Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I inclined my head. “Happy to help. We have a game tonight, actually. I can kick the ball around with Linc afterward and get a few of the guys to join us.”
“Thank you. I’ll check the schedule. I’m not sure tonight will work. Break a leg, though. Can you say that to soccer people?” Jase asked, waving as his client walked in.
“Good luck works,” I replied.
“Good luck then. Oh! And by the way, I cut Holden’s hair yesterday, and he mentioned that you’re seeing Tommy. You sly dog, you.”
He whisked his client into the salon before I could reply.
Easton arched his brow. “The professor?”
“I call him Thomas…or Professor.”
“Of course you do. When am I going to meet him?”
“Soon, Dad.”
That earned me an eye roll.
“Hmph. So much sass. I gotta run.” He checked his watch but didn’t move.
“You’re looking at me funny. What is it?”
“I have a weird one for you,” he said with a sigh. “My new client is a hotshot publicist in charge of promoting some new soccer series on TV called Penalty Shot.”
I cocked my head. “Stefan’s show.”
“So you’ve heard.”
“Yeah, he showed up at a scrimmage a few weeks ago. He’s fucking his costar, who happens to be a teammate.”
“Ah, I see. Well, as much as I hate to bring this up, I heard Stefan is making the rounds for Pride events this year. My client mentioned it in passing. He’s a publicist and social media manager or some bullshit like that. His job is to plug C-list celebrities into tournaments…get them to throw out the first pitch, wave a rainbow flag in the stands at the Grand Prix or a golf tournament or whatever. Supposedly, they want to raise Stefan’s profile before the release of that new series.”
“I know, I know. He wanted my okay to tell my story for posterity and Pride purposes.”
Easton frowned. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
“Because I said no.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing to share your story, but not necessarily for Stefan’s benefit.”
“Agreed. I don’t have anything against him, but I don’t want to talk about the past. I told Thomas and that was hard enough. I don’t think—”
“You told the professor?” he intercepted.
“Yes.”
Easton inclined his chin. “Huh. You must really like this guy.”
“I do.”
He smiled. “Well, good. Have fun and—”
“Be careful,” I finished for him. “I always am.”
Every once in a while, I had a game where everything clicked and all cylinders were on fire. This was one of those occasions. I ran like cheetah, passed the ball with rock god accuracy, and scored two goals. Kind of amazing considering the professor was on the sidelines. I’d been so aware of him and so afraid I’d fuck up tonight. But I felt nothing but calm.
And an intense desire to show off. So maybe I did hog the ball a bit, but who cared? We won. That was all that mattered.
I slapped high fives with my teammates, casually seeking Thomas out in the crowd of bystanders.
“Hey, good game, Burns.” Jackson patted my shoulder and fell into step beside me, swiping his sweaty brow with his forearm.
“Thanks.”
“You know, you never mentioned that you and Stefan were a thing,” he continued conversationally.
“That’s ancient history.”
“Well, you certainly made an impact on him. Did he tell you he’s doing an interview for Out?”
“No.”
“He says it’s scheduled for late June. They want to do a heart-wrenching coming-out piece. With you. Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” I lied in my best bored tone. “But that’s not happening.”
“Why not? Everyone wants to talk about their coming-out story. Unless you aren’t out.”
“That ship sailed a while ago.”
Jackson furrowed his brow. “I know. So…do it. The publicity would be good for you too. You can give a shout out to your salon and the team and…make a difference. Just a thought.”
I stopped in my tracks to fist-bump Rick and let Jackson walk on without me.
I set my hands on my hips and stared out at the expanse of green toward the goal while Rick moaned about his header that somehow missed the net.
Any second now, nausea would come. Any second now, I’d get dizzy or worse, I’d panic. Yes, that sounded dramatic, but panic attacks happened when my head-in-sand approach to life was compromised. Fucking Jackson. How was I supposed to make a difference?
Ugh. Pull it together, Burns.
I glanced toward the sideline and smiled when Thomas waved at me. A few deep breaths later, I was steady again. My pulse was high, but I’d been running my ass off for an hour, so that was to be expected. At least, I didn’t think I was in danger of puking or—
“Who is that?” Rick asked in a lecherous tone.
This was the opening I would have taken a month ago. Rick was a good guy. He’d make a fine date…I think. No, fuck that. I wasn’t sharing. Jackson had unwittingly reminded me that my time with Thomas was limited. At some point he’d realize that I was hopelessly fucked up and didn’t have much to offer. But for now…