17. Lark

Chapter seventeen

Lark

The thing about working with professional athletes, in particular, male professional athletes, is that you very quickly have to be okay with seeing the nude or nearly nude male form.

I’m talking day one on the job, I walked into the locker room when my supervisor was taking me on a tour of the stadium to find four of the players in various stages of undress, walking out of the showers, laughing and joking with each other.

They don’t care, and why should they? Their bodies are finely honed machines. And to them, the training staff are just the medical professionals whose job it is to keep those machines running in peak condition.

Once I got over the initial surprise that yes, I would be seeing bare butts — and more — at my job, I didn’t let it bother me. Heck, I’ve had to treat those bare butts on more than one occasion when glute muscles get cramped or injured.

Besides, I was in a relationship, so ogling another man’s body felt wrong. I maintained a strictly professional approach to my work.

But even so, there are moments when it stings a little, never being seen as a woman, only ever as staff, or worse, as one of the guys.

“Mornin’ Lark,” Rhett Darlington says, strutting out of the showers with a towel wrapped around his waist and another draped around his neck. “How’s it goin’? You here for me?”

There’s a reason the team nicknamed him Darling. He says he can’t help but be polite, because his mama raised him right. That, and his habit of calling every single female he comes across, darlin. But somehow, when he talks to me, there’s none of the flirtatious southern boy charm he’s famous for. Just friendly, polite manners.

I nod, averting my eyes when he turns to his locker and pulls on a pair of underwear. At least he does it before dropping the towel. “Yes. Time for your yearly assessment.”

Every offseason we work our way through the active player roster and run them through a full assessment. Not just for fitness, but overall physical and mental health. It’s something the team owner, Mike Cartwright, instituted years ago, making it clear he cared about his players, not just during the season, but all the time. And not only as players, but as human beings.

My job is to put them through part of the fitness evaluation. It’s simple enough, an hour in the gym with some sensors strapped to their body to measure heart rate, oxygenation, and a couple of other things. We spread out the assessments, working around the guys’ schedules and offseason plans. Another way Mr. Cartwright makes sure players know he values them.

It’s things like this that inspired me to apply for the internship. If I can contribute to the research, and maybe learn a few things to bring back to the team, all the better .

Rhett pulls a shirt on, and I see he’s now wearing some athletic shorts. He grabs a pair of shoes out of his locker and holds them up to sniff before scrunching up his nose. “Damn, time for a new pair. Give these a whiff.” He shoves the shoes in my face, and I recoil in horror.

“Why the hell would I want to smell your shoes, Rhett? That’s disgusting.”

He just shrugs. “Eh, I dunno. Guess ya wouldn’t now, would ya?”

Kai and Ronan walk in just then, all sweaty from the gym. Ronan gives me a nod and a smile, heading toward the showers. Kai, on the other hand, starts to strip down right in front of me.

“Dude. You shoulda seen the bomber Sin hit off my curveball. Holy shit, it was amazing, straight shot out to center field, homer for sure. It was a thing of beauty.” He keeps yammering on as more clothes come off. “Someday, Lark, I’m gonna get you in front of my balls. I bet you’d hit a slammer.” He snorts, realizing what he just said as I turn bright red. “Shit, that sounded bad. Sorry, Lark. You know I don’t mean it that way, right?”

Of course, he doesn’t, and while I know that’s because Kai’s a decent guy, I guess I’m feeling sensitive or something, especially coming right after Rhett and his gross shoes, because I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “Of course, you don’t. Because I’m just one of the guys, right? Fine to joke and tease with.”

I guess the guys hear the bite in my voice, because the locker room falls silent.

“Everythin’ okay, darlin’?” Rhett says cautiously, and I close my eyes for a second to gather myself. I don’t do this, get all sensitive and crap. It’s not professional .

“Yep. Fine,” I say, the words sounding forced.

“Okay, because you know Yami’s harmless. He’s just bein’ an idiot.”

“Mm-hmm. I know. We should go get your assessment done.” I turn on my heel and walk out of the locker room, not giving any of them a chance to say anything else.

I should’ve known he wouldn’t let it go. As soon as we’re in the gym, empty of anyone but the two of us, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me.

“Talk, woman.”

I pretend to be very much occupied with pulling up Rhett’s file on my tablet, not meeting his gaze.

“Fine, you wanna do this the hard way? I’m gonna have to guess at what’s eatin’ ya.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. In all the time I’ve worked for the team, I’ve never once let it slip how it sometimes bothers me to be treated like one of the guys. After all, shouldn’t I be happy sexism has no place on the team? That I’m treated with professionalism and respect above all else?

But sometimes, a girl just wants to be seen as a girl, damn it. I see how the guys treat Willow, still with respect but also charm and the occasional flirty words. At least before Ronan showed up. Me? Nothing.

“I’m thinkin’ it had something to do with Yami being a dumbass. What I can’t quite figure out is what he said that made you react. Especially since he apologized for his ridiculous comment about his balls.”

