Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I clear my throat. “I need to ask you something, but I know we have this meeting.”
She waves that off. “I’m the boss. The meeting starts when I walk in.”
I love how powerful she knows she is, but then my words fall short. My heart starts beating wildly in my chest, and I don’t know if I can talk to her about this. Not now, not with what this meeting is about. I think I was so engrossed in all her love stories that I thought I could talk about mine. That I could ask her if what I am feeling is actually love—or lust, instead. I clear my throat. “Never mind. I can talk to you later.”
She eyes me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sorry. I got caught up in your story.”
She cups my chin. “Can I give you some advice?”
I swallow hard. “Please.”
“Trust your heart, Austen. No matter what happens in there, trust your heart.”
I bring my brows in as unsaid words flow between us. I don’t know if she is telling me what I think will happen is going to happen, or if I am overthinking the whole thing, but my heart seizes in my chest. Fear creeps down my spine, and my stomach feels as if I’m free-falling at speeds unknown.
Without another word, Elli squeezes my chin and then heads in before me. “Sorry I’m late.”
When I enter the meeting room, all the coaches are here, along with Shelli and Peepaw. Everyone welcomes me, but I’m unable to be genuine when I greet them. I sit down at the end of the table, away from my peepaw since he’s causing me such anxiety and I really don’t want to be near him. Shelli sits beside me, Elli beside her, and then Posey, River, and the assistant coach, Myers. Peepaw sits at the very end—for what reason, I don’t know. He doesn’t even need to be here.
I have a really bad feeling.
I turn on my tablet and decide I can’t let Peepaw’s presence bother me. I get to work, bringing up each tab for each player that is talked about. I’m surprised, though, when Shelli brings up cutting Reed. I felt it was a good idea, but I didn’t think she’d go with it.
“Maybe instead of trading him, we send him down and make sure he gets help?” Elli suggests, but Posey makes a face.
“I think that will make things worse for him. I think he needs a new start somewhere else,” she says, and Myers nods.
“He doesn’t want to be here,” he adds, and I clear my throat.
“It’ll also open salary space, which will help us in the long run,” I supply. “We’ll need it when it’s time to sign free agents.”
Elli agrees. “Then we’re in agreement. Everyone good with the choices we’ve made?”
Everyone nods, but even though Dimitri is at the top of the list, I don’t feel confident it’ll work out the way I want. My chest hurts from my pounding heart, and my stomach aches badly. I don’t know what in the world is going on or what is planned, but I’m not even slightly comfortable.
It’s almost like I’m on autopilot once we start the meetings with each player. I smile, I bring up stats and notes, and I congratulate or apologize as we go. The apologies kill me, though, with how defeated each player looks. I don’t like this part, and it hurts to see players hit roadblocks for their dreams. I honestly don’t like how it makes me feel, and the anxiety of all this is devastating. I could blame it on my fear for Dimitri, but I’ve watched these guys work their asses off, yet it wasn’t enough.
It hurts.
With each name that is called in, my stomach tightens, waiting for Dimitri’s name. I feel as if it takes forever before his name is finally called.
In all his beautiful, stunning glory, Dimitri strolls in confidently, greeting everyone. His athletic shorts are loose on him, as is the Assassins hoodie he wears. His hat hangs low on his head, but nothing can hide his eyes. They are dark, playful, full of brashness as they slowly move to me. Within seconds, those dimples are deep, and that smirk is dangerous. My breath catches, my heart skips a beat, and I swear I want to smack him.
I know what he is thinking, and I’m thinking the same damn thing.
Of our pure need for each other.
He’s impossible.
I swallow hard as he coos, “Ms. McDavid.”
Oh, I hate him.
“Titov,” I say, with the right dialect, which only makes his grin grow.
He sits across from me, and his scent surrounds me in seconds. His hair is wet, and of course, knowing he took a shower makes me think of us in the shower, which makes my face burn. I swear it’s like he knows, because his dimples deepen as he hides his grin.