Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
A warmth spreads in my chest from this knowledge, which is a stupid reaction. Of course Josie shopped for the supplies; of course she bought the ingredients. I know all this. She told me she wanted to, and she said she wouldn’t let me pay. And yet I still find it adorable, the idea of her shopping for the baking we did this morning.
So adorable it’s making my heart flip annoyingly in my chest. What a pointless reaction. “Cool,” I say to Everly, just to say something.
“You made these with our teammate’s sister?” Asher asks with genuine curiosity.
“Yeah. She is my roomie,” I add. Is it weird to bake with your roommate? Am I wearing a sign that says I’ve got it bad for her? Or worse—one that says I nearly fucked her today?
I picture Josie spreading her legs for me on the counter a few hours ago. Josie getting down on her knees after we baked.
I smirk over my little secret. Baking is foreplay. I close my eyes to sleep even though it’s a short hop over to Vegas. “Enjoy the treats,” I say. “My roomie can fucking bake better than you clowns play hockey.”
But as I drift off, I’m hoping Christian didn’t hear me.
When we land in Vegas, it’s time to focus on work. Only work. I grab my bag and head off the plane, mentally reviewing the plays we’ve been prepping for this stretch of games. On the tarmac, Christian catches up to me, clapping my shoulder. “Those were good.”
I guess the treats made it all the way around the team. “Glad you liked them.”
“You and Josie made them?”
Is this front page news? “Yes.”
“That was nice of you,” he says, like I did it to entertain her. “She was always into that—baking. No idea how she got into it since the rest of us never did.”
Seriously? He doesn’t know? “Her aunt,” I say, then correct my response to: “Your aunt.”
Christian’s expression is blank for a long beat, then recognition must dawn. “Right. That makes sense.”
How well does he even know his sister? Josie told me she was in a committed relationship with baking the morning after she moved in, and then she shared recently that she used to bake with Greta all the time. I’ve only known her for a month or so, but this is part of the Josie file. But I give Christian the benefit of the doubt. He’s got not one but two newborns at home.
“Yeah, it’s one of her things,” I add evenly so I don’t let on in my voice that it’s another thing about his sister that I like. That list of things is long.
He smiles. “I told you she’d be a good roomie. Quiet, reads all the time, likes to bake. Thanks again, man.”
I get what he’s doing. Truly, I do. He’s still selling me on this living arrangement. Understandable. He asked the team to pitch in when his family was in a bind. I offered. He wants to make sure I’m still good with it.
Little does he know I’m so good with it. So damn good with it I’m annoyed she’s leaving in less than two months. Josie and I have barely talked about the end of her time in San Francisco. But now that we’re nearly half done with her list, I’m thinking more about the expiration date of her stay. I’m wishing her job wasn’t short-term. I’m wishing for a lot of things.
Like a lot less complications.
But as Christian peels ahead of me to chat with Chase and Ryker, doing his captain duties of catching up with everyone, I study him for a beat longer. I admire the guy. He’s had a hell of a career. He’s shared some great tips since I’ve been with the team.
Trouble is, I’m not so convinced anymore why he thinks he has a say in who his sister dates or sleeps with. Or if his opinion—if it’s even real or mere bravado— matters to me. Sure, I understand team chemistry. Truly I do. Of course it’s important. And yeah, I get that dates and romance can go awry, and you don’t want bad blood between teammates if that happens.
But I don’t tell Natalie who to go out with. I’m not sure Christian should be telling anyone either.
That night at the hotel when I’m alone in my room, I reach out to my sister.
Wesley: What would you say if I told you who to date or not date?
Ten seconds later, my phone rings. When I pick up, Natalie is cackling—a long laugh that lasts forever. “That’s funny, Wesley. That’s really funny.”
And that’s illuminating in its own way. “Glad I amused you.”
“Who is she? And on a scale of one to besotted, how far gone are you?”
I scoff as I flop down on the king-size bed in the room. “I’m not far gone.”