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)
He shakes his head. “I mean, I do have more. There’s one with a burger franchise that my agent hates that I took, and another with a sportswear company. But both of those are at the end of their terms, and I don’t owe them anything unless we negotiate an extension.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
“Yes, boss.”
My eyes lift to his to find them waiting on me.
I sink back against the sofa, mirroring his posture. His grin pulls at mine. I don’t want to slip and give him anything that breaks the strictly professional agreement we’ve created because we’re finally on semi-solid ground. Yet the longer I look at him, the harder it is not to smile back.
“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks, winking at me.
My cheeks flush.
He gets up and grabs his water bottle, then heads back to the kitchen. The silence isn’t awkward—just noticeable. I scramble to fill it with something. Anything.
“Do you want me to look into some side hustles for you?” I ask, reaching for my drink. “I know a guy who helps athletes set up camps and programs. I think he takes twenty percent of the proceeds, but it’s still profitable.”
“Are you hungry?”
I blink twice, staring at the television ahead of me. Am I hungry? “What?”
“A snack. Want one?”
He really is like trying to corral a toddler. “No. I’m good. Thanks, though.”
“No problem.”
I stand and then make my way to the kitchen, where I find Gray at the counter, peeling an orange.
“Any thoughts on me reaching out to the guy about the camps?” I ask again.
“Let’s keep that in mind, but it’s not something I want to do right now.” He pops a piece of fruit into his mouth. “I don’t know where I’ll be this offseason. If I’m around here, I think I’ll probably head home and spend some time with my brother.”
I climb onto a barstool while he peels another orange across from me. I pretend to make notes on my clipboard when I'm really trying to imagine Gray with his family and what home means to him. It’s hard to envision and impossible to guess which version of him they get, or if there are more versions of this man I haven’t uncovered yet.
He offers me a slice of the fruit. “There were no peanuts involved in the cutting of this orange.”
I laugh and take the proffered piece, surprised but also touched that he remembered. Even Gianna sometimes forgets about my allergy.
Our fingertips brush against each other as I take the section. His heavy, calloused pads sliding against mine sends a charge shooting through my veins. Despite the intensity, it’s a quiet shock—one that’s personal and intimate. I hold my breath a moment longer than necessary and soak in the lingering heat of the contact burrowing into my memory.
As my heart starts to pound, my brain takes over.
You’re not a robot. He’s a good-looking man, and it’s been a fortnight since you’ve had physical contact with the male species. Relax.
He clears his throat and grabs a towel from the drawer I piled them in the other night. Then he swipes up the juice that’s been dripping onto the countertop from the piece of fruit in my hand. That I didn’t notice was happening.
“I’m sorry,” I say, leaning back and refusing to look at him just in case he can read minds. “I didn’t realize it was dripping.”
“It’s no big deal.”
I quickly eat the orange slice, then drag my clipboard in front of me again, becoming engrossed in my notes. “What about groceries? Do you want to make a list of the things you like or want me to have delivered?”
“Nah.” He tosses the towel next to the sink. “You did a good job on it this week, even if I was afraid that you poisoned me.”
“I thought about it.” I hide a smile, going over the list of questions I wrote down before I left home. “Do you have any doctors or specialists that you see regularly that are not with the team?”
“Nope. Well, I do see a therapist from time to time.”
I cross that question off the list. “Well, that would be at the Royals facility, so I don’t need to make a separate entry for them.”
He hesitates, causing me to look up.
“I meant a mental health expert,” he says, licking a drop of juice from his bottom lip. His eyes are the clearest, most unguarded they’ve been since I’ve known him. “But I’ll handle those appointments. I kind of just make them when I need them.”
Oh.
We watch each other carefully, both of us searching the other’s gaze. I think he’s gauging my response to his admission. I’m just hoping this isn’t what will make him switch into cold Gray mode again.
I clutch my pen, listening to each breath that fills my lungs. Gray doesn’t look away or frown. He stands in front of me and lets me see … him. It’s almost as if he’s reassuring me that he’s holding true to his promise to make this work between us, and that he wants me to know it. That he’s giving me this one super-personal bit of information as a token of faith.