I whirl around, ready to lash out. “That’s just it. He was a dumbass around me, you all are dumbasses around me. And that’s fine, because that’s the way you are with each other, so why be any different around me? I can handle the dumbass behaviour just like one of the guys, right? That’s what he meant by his apology .” I bite out the last word, fully aware I sound like a lunatic. But now that I’ve started, there’s no stopping the crazy train. “But maybe it’s okay to say something dirty or flirty to me. Because I’m not one of the guys, I’m a woman. A red-blooded woman, fully capable of handling a baseball player making a flirty comment. But you guys don’t seem to remember that I. Am. A. Woman, and while I want to be respected, I’d also like to be seen as who I am, not just a buddy, or worse, a nobody. Which means, stop shoving stinky shoes in my face, talking like dumbasses, or dropping towels and waving your dicks around.”

When I finally stop ranting, Rhett stares at me, his mouth half open, arms hanging by his sides. I heave out a sigh, and he lifts one hand to rub his jaw.

“Damn, Lark.” He shakes his head, those big brown eyes I’ve witnessed make many a woman swoon filling with understanding and compassion. “I hear ya. And I’m sorry we made you feel that way. Can I explain somethin’ that might help?”

I gesture over to the treadmill stiffly. “Only if you can do it while you run.”

He gives me a smirk. “’Course I can.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s hooked up to the sensor, on the machine, and at his warm-up pace. In those few moments, I run the gamut of emotions, from mortification to vindication. I finally said my piece, crazy as it may have sounded to him. And if he really does have an explanation, I’ll listen.

“Alright, darlin’, you listenin’?” he says, turning his head slightly to me. I nod, and he continues.

“Good. Here’s the thing, when I joined the team, you were already workin’ here. And I was pulled aside by Pops and Gomez on my second or third day and told a few things. Not just about you, but about every woman who works here. Pops made it clear that Mike ran an organization that put equality and respect first and foremost among players and staff. It was drilled into me, and every player, that everyone from the trainin’ staff to the janitors deserved as much respect as the players. Your job puts you in close proximity to us every day. Hell, half the time, we’re near-to-naked around you. Makin’ sure you and all your female colleagues felt comfortable was a priority.”

He’s saying all the right things. Statements that women working in male dominated fields dream of hearing. And yet…I feel like there’s more. That feeling is confirmed after I increase his pace to begin his cardio fitness assessment, nodding at him to continue.

“But with you, there’s a second reason.” He huffs out the words, and I can’t lie, internally, I gloat a little at making him suffer through his workout while he tries to explain things to me.

“And that is?” I say acerbically.

He gives me an incredulous look. “You really can’t figure it out?”

My brows draw together and I frown. “No, Rhett. If I could, do you think I would have gone off on you like that?”

He chokes out a laugh. “Damn. I thought men were the oblivious ones.” He sees my frown turn to a glare and holds up his hands. “Come on, Lark. Just about every single person in this building knows that Monty is obsessed with you and has been since day one. And we all love, and more importantly, respect the guy, just as much as we love and respect you. This part was never said out loud, but there’s been an unspoken rule in place to never cross any lines with you, out of respect for his feelings. That meant no flirting, nothin’.”

“Are you freaking serious?” I shriek, making him stumble. He recovers quickly, of course, and continues running, shooting me nervous glances as I start to pace in front of the treadmill. “You’re saying Dan Montgomery has had feelings for me for years and everyone but me has known that, and that is the reason you’ve all been treating me like one of the guys this entire time?” I come to a stop, crossing my arms across my chest, and stare at him. “That’s…that’s…ridiculous.”

Rhett lifts his eyebrows. “Is it?”

I deflate. “No,” I say quietly. “I…thank you. For explaining. And for, well, yeah.”

He gives me a knowing smile. “You both deserve to be happy. And I know we’re all rootin’ for team Mork.”

“W-what?” I splutter. “Absolutely not, no way.”

Rhett just laughs, and I know it’s a done deal. “Take it up with Monty. He came up with it on the last night of spring training two years ago, after one too many shots of tequila.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have words with him,” I grumble. “Can we finish this damn assessment now?”

He gives an exaggerated groan and steps off the treadmill, onto the side boards, as he punches down the speed. “Fuck, yeah. I hate runnin’.”

“Then you shouldn’t have become a baseball player,” I reply sarcastically as we move over to the mats where I’ll be testing his strength and flexibility.

Rhett turns his full force southern boy charm my way, and I can finally confirm it’s just as potent as expected.

“But darlin’, if I didn’t play ball, I’d be back home in Tennessee, workin’ on the family ranch, and then you’d miss me.”

I roll my eyes at his cocky — yet true — statement. “Okay, okay. Let’s get this over with so you can go and charm someone who cares.”

His hand goes to his chest, and Rhett tries to look wounded. “First, you want me to flirt with you, then you deny me when I do? There’s just no pleasin’ ya, Lark Miller.” He winks and my answering grin is automatic.

“You want to please me? Get going on your mobility assessment, and for the love of God, never repeat that nickname for me and Dan again.”