Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mark
It’s been three weeks since we had the library outing. Between being on the road and having home games, I’ve had one day off, and I wanted nothing but to sit at home with her. I text her every two days like clockwork. I live for the day I know I’m going to text her, knowing that she will text me back.
This time, though, I need to hear her voice. It’s just been too long. She picks up on the third ring. “Allo.” My heart speeds up just a touch when she answers, and then the smile just appears. I could be having the shittiest day, and hearing her voice makes everything better.
“Hey,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. “Long time.”
“I know,” she says, and then I hear her moan as she stretches. “What’s up?”
“Were you sleeping?” I ask, looking over and seeing that it’s almost ten.
“No, just lounging in bed. It looks dark outside,” she says, and I picture her in bed and wonder if she still sleeps naked or if she wears something in the winter.
“It is. It was softly snowing before but melting the minute it touched the ground,” I say, looking out of the window at the gray sky. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”
“That is the plan,” she says. “Although I’m obsessed with Netflix these days, it’s time to get out,” she says, and I want to know everything.
“How about dinner after the game?” I ask her, and she doesn’t say anything. “I know that the guys usually get together and have dinner, but …”
“Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere after the game,” she says.
“I know of a small little place that closes at ten but will stay open if I call them,” I tell her, and if I can’t find a place, I’ll call in a couple of favors.
“Just the two of us?” she asks softly.
“I mean, if you aren’t comfortable with that …” I say. My stomach drops, and I put the cup of coffee down on the counter and close my eyes.
“No,” she says right away. “It’s fine. It’ll be good. We can catch up.”
I try not to make it a big deal.
“Yeah, that would be nice,” she says. “I’ve been cooking lately, so having someone else cook for me sounds like heaven.”
“Perfect. I’ll send you the address, and you can meet me there,” I say, and then I close my eyes. “Or you can wait for me, but …”
“But people will see,” she says, laughing. “I get it. I can meet you there.”
“Great,” I say, hating that I can’t go with her but knowing that it will raise too many questions. I don’t want to freak her out and push her further away with the pressure.
“See you then, Mark,” she says, and I can picture her saying it with a smile, but I’m hating that she hasn’t called me Markos. “And break a leg.”
“Let’s not put that thought into the universe.” I laugh at her, and now she laughs.
“See you later,” I say and disconnect and text my guy over at the Italian restaurant I want to take her to.
I relax most of the day, doing stretches and ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. And when I’m slipping my suit jacket on, my phone pings to let me know everything is set for tonight.
I grab my cashmere jacket and beanie for later and make my way to the rink. The camera crews are set up since it’s a Saturday game. Walking into the room, I see I’m one of the first ones here, and I take off my jacket and grab my phone with my AirPods so I can ignore the noise from everyone else. After undressing and putting on my track suit, I go into the kitchen and grab my pre-game shake and then go walk on the treadmill while the music plays in my ears. After I walk on the treadmill for thirty minutes, I go back to the kitchen and make myself a peanut butter sandwich, the same thing I do for every single game, then walk back into the now crowded locker room. Grabbing my glove and a tennis ball, I walk to my quiet wall in the garage that no one really knows about.
It’s off to the side on the second floor, and no one parks there, so I walk out the door and see some of the wives arriving. Then I spot Vivienne getting out of the car, and I watch her smile to one of the girls walking in. She must feel me watching her because she turns, and when she sees me, it’s a different smile altogether. Her eyes light up, and her smile fills her face so her eyes crinkle at the sides. She stops walking, and she doesn’t know if she should come to me or not. I know I shouldn’t, but I motion with my head for her to follow me. She turns around and says something, and I watch her walk to me. She is wearing black pants with white lines that look like squares and a black cashmere jacket with the collar closed so it looks like a turtleneck, and she has it tied at the waist. Her black heels click on the concrete, and she finally reaches my side. “Hello there,” she says and doesn’t try to kiss me, so I lean in, putting one hand on her waist, and I put my cheek against hers, kissing her softly.