Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“That’ll be fun.” A pang of jealousy hits me. I wish I could go out with him, celebrate with him and our friends. Wish I could be there to be his sole focus because fuck knows there will be plenty of other women just waiting—
No.
Stop.
We’re not going down that road.
He said he didn’t want to pretend anymore, and we aren’t.
Have we laid out strict terms, like we’re exclusive? Nope. But that doesn’t matter, I know Nash. He’d never do anything to hurt me like that.
“I’ll miss you,” he says, soothing that raging jealously inside me.
“Miss you,” I say before we hang up.
I set my phone to do not disturb and do my best to focus. I need to create something that will get our engagement back to a less precarious ground.
I just hope like hell I can manage it.
CHAPTER 17
NASH
“That effort you showed out there,” Coach says, pointing behind him to the ice from where he stands near the boards. The rest of the team is strung along the benches in front of him, trying desperately to catch our breath. “Is what is going to take us all the way.” He drops his hand, smiling at us. “I’m so proud of the unit we’ve become. And each time you take the ice like you just did in practice? I know we’re going to the top!” He claps, and the rest of the team does too, myself included.
It was a grueling practice, and while I know everyone has to be as desperate as me to get the hell out of here, we wait while Coach talks to some of us individually.
“Excuse me,” a tall red-haired woman in a pencil skirt and a white blouse says as she moves along the small amount of aisle space between the boards and the benches, eyes on Baylor. “Sorry,” she says after bumping into my skates.
“No worries, Elise,” I say, nodding up to Elise Fullman, Baylor’s agent. Not only Baylor’s, actually. A few of the guys have signed with her. She’s one of the best sports agents on the east coast.
She smiles down at me, working her way down the bench, her high heels that she’s never without making the trek more difficult than it should be. Knowing her, whatever she has to tell Baylor is urgent or she wouldn’t bother with the difficulty.
“Oh!” Her light squeal draws my attention again, and I gape as I watch her trip over someone else’s skates. She wobbles on her heels, trying to right herself before failing. She’s about to topple to the floor before she corrects and lands in the arms of none other the Clay Kiplin.
Uh oh.
His hands are glove-free, but the rest of his gear is on, making her look tiny in his arms. She’s sprawled on his lap, eyes wide as she looks like he might tear her head off at any minute for falling into his lap like she had.
I’m about to get up and rescue her, but Clay easily pops her on her feet.
“That’s why you shouldn’t wear heels in here,” he grumbles at her.
She visibly swallows, adjusting her outfit and lifting her chin. “Sorry, Captain,” she says with a good deal of snark, faux-saluting him before steadily walking to meet up with Baylor.
“Whew,” I say to Pax who sits next to me. “That was icy.”
Pax laughs. “She’s as tough as they come,” he says. “She’d eat Clay alive if he was her client.”
I laugh at that thought.
After a few personalized goals from Coach, we’re released, and we head to the showers. And now that my mind isn’t actively focused on practice, my thoughts immediately turn to Reese.
It's been a week, and I still haven't been able to connect with her, the two of us so incredibly busy during playoffs. I hate the sour taste it leaves in my stomach but it's hard to ignore. I feel like everything changed after the night we decided to stop playing pretend, but then we both got hit with career demands we couldn't ignore, and now I'm feeling the distance more than I ever have before.
This is completely new territory to me, and I don't know how to feel in my own skin. There are so many times in the past week that I’ve opened up a text, typing out something long and romantic, only to quickly delete it.
She's been so hard to get ahold of, and I can’t stop the fear mounting inside of me that she's making good on the joke she made when we first agreed to a fake relationship after New Year's Eve. The one where she was going to make me fall in love with her only to break my heart.
We’d laughed about it then, and I thought it was going to be super funny to watch her try.
I didn't think I was capable of falling in love, too focused on my career and my family to make room for anything else in my heart.