Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“True. But do you know what she did know?”
It’s the tease in his voice that has me grimacing.
“She knew I packed a hard eight inches.”
“Fucking hell,” I say, chuckling. “Don’t tell me you screwed Patsy. She was in her sixties back then.”
“Damn right, I did. Remember that little apron she wore when she made hamburgers?”
I laugh in a mixture of disbelief and absolute belief, shaking my head. I’m not certain if he’s telling me the truth or just messing with me. But if he really did fuck Patsy, I won’t be surprised. “Stop it.”
“I only banged her out once,” he says, egging me on. “She sucked me off once after that—”
“Dammit, Brooks. Stop.”
“—but it did get me a free pass into the bar as long as I didn’t abuse it.”
“Abuse the privilege or her pussy?”
“Both.” He cackles. “I’ll admit to you that I’ve done a few things that I look back at and can’t believe I did them. Patsy is one.”
I open my water again and take a long, cold drink. “How did I not know about this?”
“You were at rugby camp, I think. I was left to my own devices.” He sighs. “So enough about me and my sexcapades. How is it going with you?”
How’s it going with me? Instead of answering, I chug the rest of the water.
There was a time in my life when I told Brooks everything. Hell, if he wasn’t involved in whatever I was doing, he got pictures of it later. But the idea of spilling my guts to him—spewing the bullshit in my brain all over him—feels weird. And feeling weird makes it even stranger.
“It was my first week,” I say, starting slowly. “So you know, there were a lot of things to figure out. Systems, processes. That sort of thing.”
“But it went well?”
I nod. “Yeah, it went fine. My teammates are great.” Except Breaker. “The staff is the best of the best. And the culture here is results-driven. It’s a total championship mindset, which is nice.”
“Hartley said you play your first game with them next weekend?”
“No. Next weekend is a bye week. I’m not sure whether we’re practicing on Friday or not because a few guys said that they usually take a three-day weekend just to let their bodies heal up and rest.”
“Well, damn. I was going to come up and watch you.”
I place the empty glass bottle into the sink and try to ignore the warmth rising in my chest. No one has come to watch me play since Caroline. I’ve learned not to look in the stands. I don’t scan the crowd before we play. I don’t listen for my name anymore. The idea of walking onto the pitch and knowing Brooks was there would mean a lot to me.
“That would’ve been great,” I say, glancing at the clock. “I think I’m going to drive down Friday or Saturday. Will you be around?”
“Hell, yeah. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll let you know for sure by midweek,” I say.
“Sounds like a plan.”
I clear my throat as my heartbeat picks up. “Okay, I gotta get off here. I have a meeting with my assistant in a couple of hours, and I need to get a few things sorted.”
“Hart mentioned you had an assistant. How’s that going?”
A grin tugs at the corner of my lips. “Oh, it’s going.”
“A truce it is. But the first time you turn around and bite my head off for no good reason, I’ll have Gianna taser you.”
Brooks waits for an explanation, but there’s not one that comes to mind that accurately depicts Astrid Lawsen. She’s frustrating and a giant pain in my ass, but she’s also surprisingly great at her job. I can’t lie. My schedule is packed and a little overdone, but I’ve been more prepared the last couple of days than I’ve been in my life. Every morning when I wake up and have my coffee and reach for my supplements, I think about how nice it is just to have it all at my fingertips.
That would be easy enough to explain.
The other parts of her? Not so much.
I don’t want to be curious about her—I want to dislike her and forget her—but Astrid is a porcupine. She’s sharp and dangerous on the outside to protect what I suspect is a delicate and vulnerable inside.
And that’s too complicated to get into with Brooks.
“I’ll get with you next week,” I say, heading toward my bedroom.
“All right, my man. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Bye.”
“Later.”
The line disconnects, and I turn off my screen. Before I can toss it on my bed, it rings again in my hand. I look down at the name and my stomach sinks.
I take a deep breath. “Hey.”
“Sorry to call on a Sunday.”
“No worries, Joe. What’s up?”
Papers shuffle. His breathing’s labored, which makes me wonder how much longer he can do this before he drops dead.