Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes at my sister. “I don’t need a Greek god.”
“You so need a Greek god,” she retorts.
Laughing, I check my hip against hers playfully. “You’re right. I so need a Greek god. One who can fulfill all my fantasies and preferably cook me breakfast in the morning before he leaves.”
“You should have taken him up on his offer,” she chides. “You’ve blown that shot.”
“I have his number,” I muse for all of three seconds before I talk myself off the ledge. “But no… even if I was tempted, he’s way too young.”
“He most certainly is not,” she exclaims.
“Way too young,” I reiterate. “But gosh, he was pretty to look at, right?”
“You’re an idiot,” she says glumly.
“If you say so,” I reply and then take her elbow. “Come on… let’s get that kiddo and do something fun today. I suggest clothes shopping.”
CHAPTER 5
King
The clatter of weights fills the expansive workout room of the Pittsburgh Titans’ arena, the sound echoing off the sleek concrete and glass walls. It’s a Monday and we’re fresh off a win over the Detroit Cardinals at home yesterday. The atmosphere crackles with the lingering energy of triumph, a definite vibe we’ve maintained so far this season. Rafferty and I are in the thick of our deadlift routine, the iron plates clinking as we push ourselves to the limit.
The state-of-the-art facilities are the nicest I’ve ever seen, a testament to the team’s commitment to excellence. The workout room itself is a sprawling six thousand square feet, lined with rows of gleaming exercise equipment and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the tranquil waters of the Allegheny River. The glass reflects the morning sunlight, casting a diffuse glow over the space and offering a breathtaking view of the Pittsburgh skyline in the distance.
Rafferty and I have taken to working out together, mainly because we’re similar in size, build and strength—both of us defensemen. Also, because Rafferty is probably the guy I’m closest to on the team.
For our last set, we stacked three hundred pounds on the barbell. Hands chalked and his belt tightened, Rafferty attacks the deadlift with determination, his muscles rippling as he executes each pull with precision. The last two are a struggle, his face turning red as he grunts through the exertion. When he gets the last one up, he drops it to the mat with a release of air and unlocks his belt.
“Nice,” I commend.
“That last one was a bitch,” he huffs.
Three hundred isn’t the max weight either of us can lift but we’re working on endurance today so we’re keeping it light. Plus we’ve already done four sets, if you include the warm-up.
I step up to the barbell, take a breath and lock my belt into place. Spreading my feet barely shoulder-width apart, I let my shins graze the metal bar. Bending, I position my hands in a switch grip, something I’ve had to go to because of an irritating elbow tendon that sometimes protests, and suck in a breath.
I count the reps at the top, blow out air, take in more and lower it back down again.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight.
I drop the weights to the ground and unlatch the belt, taking in more oxygen. I look at my Apple watch, note that my heart rate barely got above 125 on that set and wonder if we should have gone heavier.
“That didn’t even look hard,” Rafferty grumbles.
“It wasn’t easy,” I counter.
“Let’s do another set,” he says, moving to the plates and pulling two fifteens off the rack to take our total to three hundred and thirty pounds.
“Sure.” I nab my water bottle for a few sips as he sets up the barbell.
“Man, you wouldn’t believe the crazy chick I’m dealing with,” Rafferty says as he slides on a plate and clamps it.
“Oh yeah?” My interest is mildly piqued because I feel like Rafferty starts every story about a woman that way.
“She works for the Titans in the marketing department… like a manager or something, I’m not sure. When I tell you she’s smokin’ hot, I mean I got burned just looking at her.” I snort at the imagery but know he’s probably not exaggerating. “Anyway… I asked her out. We hit it off, had a few drinks, and well… one thing led to another and she wound up at my place that night and let’s just say—”
I hold up my hand. “Let’s not say anything. I can figure out what happened.”
“Anyway, we went our separate ways the next morning with no expectations we’d ever see each other again. It was like… this was fun. Have a great life.” Rafferty grins, moves to clamp on the other plate. “But now, she’s texted about going out again and I’m just not interested. And I keep running into her so it’s awkward because she keeps asking if I want to get together.”