"Whatever you say, Miss Ward." I shouldered past her and hit the button.
The elevator chugged back into motion, and she shook her head.
"There's no reason we can't be friends."
A laugh burst out of me. "There are so many reasons, and I have no desire to explain any of them to you. You've known a few players. Good for you. But you don't understand the kind of pressure I'm under, or the way that I operate, so I'll tell you this." I leaned toward her, gratified when she swallowed roughly, and her eyes widened. "I'm not here to make friends. You were a mistake that I narrowly avoided making, and I have no intention of going down that road again."
For a moment, I expected the crack of another small female hand against my cheek. But that was not what Molly did.
"What happened to you?" she whispered sadly.
The elevator doors slid apart, the area beyond blessedly empty. I gave her one last look. "I grew up, Molly. You should do the same."
I strode past her, and before I was out of earshot, I heard her mutter, "Dick."
The apprehension and nerves were long gone, but my jaw clenched at the surprising pang of irritation I felt. I'd been called worse by women. By teammates. Not by someone like Molly, though. Someone kind and friendly.
I kept walking, not a single pause in my long strides, because I was here to do a job, and Molly Ward had nothing to do with it.
Chapter Four
Molly
"Conceited."
Smack.
"Arrogant."
Smack. Smack.
"Little."
Smack.
"Prick."
Isabel raised an eyebrow. "Little, huh?"
"Shut up." I punched the bag again, grinning when it moved her backward from where she was bracing an arm against it. I pulled back one more time and hit the front of the heavy bag with a right cross, then shook my arm out and braced my gloved hands on my knees.
Isabel handed me my water bottle and dropped onto the floor, folding her legs neatly underneath her. The kickboxing gym didn't hold any classes during the lunch hour, so it was empty. Paige used to come here when she first married Logan, and slowly, our whole family became involved in one way or another. Isabel, the showoff, had to one-up everyone by taking over as the manager a couple of years ago when the owner was ready to spend more time with her family.
Perks of being sister of the manager was a private place to work out my lunchtime frustrations when my former crush, minor though it might have been, turned out to be a major league asshole. Flopping onto the floor next to her, I stretched my legs out and hissed at the burn in my quads. "If you do more squats tonight in class, I'll walk out."
"No, you won't," she said. "That's the reason your ass looks so phenomenal."
I sighed. "True."
"What happened?"
No sigh this time, but a deep, tortured, dramatic groan. "Do I have to talk about it?"
Isabel laid down next to me and folded her arms calmly over her middle. "Yes. I'm bored and have no life outside of work, and I'd like to live vicariously through your drama. Just like I always have."
And it was true. I was older than Iz by two years, and she was two years older than our twin sisters, Lia and Claire. The small gap in ages between four girls meant that we were up in each other's business allllll the time.
I shifted, stretching an arm over my chest. "He was so … mean. And all I did was get onto an elevator. Like I even knew he was in there!"
"And you haven't seen him even once since, you know, the incident?" she asked delicately. Which should've been humorous because it was Isabel. She didn’t do anything delicately.
"Nope." I pulled my gloves off and tossed them over by my bag. Sitting up, I wrapped my fingers around my toes to stretch the backs of my legs. Isabel sat up too, tucking her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I mean, I knew he played for Miami because I hear his name all the time. It's not like I was clueless about what he was doing, but"—I shrugged—"he was just the guy I used to have a crush on. I had lots of crushes in high school. He was hardly special."
Isabel pursed her lips.
"Shut up," I said. "I know what you're going to say."
"Do you, though?"
I tugged at the Velcro around my wrist and slowly unwound my sweaty wraps from my hand. "I can make an excellent guess."
Iz set her chin on her knees and watched me. She used to do that as a kid, too. Watch everything around her. Soak it up and process what she observed. It was what made her a good listener because she saw everything.