Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
But lusting after coffee?
Totally acceptable.
A cardboard carrying case holding two coffees sits next to him, along with various packets of sugar and cream.
He nods to the coffee. “Didn’t know how you took it.”
I suppress the urge to say, Usually pretty enthusiastically. Even without the retort, Adam turns a color Crayola would probably call Mortification Red.
Guessing he realized how he sounded. A little dirty. I don’t entirely object.
“Sugar’s good.” I grab two packets, shake them, and dump them into my coffee. We’re not going to make it through the week if we don’t dial down the innuendo. Which I’ll do. Right now. Once I have caffeine. And breakfast. Maybe a workout. Possibly take a shower.
It’s not entirely on me. Because are we ever going to acknowledge that he flirts his ass off with me—but also ran out of my house in Arizona? I’m not avoiding the riddle of my new roomie. I just don’t know how to solve it. So I’m waiting for a more opportune time.
If there ever is one. “Thanks for the coffee,” I eke out. Kinda sucked when you pulled your pants on and left last time, I don’t say. Even if it was just a hookup. At least he was honest about it. I have no reason to feel this way, other than that I do. It’d be easier if he was an asshole. But Adam is actually this nice.
“No problem.” Adam takes another sip of coffee, then clears his throat. “I was thinking about looking at some apartments later.”
Oh. I hide my surprise with another drink. I wasn’t expecting him to take off so soon. But that’s his style. Too bad, since I want him gone for my sanity, I also kind of don’t. This place is empty without someone else, ever since my last roommate, who was one of our relief pitchers, got traded in the Pilots’ endless revolving door of players. Hearing Adam rustling around last night was nice. There’s something oddly comforting about the low sound of the TV from another room, especially when that sound doesn’t escalate.
“Where are you looking? Need any tips?” I ask. At least I can be helpful. He doesn’t need to know I like the quiet company, especially since he’s already got one foot out the door.
“Here.” Adam thrusts his phone at me, as if to prove he’s looking at listings. On it, a Zillow page. “What do you think?”
I take his phone, reading through the description of an apartment within an easy drive to the ballpark. Two bedrooms. A doorman. A state-of-the-art gym with an Olympic-sized pool. “Looks perfect.” My lack of enthusiasm must show because he raises his very nice eyebrows in question. How are his eyebrows that attractive? Truly, I must be under-caffeinated.
“I was going to check it out tomorrow,” he says. “If you wanted to come, that’d be cool.” A small smile with that, one that I find more persuasive than I should. He’s your teammate. He left the night you sucked him off. And he might be taking your roster spot. My muscles tighten. There—that’s the resentment I should be feeling.
“Tomorrow sounds great,” I manage. Because the sooner he’s out of here the sooner I can get back to normal. Nights alone. No one to bug me. Or lie to me about what he’s up to. Perfectly alone. Which is definitely what I want.
We navigate the rest of the morning with limited contact. Adam goes to his room and I retreat to mine. He leaves the door open, even during a phone conversation: a call to his parents from the sound of it. They’re talking about the trade, and he classifies me as a buddy from the team who let me stay with him.
I can’t imagine calling my parents or stepparents. Certainly not having a long conversation with them. The last time I spoke with them was…Christmas, maybe. Shit, that was six months ago. I should probably set a reminder to check in every few months to make sure everyone’s still all right. Or as all right as they get.
At least this year no one from the team bugged me about whether my dad would be coming on the annual “dads” trip for Father’s Day, where all the dads, uncles, and grandpas travel with the team. If I get traded somewhere else, I’ll have to go through telling the front office all over again. Yay.
Adam steps out of his room just as I’m getting ready to head to the ballpark. “I was talking to my parents,” he says. “They wanted to know when they can come see me play.”
I know that’s a thing parents do, but it always comes with a certain level of surprise. “Do they come to your games a lot?” I ask as I gather my wallet and phone from the living room.