Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 80930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
"I didn’t mean to wake you," he murmurs in a whisper.
"No, it’s fine," I say, getting up. "What time is it?"
"Just after midnight," he replies as we walk out of the bedroom, and I see that he’s still wearing his suit. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the couch. "Sorry I’m so late … my family."
"You don’t have to apologize," I say, walking to my shoes. I grab them, sitting on the couch.
"You aren’t leaving," he declares, and I look over at him. He’s in the fridge, grabbing a takeout container. "It’s too late. Why don’t you just stay here and we can head to your house tomorrow for lunch?”
I think about it. "I need to start cooking at nine."
"The girls wake up at six. I think we can make it to your house at nine." He laughs. "You hungry?"
"No, I ate a bunch tonight." I shake my head, still debating if I should just go home. I lean back on the couch and curl my legs under me. The beep of the microwave makes him open the door and grab a plate. He walks over to the couch with his meal and sits down.
"What’s with the bag of Dallas stuff?" He motions with his head to the two bags I put on the island.
"The girls wanted to throw hats at you. So we went to buy hats. How did the game finish?"
"We won," he says, and I smile at him.
"You played good, kid," I say softly. "How was the press?"
"Fine. One tried to ask, but I gave them a look."
I laugh at him. "What look?"
"You know," he says, taking another bite of his chicken, and I look in his dish. "The look."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about." I grab his fork and pick a piece of carrot and eat it.
"It’s the ‘don’t mess with me’ look." He stares over at me. It looks like he’s angry, but then he has to go to the bathroom.
"Are you giving me the look ?" I shake my head. "You look constipated."
He grabs a piece of carrot on his fork and holds it out for me. "It’s a scary look."
"If you say so." I rest my arm across the couch and lay my head on it. "You played good tonight."
"It felt good. It’s almost like I’m back," he says softly. "I haven’t felt this good in a long time."
"Your game was never suffering," I point out to him.
"I know. That was the only thing I could control," he says, leaning forward and putting his plate on the coffee table in front of him. "It’s almost as if I was another person, and I’m me again."
"Thank god," I joke with him. "The old you was an asshole. I like this you better."
He gets up and holds out his hand for me. "Let's get to bed." I grab his hand. "So you want to sleep in the master bed, and I sleep with Emma?"
"Nah," I say, stopping at Emma’s door. "You can starfish tonight." I’m about to walk into the bedroom when he grabs my hand, stopping me.
"Thanks for tonight," he says, bringing me to him. With the soft light from the moon coming in, I can see his eyes are just a touch darker. His arms go around me, and he rests his chin on my head. I wrap my arms around his waist.
"You did good out there, kid," I reaffirm, and his chest moves as he laughs. I look up at him. "Makes my job easy." He bends his head and kisses my cheek.
"Night, kid," he says and then walks away from me.
"I’m the oldest thing in the condo," I remind him, and he takes his shirt out of his pants and starts unbuttoning it. "Even the Macallan is older than you."
"Will you ever let me get the last word?" he asks, his shirt open, and I see that he’s hitting the gym hard these days.
"Maybe," I say, walking away and closing the door, making sure I’m the one who gets the last word. I lean my back against the door as the picture of him with his shirt off lingers for a bit longer.
Chapter 7
Cooper
I get off the bus, and the cold air hits me right away. "Why is it so cold in Edmonton?" Ralph asks, and I laugh. He pulls his hat down even lower. I pull my cashmere jacket closer to me as I walk to the waiting plane.
"Didn’t you live here?" I ask, and he nods. "You should be used to it, then."
"My blood is thinner," he says, and I laugh.
We are on the last day of our road trip and due back home in five hours. We won the games on the road, and I scored five more goals.
"I can’t wait to get back home," Manning says, walking up the stairs to the plane. "And the heat."