Mr. Charming Excerpt

I step out into the hallway, running straight into a man. His hands grab my elbows, and before my gaze lifts to see his face, I already know it’s him. Tweetie.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Tweetie, you know Tedi, right? I was just telling her how much faith you have in her.” Coach Buford stands next to us.
I swallow down my parfait from this morning that’s coming back up.
“Yeah, we knew each other back in Florida. Tedi is a friend of Saige Drake, Aiden’s wife,” Tweetie says.
It sounds so believable, as if we ran in the same circles a few times. Ran into one another at a baby shower or wedding or something.
“I tried to get Drake here years ago, but he said he’ll be retiring in Florida if they’ll let him.” Coach Buford shakes his head and pats Tweetie on the shoulder. “Thank goodness the Burrows let this one go so we could eventually get him.”
Tweetie puts on a brave face, a fake smile to say he couldn’t be happier to be in Chicago, but I remember the day he was traded to Nashville from Florida and how cutting that felt to him. Sure, he’s ended up in a great place here, but there will always be hurt feelings.
“Which way is the room with the guys?” I step back from Tweetie.
Coach Buford pats his pockets. “Damn it, I forgot my phone in my office. Do you mind if Tweetie shows you the way?”
Tweetie isn’t saying much, and I doubt this is his usual behavior around here. He’s going to give us away if he keeps staring at me as though he can’t believe I’m here.
“If you just give me the directions, I can find my way,” I say.
“Nonsense.” He pats Tweetie’s shoulder. “Show her the way, and I’ll be right there. You’re in good hands, Tedi.”
I smile softly, but when Coach Buford turns his back to his office, my smile drops. “I can find it myself,” I murmur, walking down the hall like a spoiled teenage girl.
“Good luck then.” Tweetie leans against the wall and crosses his arms.
The hallway is long, and there are a lot of doors. Surely one is marked conference room or something. I turn in the direction of where Tweetie was heading, figuring it has to be that way.
His chuckle rings out down the empty hall. I turn around, and he pushes off the wall. So damn dramatic.
He places his hand on my elbow and turns me down another hallway that I wouldn’t have guessed. I shrug out of his hold, and he turns right, opening a door into the room I need to be in.
“You’re welcome,” he says, holding the door open for me.
“You could have just given me directions.”
“That’s not what Coach asked me to do.” He nods, and I step into the room.
All of the players are in there, talking and laughing.
“Tweetie!” a player they call Alvin shouts but stops when he sees me. “Who are you?”
I narrow my eyes at him, walking down the stairs to get to the bottom of what reminds me of a lecture hall from college. I sit in the first row and cross my legs, waiting for Coach Buford.
“Hey, Tedi.” I look over my shoulder to see Henry Hensley behind me.
“Hi.” I don’t know Henry, but he seems like a nice guy.
“Where are you going?” I hear that same guy who made a spectacle of Tweetie walking in as if he’s the it guy in high school, and they’re trying to befriend him or kiss his ass.
A big body walks by me and sits next to me.
Snickers from the row behind me have the hair on my neck rising.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to Tweetie.
His elbow falls onto my armrest. I elbow him back, and I’m not sure if it’s Henry or someone else who laughs when Tweetie’s arm falls off.
“Believe me, I don’t want to sit here either.”
I lean forward, looking past him to a few seats down the row that are unoccupied.
“Kick my ass or tell me off later, but I’m not gonna let you be ogled in a room full of athletes,” he admits, and I can tell from the tic of his jaw that he wishes he hadn’t.
“I can handle myself,” I whisper.
“Deal with it, Tedi.”
I turn in my chair and glare at him, but his gaze remains forward, pretending we’re not having a conversation. “You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
His calmness drives me crazy, and he knows it. That’s why he’s doing it.