Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
That must be her boss since the woman says, “Take your time. And for the love of all that is holy, please check out the new taco truck and tell me if I should go there tonight.”
“Tacos are always a good idea, Marisa,” she says, then we head out.
“So, is that your book club Friday night?”
“It sure is. I started it online but brought it into the store,” she says, sounding proud of her accomplishment. “Are you angling to join us? I should warn you, we’re discussing a super-spicy football romance this week.”
I sneer. “Should have been hockey.”
“We can’t have all the books be about hockey.”
“Why not?”
“Well, if every romance is about hockey, then where’s the anticipation? Where’s the tease?”
“Ah, I get it. The football romances are the foreplay, but the hockey romances come in and finish the job.”
“Exactly. And we all need a good tease, don’t we? I mean, you’re kind of a tease,” she says.
I lean a touch closer to her as we continue our stroll past a café with a chalkboard menu, listing more coffee drinks than should be legal. “So are you.”
She shoots me a smile that feels private, even though we’re in public. And I like it far too much. So I clear my throat and shift gears. “You’ll take more pics at the library?”
“Yes, and I did a little something for you.” There’s a little wobble in her voice as she opens her phone.
“Okay. What is it?” I ask, guarded.
“I set up an account for you since you don’t have any socials,” she says, and shit is getting real, but she quickly assures me. “It’s private right now. You can review it before we make it public. I grabbed some of the shots of you from the team’s feed. And then I think we can just add to it here and there,” she says, and her voice pitches up as she shows me the screen while we walk.
Warily, I check it out. There are a couple pictures from this season, from practices and games—standard media kit stuff. Then a picture from a game last year, a hard-fought one where we eked out a victory at the last minute. Another one of the team walking down a corridor of an arena in our suits. And damn. There’s a shot of me playing in college. Trina did her research.
Then a couple more. A pic of my oldest sister, Ivy, and me at a fashion show Ivy dragged me to several months ago. She’s been writing about fashion trends for a bunch of places, trying to make her mark in that world. The image is a selfie she snapped of the two of us in front of the runway. Finally, there is a picture of my mom and me from a few years ago. I’m hugging her after a game. “Where did you get that? And the one of Ivy and me?”
“The other morning I asked Chase to send me some,” she says, and it comes out like a confession. “He reached out to your mom and he got these pictures. I thought because you’re so close to your family, it’d be another cool thing to show on your feed. What do you think?”
She sounds so hopeful.
And I think my heart thumps annoyingly for her. She’s been in my life for less than a week and she’s already done something incredibly nice, but also something that feels…real. The woman figured me out in only a few days. “Thank you,” I say, my throat a little tight with unexpected emotion.
“You’re welcome.” She sounds happy, and I like the sound of that. “Oh, also, she said to remind you that you’re having lunch with her and Chase’s mom next week, after you both return from your next away series.” Trina gives a crisp nod. “Whew, hopefully I got that message right.”
I smile. “You did. And it’s on the schedule.”
“You’re close with her?” she asks as we walk. Her tone is curious, but not pushy. When I first met her, I suspected she was up to no good with all her questions. Now, I can hear her legit interest in people, and in me. Which I like too.
“My dad took off when I was in middle school, so it’s my job to look after her and my sisters,” I say, and that’s more than I tell most people.
“That’s why you didn’t like Boner Boy,” she says, and I jerk my gaze to her in question. “At Katie’s prom. You really do worry about boys and your sisters,” she says.
I sure do. “Yeah. I don’t want them to get hurt.”
“Did your dad hurt your mom?” she asks.
I tense at the mention of him. But I don’t hold back this time. Trina’s been so warm, so open, in bed and out of bed. I don’t trust easily, but I trust her. “Not physically. But he insulted her when he was drinking. Put her down. Then, cheated on her. He wasn’t a good guy, Trina,” I say, my jaw ticking as I think of the man my mom finally freed herself from. “When she got rid of him, I made a vow to myself to always look out for them.”