Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Her eyes are peering into mine, jumping left and right like she’s looking for the trick or the lie or trying to figure out the manipulation, but there’s only honesty here. I press a kiss to her lips, and then I whisper, “Let me do the dishes so you can shine.”
Her smile is my new favorite. It’s full of hope and, for the first time since I met her, relief.
“I’m going to start a load of laundry,” she says quietly. It’s not quite the shine I was hoping for, but it’s a start.
And by the time Harley’s shower water turns off, the kitchen is clean, the washer is running, the living room is picked up, and Briar and I are sitting on the couch, kissing. Luckily, Harley has heavy footsteps so we stop before he comes in, but his eyes still bounce from Briar to me, and he seems pretty aware of what he interrupted. “Dom, can you tuck me in again?”
“Absolutely,” I tell him, getting up.
Are we playing house? Yes. Am I loving every bit of it? Also yes. Briar and Harley are a set, one I’m falling for more and more with each passing minute.
Chapter 18
Dominic
“What’s the plan?” Rodney asks, launching himself at the bed in my hotel room. He bounces three times before coming to a stop with his feet hanging off the side and his head propped up on a hand.
“First, get off my bed,” I snap. But I’m grinning, glad he’s comfortable with me, but truly not wanting his germs where I’m going to sleep tonight. “Group meeting in the lobby in fifteen, then dinner.” I hold up my phone where I just texted the team group chat tonight’s agenda.
He nods respectfully, climbing up from the bed and even dusting it off. “On it.” But he pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder, “Think Kipson will come?”
I don’t know.
Kipson and Anderson have had it out since the season opener, with some pushing and shoving in the locker room, but also a lot of harsh words, and I’m not sure whatever friendship—and I’m using the word loosely—they had will ever be repaired.
“Hope so. He’s gotta eat, so there’s a chance.”
Rodney holds up his crossed fingers as he steps into the hall, and I swing the door closed behind him.
With a sigh, I look to the ceiling for divine intervention, telling myself, “Keep at it, Lee.” I’m doing my best to create some camaraderie in this team, but it feels like using a plastic spoon to dig up concrete with how set in their ways these guys are.
I pull on jeans and a button-down and head downstairs, hoping to not have dinner alone. When the elevator doors open, I’m shocked at the gathering waiting there—Rodney, Tomville, Bill, Sabine, Pacholek, Anderson, Kipson, plus several other players. At least half the team is sprawled across the couches and chairs and sitting on the coffee tables and end tables. I scan the group, shocked to my core.
“Hey . . . everyone,” I say haltingly.
“Hope you made reservations,” Kipson tells me. The dumbass on the end is silent, but there all the same in his tone.
Considering I was reasonably sure only a few guys might come, I most definitely did not make reservations. Still, I nod cockily, feigning confidence I don’t have. “Yeah, let’s check out the hotel restaurant.”
Surely they can get us in?
Thankfully, they do, leading us to a table in the out-of-sight back corner since we’re not dressed to fit their jackets-required dress code. The waiter’s face stays perfectly stoic, giving no reaction to having this many large, already too-loud guys at his table.
“Chicken breast, seasonal vegetables, light sauce,” I order. I notice that Rodney, Tomville, and Bill are all listening to me and then repeat the same order, though Tomville requests a double serving of chicken. Afterward, they glance at me and I reward them with a small dip of my chin, acknowledging their good choices.
“They just do whatever you tell them to, don’t they?” Anderson sneers. “Like little puppies on a chain, following the big dog around.”
My face hard and jaw set to stone, I cut cold eyes his way. “Woof. Woof,” I say flatly, letting my voice go low and dark.
The air charges between us and I take the measure from me to him on the other side of the white tablecloth–covered surface. He knows I’m the one who told Kipson what he said about Sofia, and since he has less than zero chances of winning against a brokenhearted beast with nothing to lose like Kipson, Anderson has decided that redirecting his anger toward the messenger—yours truly—is the next best thing. Only problem with that plan is, he can try to start shit with me, but I’m more than ready to dish it back out to him.