And then without another word, Banner and Nichole take off together. Their job is done.

Now it’s time to wipe that frown off Myla’s face.

Hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “Crazy how that all worked out.”

She eyes me, those light-blue eyes carving me with sheer suspicion. “Yeah . . . crazy.”

“But hey, we’re here, might as well do some baking.”

Head tilted to the side, she asks, “Don’t you have practice or something?”

“Off day.”

“Uh-huh, and you just so happen to like to bake on your off days?”

“Thought I would try something new. Is there something wrong with me baking?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who enjoys baking, you know, since last time I checked, you barely keep food in your pantry.”

“I’ve changed my ways.”

“Have you?” she asks with a tilt of her brow as she moves toward our kitchen setup. Ten individual counters in the classroom each have their own stove, oven, sink, mini fridge, and appliances as well as utensils.

“Yes, I have. I now make sure I have pretzels in my pantry at all times.”

“Pretzels? Why is that a requirement?”

“I was reacquainted with them a while back, and now I always have them at my house.”

“And how were you reacquainted with them?” She picks up a folded apron from the counter and drapes it over her head. I do the same.

“I like to eat them with a few of the guys before games. We all sit in the cafeteria together, chat, and have fruit and pretzels.”

She pauses as she’s tying the string of her apron to look me in the eye. “That sounds so . . . elementary. Like you’re sharing a snack in the schoolyard.”

“We keep things simple.”

“I guess I just thought you would be sucking down pre-game powder and pumping iron. But sitting around the table with fruit and pretzels? Well, that paints a new picture in my head of professional athletes.”

I chuckle. “Is that a positive picture or a negative picture?”

“Positive,” she says as I tie my apron. “I like that you’re not some meathead jock, looking to break bats over your knees and whatnot.”

“Never said I wasn’t that guy either.”

“Please.” She shakes her head. “I don’t believe it for a second. You’re all mushy on the inside, aren’t you?”

“No, hard as a rock.”

She rolls her eyes. “Tell me this, when you’re traveling for away games, how many women do you bring back to your hotel room?”

“Hundreds,” I answer. “Sometimes ten at a time.” If only she knew I never take women back to my hotel. It’s just not my thing.

She smirks and props her hip against the table as the instructor walks into the room and starts setting up her station at the front. “Ten, huh? Wow, you must go through a box of condoms a night.”

“I get paid so much, so I can afford all the condoms.”