7. Morgan

7

MORGAN

Dane sucks. There’s no polite way to say it.

I’m sitting in on the last Rancher’s practice before their playoff game in two days, and the center is not his usual self. He’s missing passes left and right, and he’s lost two faceoffs in a row. This isn’t how he usually plays. I know it. He knows it. And the rest of his team knows it.

Coach Miller blows the whistle to signal the end of practice. “Alright, men. Hit the showers. I’ll be in to debrief practice in half an hour.”

The hockey players skate to the exit. More than one shoots Dane a wary glance as they pass. He stays behind and begins to line up pucks in front of the net for some shooting practice.

“Larson,” Miller barks. “A word.”

Even from my spot on the fifth row behind the glass, I see the way Dane’s shoulders tense.

Sympathy tugs at my heart before I promptly shove the gentle emotion down. I don’t want to feel bad for the arrogant center.

Working as his nutritionist and personal chef these past two weeks has tested my resolve to keep my distance from him at every turn. From his perfectly respectable behavior to me showing up when he was just getting out of the shower and walking around his condo in nothing but a dark gray towel, my thoughts about the hockey star are becoming increasingly muddled.

Dane hasn’t shown any hint of attraction to me or attempted to apologize for ghosting me. He’s kept his word about not mentioning our brief moment of passion at that club. I thought that’s what I wanted, but now, I’m not so sure.

I’ve been ignoring how much his rejection stung for six months, but now that I see him almost every day, the blow to my ego invades my thoughts at all hours of the day.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I was just his nutritionist and didn’t need to cook his meals.

I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to find a qualified chef. Anyone who fits the bill is already working for a notable athlete in the Dallas metro area. That’s the downside of living in a town with three professional sports teams, I guess.

Dane skates over to where Coach Miller stands in the penalty box. Words are exchanged. I don’t have to be able to hear them to know they’re heated. Part of me can’t help but feel responsible for Dane’s crappy performance, even though I know I’m doing the right thing.

Dane has been on a modified diet for just under two weeks. While I know he’s getting all the nutrients required for peak athletic performance, he’s experiencing some nasty withdrawal symptoms from significantly diminished sugar intake.

In my experience, his energy levels should normalize soon. In the meantime, he has to work through the discomfort.

That isn’t going so well.

Coach Miller dismisses Dane. The center skates off the ice without looking at me, even though I know he knows I’m here.

Should I go talk to him?

I bite my bottom lip.

Another annoying hiccup in my plan to maintain my dislike of the center is his enigmatic younger brother. Eli Larson is warm and lighthearted, and his presence soothes the harsh awkwardness that hovers overhead every time I’m cooking in Dane’s state-of-the-art kitchen.

I also take advantage of Eli's giving me his number, using it instead of Dane’s whenever I arrive at the condo.

Is that childish of me? Maybe.

However, I rationalized the choice by remembering that Dane had my number and decided never to use it. I’m just giving him the same treatment.

I’ve gotten to know Eli pretty well these past weeks. Through our conversation, I’ve gleaned there’s some family drama between him and his parents and that Dane has chosen his brother’s side. I don’t pry, but I get the sense it has to do with Eli’s sexuality.

On my first day cooking at the condo, Eli kept me occupied with stories of his latest romantic conquests before asking my opinion on the four different men he matched with on a dating app tailored to same-sex couples.

If I’m right in thinking Eli’s parents don’t approve of who he’s romantically attracted to, Dane’s support for his brother raises him in my esteem, which is annoying.

I’m still hurt by his rejection. I want to view him as the villain. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep the visceral attraction I still feel for him in check.

With a fortifying sigh, I rise from the stands and make my way to the locker room.

Dane hasn’t complained about how crappy he’s feeling to my face, but part of my job as his nutritionist is to encourage him when healthy food choices feel hard. I need to remind him why he’s doing this and assure him that he’s going to be a better athlete at the end of this.

I reach the closed double doors separating the wide hallway from the locker room. A towel boy rolls a plastic cart from the laundry room at the end of the hall.

Before I can say a word, he asks, “You looking for Larson?”

After half a year of flying under the radar, it seems almost everyone in the Ranchers organization knows me now that I’m working with the team’s captain.

“Yes.” I gesture towards the doors. “Is he inside?”

“Nah, he changed and then went straight to the weight room.” He reveals. “I think he’s trying to blow off some steam.”

I’m not surprised.

“Thanks.” I head towards the weight room, dipping my head in acknowledgment as I pass by even more members of the team’s support staff.

There’s no noise coming from the locker room. Usually, music blares over the speakers. When I turn the corner and look through the glass wall, I see Dane all alone, standing in front of the mirror on the other side of the room in silence. Two dumbbells are in his hands.

Irritation suddenly overcomes the guilt trying to weave its way into my mind.

I plant my palms on the door and give it an angry shove. “You do know that you’re risking injury right now, don’t you?”

Dane’s back muscles tense before resuming his bicep curls. He stares at himself in the mirror, but I’m not sure he really sees anything.

His silence is fuel for my attitude. “You’ve been practicing for hours, and now you’re lifting weights. You need to give your muscles a break before you fatigue them to the point where they won’t be able to heal and function in time for the first playoff game.”

