Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Perfectly,” I say.
“That’s awesome. I’m still surprised you got hitched so soon, but more power to you, bro.”
Oh, shit.
I wince, feeling like a total jackass.
I haven’t told Jason the truth yet. Haven’t had a chance to.
I glance around the practice field, and since we’re hanging at the edge of the sidelines, now’s as good a moment as any. “Listen,” I explain, “we kind of got accidentally married. But we have to stay married for a bit. For sponsors and work and stuff. So we don’t look like we got, well, drunk married,” I say, feeling stupid all over again.
His eyes widen. “Shit. Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, then tell him more about Vance and the plan.
“But you’re spending every night together with Hunter and whistling a happy tune in the morning,” Jason remarks. It’s less of an observation and more like a question. What are you going to do about that?
The answer? No fucking clue.
But there’s no time to find one now, since we have possession again, and we hit the field.
I catch every single pass, forcing the What are you going to do about it? out of mind.
An hour later, I run into Luke in the corridor of the Triumph Stadium. Since the Hawks are playing his team in the showcase game, my buddy’s in London too.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I call out.
He stops walking and gives a chin nod. “Such a surprise, I know.”
When I catch up to him, I thump his shoulder in greeting, and he gives me a casual, “How’s your dude?”
Not how’s married life.
Not how’s the charade.
Not even when’s the annulment.
His question is just a throwaway one, but I feel…seen.
Too seen.
I’m wearing my emotions on my face.
“He’s cool,” I say, hoping that covers the myriad things I should not be feeling so soon.
“Yeah, cool,” he says drily, imitating me. Then he shifts gears, perhaps giving me an easy way out. “Friday night in Vegas was fun. You were like a new guy,” he says sincerely.
And because of that genuine tone—the one we rarely use except when it matters—I don’t take the shortcut. “I felt that way,” I say, and I feel oddly lighter.
Maybe I needed to say it out loud to cement for myself what my buddies saw happening a few nights ago. Hunter makes me feel like everything is new again—dating, intimacy, men.
But also, fun.
Everything is fun again with him.
“I could tell it was real,” Luke says. Then, he slaps my arm. “It was seriously good to see, Chandler.”
“Thanks, Remington,” I say, just as his coach rounds the corner.
Luke’s expression turns more serious. “Gotta go. Keep it up,” he says.
Then he trots off to join his coach.
As I leave, I try not to dwell on his observations about me, about Hunter, about how we were together.
Or what it might mean to keep it up.
I’m sure it’s normal to have some feelings about a guy I’m sleeping with.
Doesn’t mean anything will come of it.
When I return to my room, I whip out my laptop again. The day I met Hunter, I got reacquainted with the latest and greatest sex moves.
Time to do it again. We only have a few days left and I want to make the most of it.
I look up that thing again. Watch a few videos. Study the angles. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this to a guy.
Oliver lost interest in sex quickly, but I never did. I lived in a sex desert with the man I’d loved. I loved Oliver when I married him. I loved him when we were in counseling. I loved him and wanted him right till the end.
That’s what hurt the most—loving someone who didn’t feel the same way.
I never want to feel that pain again.
That night there’s a media event with the team at an old-fashioned press club in Chelsea, and I try to put Hunter out of my mind while I talk sports with the local press. No one is tougher than the British media. Their questions keep me on my toes, but I like the challenge.
Why the hell would Europeans want to watch American football?
My answer is the same as when they ask me why I play. It’s just fun.
The event keeps me busy for a couple hours, but when I leave around nine, my phone serves up a text from my husband saying he was roped into a meeting and has to work late.
No biggie, I reply.
On the way back to the hotel, I grab some Thai takeout at a hole-in-the-wall spot with top-notch reviews.
I leave with my food but only make it ten paces from the restaurant before I stop with the realization—I should pick up something for Hunter.
He picked up that life-saving sandwich for me after all.
I double back into the dingy joint, but when I scan the menu I have no clue what Hunter likes.