Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Relax.”
“You fucking relax, Juan!” I snapped. “She doesn’t know anyone in the city. Put yourself in her shoes.”
He quieted, then shrugged. “I’d just hole up at a bar and wait it out. Eventually you’ll get back to her.”
But shit happened. All the fucking time.
I’d ditched girls before. And if she went on social media and searched, I knew she could pull up a few. But none of them were like her. They were the one-use girls. A screw. No promises given. They’d known what was happening, and while most were fine with it, there were always a few who wanted more, expected more.
This life, knowing how Charlie handled pressure—a part of me couldn’t stop worrying she’d decided to ditch me. If I went to the airport, would I find her there, trying to go through security? Or what if she’d already gotten through security?
What a great fucking start to whatever we were doing.
I growled and punched a plastic ball. It shot across the room. Ignoring everyone’s looks, I started pacing.
“It’s the only thing I could hit.” I couldn’t damage my hands.
Juan was laughing. Again.
“Shut the fuck up, Juan, or I’m going to punch you.”
He laughed harder.
“Okay.” Stan came over. “I’ll talk to security, see if they can find her on the cameras. If she left the way everyone leaves, maybe we can see the car she left in? How about that?”
“You can do that?”
“I’m your manager. Trust me. I can pull a few strings.”
“Then why are you fucking offering now? The game ended an hour ago.”
He shot up his hands, but turned and left.
And I just kept wanting to do violence.
Roman. Charlie missing. My phone at my house.
I wanted to do more than violence. I hated this feeling. It was clawing up in me, rising, filling me, and I couldn’t work it out.
“Reese.”
“What?”
Marie lifted her head from Juan’s shoulder, somber. “She said she wasn’t permanent.”
I frowned. “What’s that mean?”
She shrugged, settling back into Juan’s side. “She was saying it to Stan when I walked up to them. I don’t think she knows I overheard her.”
Not permanent?
Foreboding filled me. The fuck?
CHARLIE
I’ll be honest.
I wasn’t too sure about my relationship with Seattle.
Two business guys eyed me from across the room at the hotel bar. I had my back to them, and I was trying to shred every napkin within reach manically to scare them away, but they didn’t seem to be taking the hint. Their smirks only grew the longer I stayed. I’d gotten three dirty looks from the staff, so I ordered a drink. The waters weren’t doing it for them, but I was feeling quite sober now, so I figured one drink was fine. I could nurse it, keep my wits about me, and decide what time to give up on Reese.
He’d ditched me.
It was almost three hours after the game, and still no text.
I wished I had some willpower, but I didn’t.
Me: Ever think saltwater and freshwater have a conversation and ask which one is better?
Me: A follow-up: Would you outlaw pervy old business guys or celebrate them? Have a day just for them?
Me: I’m trying to look crazy to scare off two guys. Shredding my napkins and laughing like a hyena isn’t working. Suggestions?
Me: If they approach, I’m going to start talking to my barstool.
I had more in me, but the server was coming back around. I’d been nursing my drink for the last hour. He stopped, eyed the pile of napkin pieces and asked, “Want more napkins?”
I burped. “God, yes.”
Shit. I should’ve been louder. The guys hadn’t heard me.
ESPN was on. They’d moved past talking about the game and talking about Reese, and were on to the daily highlights. It was early in the season, but there were other sports going on too. Why couldn’t they talk about one of them?
Oh. Right.
Reese. Seattle.
Made sense.
I needed to add this to the con list regarding my relationship with Seattle. Dating one of the city’s celebrated pro athletes after he’d ditched you? Most definitely a con.
My phone buzzed, and I considered heralding it in the air and yelling, “Hallelujah!”
The business guys were past drunk by now. They probably wouldn’t have even heard, but I tried to slow down how quickly I checked my phone.
I wasn’t desperate or anything.
I opened the screen, and my lungs deflated. It was a text from Grant.
Grant: That game was awesome tonight. Caught it on TV. How’s the trip? How’s your man?
Right. It was just past nine there.
I didn’t have it in me to text him back, but I would in the morning. I might need tips on how to get my carry-on back from Reese. Buzz!
Another Grant one, I assumed, reaching to read it, but no!
Reese: HOLY FUCK! I left my phone at my house. Traffic fucking sucks. I’m coming to get you. Where are you?