I make a mental note to increase the protein in his meals tomorrow and incorporate additional electrolyte powder into his hydration plan.

“I’m fine,” he grits out. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

I shouldn’t care.

I should let him be a stubborn idiot and hurt himself so he learns a lesson.

But this is my job. I’m supposed to support him so he can play at his best. Dr. Gaines took a chance promoting me. I can’t let my first assignment fail. I worked too hard to get to this point in my career.

“Will you just stop for one second so I can talk to you?” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but it does the trick.

Dane’s eyes flash through the mirror’s reflection. “Fine.”

The weights clatter as they crash to the floor. He turns to face me. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. “What is it, Morgan? I swear I’m eating all your prepped meals even though it’s not doing shit for my game.”

I rock back on my heels, floored by his anger. No matter how snippy or rude I’ve been to Dane, he’s never once matched my pettiness.

Remorse immediately floods Dane’s features. He groans and drags a hand down his face. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No, it wasn’t.” I like that he has some fire in him. I’m hopeful we can finally break through the facade he keeps up around me so I can hear his genuine thoughts about his new diet plan. “Tell me more about that. What, specifically, are you worried about in regards to your diet?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Really. Sorry,” he apologizes again. “I’m just having a bad day.”

“You know what? No. I’m not going to let you do this.” I wave an angry hand over his body. “You’re clearly struggling with the changes, and you need to talk to me about them. I can’t change anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I wasn’t aware the plan could change.”

I cross my arms. “Just because I’ve created the perfect plan for your average professional hockey player doesn’t mean it’s the perfect plan for you. I need to know what you’re feeling after you eat. How is your hunger level before your next scheduled meal? Do you feel hydrated? Are your bowel movements regular, or are you constipated? These things matter, but I won’t know about them unless you’re honest with me.”

Dane’s features tighten as I speak, but he lets out a bark of laughter at the end.

“Bowel movements?” He shakes his head. “You want to know how often I take a shit?”

I ignore the crass phrase, but I take it as a sign he’s overcoming whatever barrier has been holding him back from being real with me.

“Yes, I do,” I reply, undeterred. “I want to help you, Dane. I really do. But I can’t help if you don’t let me. So… please. Let me.”

I hold my breath and watch his crystal blue eyes bounce between mine, gauging my sincerity. I will my expression to convey just how serious I am. His performance tonight was abysmal. If there’s a change we can implement into his dietary plan that could help, I’m open to investigating it.

“I feel weak.” Dane’s jaw clenches.

“Weak, how?” I prompt before he changes his mind about opening up. “Mentally? Physically?”

“Both,” he mutters. “But the mental stuff is more likely caused by my personal life, not the food I eat.”

“You’d be surprised how much food can affect your mental state.” Processed sugars, in fact, are known to have the worst impact.

Dane nods. “Sure. I get that. But the point is I don’t feel like myself. Physically, I mean.”

He may need a higher calorie intake than I thought. As a center, he’s active on the rink so he’s already allotted calories on the higher end of the recommended allowance spectrum. But maybe his metabolism is higher than normal? Or maybe he’s doing additional physical activity I’m not aware of.

“How’s your sex life?” Mortification floods my cheeks the moment the words pass my lips.

What the fuck , Morgan?

I forgot who I was talking to. I got caught up in the standard questions I’d ask a client. I wouldn’t hesitate to ask how they thought their diet affected their intimacy.

But Dane isn’t just any client.

What happened between us isn’t noteworthy enough to be called history, but it’s complicated nonetheless. And I should have kept it in mind before asking the personal question.

It’s too late to take the words back.

Even if I wanted to try to, Dane’s gleaming eyes tell me he wouldn’t let me get away with it. “That is private information, Morgan.”

I clear my throat.

Be professional!

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I was just wondering if you’re burning more calories than I anticipated through… extracurricular activities.” I wince.

Kill. Me. Now.

“That came out wrong.”

“I’m not sure.” Dane’s voice dips into a melodic, sultry tone. “I think it came out just right.”

Not knowing what to say to that, I keep my mouth shut. I’m not usually someone who gets flustered so easily. Or, if I do, I can pull myself out of it relatively quickly. That’s not the case right now.

I press my lips together and exhale through my nostrils. “Forget I said anything.”

“Are you sure?” Dane takes a step closer. Pride has me holding my ground even though common sense says to step back. “Because for a moment there, I thought we were finally going to stop dancing around the fact that we’ve both had our tongues down each other’s throats.”

My mouth falls open.

Is he for real right now?

I take in Dane’s heated expression and the way his eyes dip down and stare at my lips before trailing over the rest of my face.

Yes… he’s being for real.

Now is so not the time or place for this conversation. We’re in the Ranchers’ facility. This is where we both work. He can’t look at me like he wants to devour me whole. Someone could walk in here at any moment and see.

As if summoned by the thought, the door behind me swings open. I’m too caught in Dane’s smoldering gaze to have the good sense to immediately put distance between us.

Not until I hear the voice that destroyed my confidence for three long years of my life resound through the quiet room, “I was wondering when I’d run into you, Morgan.”