Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Honestly, I’m just amazed at how quickly you’ve pulled this all together. Getting the team involved with the local foodbank and soup kitchen is a beautiful way to give back to the community. And I love that this charity game you’ve set up includes a food donation. It’s meaningful in the best way.”
“They’re such an outstanding group of athletes, and I know how much it means to them and other young women who are looking at this path. It’s a great merging of community work and team commitment.”
She smiles. “I absolutely agree. Thank you for taking this on.”
“It’s the offseason, so I have some time, and it’s absolutely a pleasure. We can meet with the team next week, and I’ll work on setting up a rotating schedule in the meantime. If there are other promotional opportunities you’d like help securing, I’m happy to assist.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
We lob a few more ideas back and forth, discussing the logistics, the team’s schedule, and their availability before Denise thanks me and heads back to the arena for practice.
I’ve just started tackling my email when there’s a knock on my office door.
Dallas pokes his pretty head in. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
He runs a hand through his hair. During playoffs, the guys always get a little unkempt. Some of the playoff beards—especially on the rookies—are pretty scraggly. Others use it as an excuse to forget what a razor even is.
But Dallas always keeps things neat around the edges, and as soon as playoffs are over, he loses the beard. But he hasn’t gotten a haircut yet, so it curls at the nape of his neck and around his ears. I try desperately not to give in to the memory of how it felt between my fingers when I rode his face the other night, but it’s too late. The image, the sounds…they’ve been living rent free in my head, and I’ve gotten myself off to them more than once. It’s a problem. Especially with the way my body is already preparing for another round of baptism by pussy.
“What do you need?” I’m embarrassingly breathy. I grip the edge of my desk so I don’t get up, lock my door, and offer myself to him. I’m at work, for fuck’s sake. I’m already the topic of too much office gossip these days.
“I brought you flowers.” He produces a bouquet of lilies. I dislike how much I appreciate them, and the fact that he’s varied the type of flower. “And lunch.” He holds up a bag from my favorite café.
I cross my arms. “Why? What did you do now?” I’m reasonably wary. Every time Dallas has done something nice recently—sexual favors aside—it’s caused me an incredible amount of stress, not limited to, but including signing contracts, relinquishing my freedom, cutting out my fuck buddy, turning me into his fake fiancée, an all-out engagement dinner with our friends and his parents, and forcing me to trust him when his past behavior with me has been nothing but red flags.
“Nothing that I’m aware of. I just know you had a busy weekend with your family in town, and this week is more of the same. I was in the area, and I thought flowers might brighten your day and food might be welcome since sometimes you skip lunch in lieu of a bag of Cherry Blasters. No shade to Cherry Blasters, but they’re not very satisfying. I got you the salad with sweet potatoes and candied walnuts. And the charcuterie board sandwich with peach chutney, and an iced latte, but with the sweet cream foam and no syrup.”
I don’t know why it still shocks me that he knows exactly what my favorites are. Especially with Shilpa around for him to ask. But instead of saying thank you like a normal person, I blurt, “Hammer will be here in a few minutes. We’re going to the retirement village.”
“Oh. Is it for something special?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was hurt that I didn’t invite him. But it’s only been two days since my brothers took him on the longest hike in the history of the world, after which he came over and ate me like a starved man, so I was giving us some much-needed space. He’s too damn good at getting me off. I want more, and that’s a problem. Also, my hate for him is eroding because he keeps doing sweet shit, and it’s making my life even more challenging.
I don’t want to like Dallas or be addicted to his orgasms. He’s only providing them out of obligation because he’s turned my life into a circus. It’s an obligation, not a desire. Considering anything different makes me feel vulnerable, and it’s a slippery slope. I can’t keep my feelings about Dallas out of the equation, and they’re becoming a tangled mess.