Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I’m nearly on the verge of blurting out an apology, although I’m not quite sure what I’d be apologizing for, when Foster points toward the island stools. “Want to sit?” he asks, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place.
I really don’t want to sit. My nerves are wired, my mind races and urges me to pace rather than sit, but I nod and take a seat anyway. Foster climbs onto the stool next to me, angling his body toward mine. My back is as straight as a rod, hands clasped tightly on the cool marble of the island top.
“I wanted to talk about what happened last week in the bathroom,” Foster starts, his tone serious.
“I’m sorry… I know you’re probably mad because I stopped it, but—” I rush to say, but he interrupts me.
“Mazzy… I’m not mad. On the contrary, I’m really glad it happened. It’s kind of made me realize some things.” His words are deliberate, his gaze fixed on me.
I cock my head, curiosity mixing with a tangle of other emotions. “What kind of things?”
“That I’m really disappointed it didn’t happen,” he says, and as I start to protest, to apologize, he holds up a hand to silence me. “But you were right to bring logic into it. To have us slow down. Consider things.”
I’m silent, processing his words.
“And I have been thinking about it a lot,” he continues. “Kept asking myself, why is this wrong? And I don’t think it is. Confusing, possibly, especially to Bowie Jane, so I talked to her about it.”
“You what?” I exclaim, the words bursting out of me.
“Relax,” Foster says with a small smile. “I told Bowie Jane that I wanted to ask you out, not that we almost kissed. I figured I needed to back up, do this right. But I still needed to know if Bowie Jane was okay with it.”
“And if she wasn’t?”
“Then you and I would have the best employer/employee relationship in history.” There’s a playful lightness in his voice.
I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing a little.
“But,” he continues, and I feel my laughter dying down, “Bowie Jane put her stamp of approval on it.”
The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and possibilities.
“So,” Foster says, his voice gentle but firm, “will you go out on a date with me?”
His question hangs in the air, a pivotal moment that feels like it’s stretching into eternity. My heart pounds, a mix of fear, excitement, and a thousand uncharted feelings all swirling together. The simplicity of his question belies the complexity of everything behind it, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words.
Ultimately though, there’s only one thing I can say. “I need to think about it.”
CHAPTER 18
Foster
In the visiting team’s locker room in Atlanta, the air is thick with the scent of determination and sweat. It’s a stark contrast to our home locker room in Pittsburgh. The walls here are painted the deep red and black of the Sting, with their logo dominating one side. It’s less familiar, less comforting, but it has the same energy—a space dedicated to preparation and focus. My teammates are in their own zones, some taping their sticks with practiced precision, others suited up and stretching, their muscles flexing and relaxing in a rhythm of anticipation.
As I pull on my jersey, my mind can’t help but drift back to the conversation with Mazzy last night. I asked her out, and she said she’d think about it. Those words keep replaying in my head. She’d acted like nothing had changed after that, moving back to making dinner, but everything had changed. The simple act of asking her out shifted something fundamental between us.
If she says yes, we could be starting something that goes beyond employer and employee—something potentially real and lasting. I like her too much to think it could go any other way.
Now, miles away in Atlanta, I’m trying to get my game face on. The buzz of the upcoming battle usually sharpens my focus, but tonight my thoughts are a little scattered.
Before I put my phone away, I need to do one thing. I send a text to Mazzy.
How is Bowie Jane this evening? I type, trying to sound casual.
Her reply is fast. She’s finishing up her bath right now. Homework all done and we’ve got plans to meet on the couch to watch you play on TV.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I like the thought of them watching me play.
With a few quick taps, I send another message. I know you said you’d have an answer when I get back from the road trip, but I’m curious if you have any leanings.
I watch the three pulsing dots, indicating she’s responding, and I can’t help but feel impatient, a sense of urgency gripping me.