Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Josie’s pretty pink lips twitch for a few seconds till she says brightly, “You too.” She pauses before she adds, “Wesley.”
“All right,” Christian says, brushing one palm over the other. “My work as the problem solver is done.” He shoots me a stern stare with his steely ice-blue eyes, colder than his sister’s, more calculating. “See you at morning skate on Sunday. And don’t forget what I told you earlier.”
I fight off a grimace and paste on a smile. “We’re all good.”
As Christian heads to the players’ lot exit, Everly rolls her eyes, then says, “Let me guess what he told you earlier. Is it the antiquated, sexist, don’t touch my sister rule?”
She asks it like she wants to step on that rule and stub it into the ground with her heels.
“Um, yeah,” I say, embarrassed on behalf of testosterone and its stupidity.
“Men,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Seriously.” She turns back to Josie. “Listen, if there’s anything you need, I’d be more than happy to help out.”
“You don’t have to,” Josie says.
“I want to,” Everly says, boss mode activated completely. “I work with these guys every day. They can be—”
“Ornery kangaroos?” Josie offers.
I shudder. “Kangaroos can be mean.”
Everly lifts a finger. “Precisely.” Then to Josie she says, “Text or call anytime. We can talk about survival tactics.”
For the first time since she spotted me, Josie smiles. “That would be great.”
Everly gestures down the hall. “I’m off to the media room. Thanks again for taking a few questions earlier, Wesley.”
“Anytime,” I say, and when she takes off, I’m left alone with the woman I wanted to ask to hang out again. The woman I wrote a note for. The woman I’ve been obsessing over all damn week.
“We don’t have to do this,” she says quickly, her eyes flickering with worry. Fear, too, like I’m going to yank the offer out from under her.
No way. She needs a place. Just like she needed pants on Sunday night. “It’s cool,” I say, and I’m about to reassure her further when Max and Asher stream out of the locker room, followed by Hugo.
Ah, hell. I’m not in the mood for a group introduction. I drop my voice. “Want to get some food and talk?”
She nods, and I point toward the players’ exit before they can head there. My dad came to the game tonight, but I already talked to him right when it ended, so I’ve done my part.
Josie and I walk together to the door, but the coach exits his office as I pass it. I straighten my shoulders the second I see Noah McBride. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, his short hair is neat, and his expression is intense—it’s only ever intense. The man does not mess around.
“Hey, Coach,” I say.
He chin-nods toward me. “Good game, Bryant. Keep it up.”
It’s said evenly, without emotion or a clap on the back. But I don’t need an attaboy. Those six words are more than enough.
“I will, Coach.”
Then he nods toward Josie. “Evening, Ms. Winters.”
Holy fuck. Even Coach knows she’s Christian’s sister?
She smiles his way. “Hello, Mr. McBride. Good to see you again.”
With a crisp nod, he heads the other way, and I lead Josie to the exit. I’m tempted to put a hand on her back as we walk.
But I don’t.
I can’t anymore because…karma.
12
THE ROOMIE RULE
Wesley
I have so many questions. But first things first. I open the car door for her when my gaze swings to the backseat and the evidence of my intentions on it.
That won’t do. As she’s sliding into the front seat, I quickly yank on the door handle for the back, then grab the bag, muttering, “Just a sec.”
“No worries,” she says.
As she buckles in I fish out the now pointless note. I stuff it into my back pocket.
That letter she left on hotel stationery wasn’t a clue after all. It wasn’t a treasure hunt, like I’d mistakenly thought the morning after. She’s just a girl who’s got a lot on her plate and legit had to jet in the morning.
It’s fine. Really, it is.
I slam the door harder than I’d expected, then head to the driver’s side. Once I’m in the car, I hand her the bag. “Here you go,” I say, then turn on the car and cruise through the lot.
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Wesley!”
Fuck me. That excited sound. The smell of her perfume—cinnamon and my dirty dreams. Her lush chestnut hair. This is harder than scoring on the New York goalie.
“You left it behind,” I say in a statement of the obvious. But hell if I’m going to let on how goddamn excited I was to find it the other day.
“Thank you so much. I went back to the hotel that afternoon to the lost and found. But they didn’t have it.”
She went back to check on a scarf? But not to ask for my name?