Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Derek and I had been together for over four years now. We’d played on opposing water polo teams for years and back in the day, we hadn’t always gotten along. Don’t get me wrong, I liked Derek just fine, but he’d hated my guts. He thought I was too cocky, too annoying, too competitive…take your pick. Maybe that was all true, but everything changed when I transferred to Long Beach and we finally played on the same team. After a slightly rocky start, we became friends and much, much more.
My sexy, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy was my best friend, my lover, my business partner, my biggest cheerleader, my family. And someday in the not-so-distant future, we’d make this legal. But we both had a few personal goals to accomplish before we planned a wedding. Derek had wanted to open his own bistro and I wanted to play water polo for the US team in the Olympics. Lofty goals…yes, however, Derek had already checked his off his list.
We opened Bonne Terre last December, a hip farm-to-table bistro on 2nd Street. We were equal business partners in the café, but Bonne Terre was Der’s baby. He’d gone to culinary school after graduation and paid his dues working his ass off for a couple of successful restauranteurs. When he was ready to go for it, we’d pulled our assets together, taken out a small business loan, enlisted our friends’ help, and voilà, Bonne Terre went from a dream to a reality.
So far, it exceeded expectations. Derek wanted to pair great food with an inviting, familial atmosphere, and he’d accomplished it. He’d built a loyal clientele and created the right amount of a buzz to lure new diners. He’d even hired my mom to help run the kitchen and true story…most of the waitstaff at the café were water polo players I’d recruited from the university who’d needed work in the off-season. A posse of beautiful, fit athletes serving Derek’s high-brow menu was a genius idea.
Long story short, Derek was killing it.
Me? I had a ways to go. I was in the right position, but I still had a few hurdles to conquer…as my father’s call had reminded me. The biggest one was being picked to go to Tokyo. It wasn’t enough that I’d been a top scorer for the national team for years. Anything could happen. Younger, feisty athletes—like Crowley—had joined the team. I had real competition now. I couldn’t afford any missteps or injuries or—
My shoulder twinged in protest when Derek wrapped his arms around my neck. I winced, gently untangling him before stepping aside.
Derek furrowed his brow in concern. “How long have you been icing it?”
“Two twenty minutes stints. I need to get a new ice pack.”
“Maybe you should switch to heat and see if that helps. Come on. Eat something first.”
We sat at our kitchen table, rehashing our respective days. His involved a mixed-up order, a cranky customer with a crush on one of the water polo players, and a new menu item. Mine was a tad less interesting.
“I have nothing new to report. It’s all practice all the time with me,” I sighed. “If I’m not being coached, I’m coaching. I eat, breathe, and sleep water polo. It’s no wonder my body is protesting. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Derek nodded in sympathy. “We should plan a vacation after Tokyo.”
“If I make it to Tokyo.”
He frowned as he set his wineglass on the table and put his hand over mine. “What’s bugging you, babe?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just…feeling old and beat up today.”
I wasn’t ready to admit that every new ache and pain freaked the hell out of me. It was best to downplay my concern and chalk it up to irrational grown-up worry. One of the many things no one warned you about when you graduated from college and entered the so-called real world was the constant state of anxiety over every fucking thing in life that could possibly go wrong. Unforeseen expenses, family issues, career maneuvering. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
Thank God for Derek. He was my rock. He made a future beyond water polo seem very promising and real.
“Your shoulder really hurts, huh?”
“Nah, I’m okay.”
He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Your dad called.”
And…he was very perceptive.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You don’t have to say a word. I can guess,” Derek grumbled.
“He called dibs on tickets,” I confirmed, in case he got it wrong.
“I figured.” He brushed his thumb over mine. “He’s a piece of work. Forget about him.”
“I already did. You’re here. Nothing else matters.”
He grinned. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” I lifted his hand to my lips and smiled reassuringly, then waggled my brows lasciviously. “And in case you’re curious, my shoulder might be a little jacked tonight, but other parts of me are working just fine.”