Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“What about Reese?”
“She’s in South America right now. She had a job opportunity there.”
We talk about family and friends more, then he tells me about River, and how they went into business together.
A sliver of jealousy wedges under my skin. “River? From The Lazy Hammock? Our River?”
He snorts. “Yes, our River.”
Like it’s making an unexpected encore, the dragon of jealousy roars in my chest, clambers up to center stage. “Is he your River now?” I ask, the question tasting like spoiled milk in my mouth, curdling my stomach. The prospect of Grant having a boyfriend is horrifying.
I’d rather drink antifreeze.
And yet it’s entirely possible.
And that makes it even more horrifying.
Grant arches a brow. Smirks too. “Dude, we’re friends. Just friends. Like you and Fitz.”
That’s good.
That’s so fucking good.
Dragging a hand down my face, I let out the biggest breath in the universe. “Good,” I say, as relief floods me.
His lips twitch. “You still jealous?”
I shrug, owning it. “Yes,” I say. Emphatically.
An eyebrow lifts. That flirty look returns to his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yes. And maybe I always will be. Boundaries, right? Or maybe not,” I say.
He nods, flashing me his winning smile, the one that snared me in his net way back when. The one that still works some kind of wicked magic.
I need to shift gears or the torch I carry for this man will be visible from space.
“I’ve been following the work you’re doing with the Alliance,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, man. That’s good to hear.”
“Sometimes I think about getting more involved. Mostly, I think I’m just good at donating money,” I say, shrugging a little sheepishly.
“Hey, nothing wrong with that. Giving money away is always a good thing,” Grant says.
“But you? You’re the face of it all. I admire that,” I say, and pride surges in me. Pride for what he’s done. How he stuck to his plans. Grant had a vision, and he rose up, walking the walk and talking the talk.
“You got to do what you got to do, right?”
“Truer words,” I say, then scratch my jaw. “But maybe I’ll get more involved with volunteer work.”
A grin lights his handsome face. “Do it.”
The click of wingtips breaks the moment. Vaughn arrives, clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Hey Grant,” my agent asks, “can I steal this man away? I’ve got someone from Legends here.”
That’s the watchmaker who’s one of my top sponsors, so Vaughn tugs me away.
I don’t look back.
If I do, I’ll say something like come spend the night, and the next one, and the rest of the month too.
The next week, I fly to Tokyo, meeting my mom and Tyler in Roppongi, where Aaron lives with his family. One day after a stop at a tea house, my mom shoos Tyler away, saying she wants time alone with me.
As we grab a table in a sushi joint in the heart of trendy Shibuya, she hitches a ride on a time machine. “Remember when I was in New York when you first joined the Comets?”
“When you decided you weren’t sure if you were going to root for me? I tried to erase it from my memory, but no such luck,” I say drily, plucking an edamame from the bowl and popping it in my mouth.
But Mom is serious today. “You mentioned someone. A guy you broke up with. You said you thought you handled it badly.”
Yup. Serious mode. “Good memory.”
“That made me wonder, Declan.”
“About what?” I ask, grabbing another edamame.
“About you and other people. You just turned thirty, and you always seem so in control of your relationships. Like you have it all on this perfectly planned level. And I was curious—whatever happened with that guy? The breakup you regretted?”
I don’t think.
For once in my life, I’m not carefully controlled.
I’m relieved for the opening I didn’t even know I needed. I take it, kicking the door open. “He plays for the Cougars,” I say, and holy shit. I never thought I’d say that out loud to anyone beyond Emma, Fitz, or Dean, by extension. But it feels good to voice it to someone else too. Someone I trust completely.
To family.
“Grant Blackwood?” she asks, easily connecting the dots.
“Yep.”
“Wow. I never would have suspected anything based on the fact that you’ve never said a thing. But I guess it didn’t work out?”
“No, it didn’t.”
She drums her fingers on the table. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What’s that?”
She pops an edamame in her mouth and chews, then talks. “I’ve been speaking to my shrink.”
“You’re still seeing someone?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sweetheart, I will always be a work-in-progress.”
“Fair enough. What were you talking to her about?”
“About how different my life is now compared to when you were in middle school. When things were falling apart with your father.”
I smile sympathetically. “You’re much better, Mom. You’re happy now.”