Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Fuck. I’d been rock hard and ready to risk it all.
That storm rolling in was all that saved me.
I shook off the thought of what would have happened had I said fuck it and given in, pulling up the group chat that had dozens of unread messages, instead.
Fabio: Squad?
Fabio was Carter Fabbri’s nickname. We let him think it was because of his flow, but the truth was it was a play off his last name and an inside joke about how his game with the ladies was absolute trash.
Poor kid. I was pretty sure he’d still be a virgin if we hadn’t put that to rest thanks to an eager puck bunny his rookie season.
No, if anyone was going to get the title of Best Flow, that honor would go to Daddy P. Bastard had longer hair than the rest of us put together.
Tanny Boy: I’m down.
Daddy P: Can’t. Currently interviewing another fucking nanny.
Fabio: Either you have shit luck with babysitters, or you’re completely unaware of how terrifying you are when you’re grumpy.
Tanny Boy: My money is on that option. I’ve witnessed more than two poor girls shit themselves when he yells at them.
Daddy P: I do not yell. And I wouldn’t have to correct them if they weren’t so fucking clueless.
Tanny Boy: Are they clueless, or are you just the most impossible person to please who’s ever lived?
Fabio: I’ll tack on that you’re also an overprotective dad.
Daddy P: *middle finger emoji*
Fabio: What about you, Brittzy?
Fabio: Brittzyyyyy
Tanny Boy: He’s probably practicing for the tournament. He needs all the swings he can get.
Fabio: Like that will help. I’ve seen basketball players with a better golf game than Brittz.
Tanny Boy: Yo, Brittz. Get off the shitter and come play COD.
Fabio: He’d have his phone if he was on the shitter.
Tanny Boy: Let’s just keep texting until we annoy him so much he stops fucking whatever puck bunny he pulled in last night.
Daddy P: Did the part where I said I’m holding a goddamn interview go right over your thick skulls? Fuck off.
Fabio: Can’t be going that well if you’re able to text us.
I chuckled the more I read, and then skipped to the bottom and thumbed out a reply.
Me: Sorry — was driving. Decided to travel a bit before the tournament.
Fabio: Sure. It’s okay if you were taking golf lessons, Brittzy. We won’t shame you for it.
Tanny Boy: Nah, we’ll just wipe the floor with you and Daddy P in a couple days — all in the name of charity.
Fabio: How’d the interview go, Daddy P? Got a new nanny secured?
Daddy P: For now.
Tanny Boy: We should start a prayer circle for the girl.
Carter sent a gif of a man making the sign of the cross, and I chuckled, even as my stomach sank with how I’d lied to them. Well — technically, I hadn’t lied, but I’d carefully omitted the fact that my teammate’s little sister was traveling with me.
I could still see how Vince had glared at me the first time I’d laid eyes on Grace, telling me without a word to not even think about it. Then, he’d told her to sit with me on the party bus that night in Austin.
“You’re the only one I can trust.”
My chest sparked with guilt, and then my heart sank when I opened a side text I had from Will.
Daddy P: We need to talk at the tournament.
Will Perry wasn’t exactly one for sharing feelings, so if he needed to talk to me — it couldn’t be a good thing.
I stared at that text for a long second before I nearly threw my phone, my heart leaping into my throat as someone beat on the passenger side window.
It was Grace.
With two arms full of camping and hiking gear.
• • •
“Only you would prefer sleeping in the dirt over a plush bed at a Five-Star hotel in Nashville,” I said, eyeballing Grace as she put the finishing touches on the inside of our tent.
Tent — singular.
It was a good-size tent, at least, with room for two sleeping bags that Grace had elevated with inflatable pads beneath them. But that didn’t change the fact that I’d be sleeping less than a foot away from her.
I swallowed down the risk that came with that, trying to focus instead on how happy Grace looked.
“Come on! This is what real road tripping is like,” she said, sprawling out on top of her sleeping bag. She’d also secured two inflatable pillows, and she tested hers by lying on her left side and then her right, ending up on her back with a satisfied grin. “Perfect.”
“You’re a nut.”
“It’ll be the best sleep of your life. Trust me.”
“On the ground with no sense of security in the Tennessee heat?” I flattened my lips. “Not sure I’m buying that pitch.”
Grace groaned, flopping onto her stomach before she hopped up to her feet. She could stand fully in the tent, while I had to bend down — which was why I stayed at the opening of it, sweating even as the sun set.