he asks, grinning. I laugh as the tightness in my chest releases. "They're a therapist, not a magician." Gray pops another slice of fruit into his mouth, and his jaw moves as he chews. He eats slowly. Intentionally. It's as if he's unbothered with me in his space and is living his best confident, alpha life. I shiver. "That's all the questions that I had for you." I climb off the stool, my skin tingling from the thoughts splashing around in my head-thoughts that have absolutely no business being in my brain. "I better get going." "Did you get everything you needed from me?" Oh, the comments Gianna would make right now. I eat the piece of orange in one bite and then pick up my bag. "I expected to leave here with a couple of answers and a giant headache. So unless you do your famous one-eighty on me, I'll leave with the answers and no headache. And I'm not mad about that." His chuckle is low and deep. He leads me to the door and pulls it open. "What's that all about?" I ask. "It's hard for me to think that you're not mad about something," he says, leaning against the doorframe. I laugh, stopping beside him. "I'm not out of here yet. You still have time to piss me off." Fresh air flows into the house, picking up notes of Gray's cologne and swirling them around me. The way he looks my way-curiously, but also without the hatred I'm used to-stirs a soft sense of vulnerability inside me. A warmth climbs up my neck and colors my cheeks, and I know he notices. How could he not? He starts to speak but stops himself and then starts again. "This coming week is a bye week." I nod, my tongue too thick to allow words to form. "I'm probably going to head back to Sugar Creek for the weekend." Where's that water when I need it? "Okay. Do you need me to make your reservations at a hotel or something?" He smiles. Not a grin and not a smirk. An ear-to-ear smile that is unlike any I've seen from him yet. "There's not a hotel in Sugar Creek," he says with another chuckle. "I'll stay with my brother at the ranch." The ranch? I shake my head and hold up a finger, suddenly sparked back to life. "Whoa. Hold up a second," I say. "Your brother has a ranch?" "Yup. I grew up there. It's been in our family for over one hundred years." I laugh freely, imagining Gray with a cowboy hat and boots. It's so different from this Gray-the sweatpants-and-T-shirt-wearing athlete in front of me. It's nearly impossible to see. "You were a cowboy?" He snorts. "Hardly. I got out of as much of that as I could. Thank God that Hartley, my brother, loved that shit. It saved me hours of work." "Gray the cowboy," I tease as I step onto his small porch. His eyes twinkle with mischief. "Did you have stirrups and the whole bit?" "Bye, Astrid." "What about holsters like in the old movies?" I say, wrinkling my nose. His dimples sink deep into his cheeks as he shakes his head and starts to close the door. "Are there pictures?" I ask, giggling and moving so I can see him as the door closes. "Give me one good yeehaw!" I hear him groan as the lock clicks in place. Gray as a cowboy. I laugh all the way to the car.