Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Fuck you.”
Her eyes rake over my body, making me feel filthy and ready for another shower. “We could arrange that too. I could show you what being with a real woman is like.” She licks her lips and I want to puke.
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Pity, we’d be good together. Regardless, you know my terms. Make it happen or you will be traded. As for your little girlfriend, I’ll make sure she wants nothing to do with you.”
“Fuck. You,” I say again, because who in the fuck does this woman think she is?
She cackles, a sound so high pitched it feels as though it could make your ears bleed. “I’ve bent over backward to be where I am and I’m not letting you and that little mouse of yours ruin it for me. Do it or else. You have until Saturday night at midnight.” She turns and walks out the door. She’s gone just as quickly as she arrived and I’m left standing here with my mouth hanging open at her audacity, with anger coursing through me. I don’t give a fuck what she says. I’m not losing Emma. Not for her, not for her husband, not for the team, or football. Emma comes first.
It’s a startling revelation for me. I knew I loved her, but the depth of my feelings has never really struck until this moment. I love Emma more than I love the game of football. I meant it when I said I don’t give a fuck what she does to me or my career. Emma is the one thing in my life I won’t give up. Ever.
Taking a few minutes to calm the hell down, I go back to the stack of posters and quickly work my way through scribbling my name and number on each of them. When the last poster is signed, I grab my bag and storm out of the room. Sally is still at her desk and waves at me, but she doesn’t say anything. I’m sure the expression on my face says it all.
As soon as I’m in my SUV, I call Emma. “Hey, how was practice?” she greets me.
Closing my eyes, I let my head rest back against the headrest in my SUV, letting her voice wash over me. “It was good. Stayed back and ran a few routes with Kaden. I had to sign a few things for some fan mail after that.” I’m going to tell her about Bridgett’s little visit, just not over the phone. I need her in my arms when I tell her so she knows, so she can feel that I’m not worried. I need her to see that as long as I have her, my life with be complete.
“You sound tired,” she comments.
“A long day. How’s work?”
“It’s going. Buckwheat is sick so we’re waiting on the vet to get here to take a look at him. I might not get out of here on time tonight. CJ is sick so I told Aubrey that I would stay.”
“Is CJ okay?”
“Yeah, just a cold, but he wants his momma. I’ll just come by your place when I’m done if that’s okay.”
“You staying with me?” I fly out in the morning to Ohio for an away game. I need her in my arms tonight. I feel like a caged animal after my conversation with Bridgett, and as bad as I hate to, I need to tell Emma. I don’t want to keep anything from her.
“Yeah. I’ll just have to stop by my place and get some clothes.”
“You don’t have what you need here?”
“Not for work.”
“Send me a message of what you need. I’ll stop by and get your key, and go pick it up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Em, it gets you in my arms that much faster. I’ll be by in about half an hour. Need anything? You got lunch?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, babe.”
I smile at the endearment. She doesn’t use it often, but when she does, it makes my heart race.
“Love you,” I say, ending the call. It’s amazing how just hearing her voice and knowing that I’m on my way to see her can brighten the shittiest day.
I’m sitting on the couch waiting on Emma to get here. My house smells like the baked spaghetti that’s in the oven staying warm, and my mind is racing. The more I think about that little scene with Bridgett today, I get even more pissed off. Who does she think she is? Tell me who I can and can’t date. I abide by the terms of my contract. I’m a damn good football player. She doesn’t have the right to tell me what I can and can’t do in my personal life.
My phone rings and I see Case’s smiling mug on my screen. “Hey, man,” I answer.