Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Damn, those are fighting words, Cafferty,” he says with an appreciative smirk. “But I bet they’ll taste as delicious as this beer when you have to congratulate me on my win.”
“I’m feeling a friendly wager coming on,” I say, and I fight like hell to rein in a smile. This is so much more enjoyable than the press scrum earlier.
“You like to gamble?” Jason asks, taking a drink of his beer.
“Well, not on my own games. Or any football games, for that matter.”
Jason chuckles. “Obviously.”
“But anything else . . .” I trail off then give an easygoing shrug for my answer. “I do.”
“Good to know.” It’s kind of a throwaway comment, but I want to pounce on it, ask what he means, why he said it.
Except, that’s not why I’m here.
Lively music and laughter drift in from the yard, along with the mouth-watering smell of grilled chicken. A get-together unfolds beyond this room, but Jason hardly seems like he’s missing it. For a few delirious seconds, I let my mind wander to the idea of just him and me, here on a date.
Then I stop that bullshit.
As tempting as hanging here in the kitchen with him is, I may not have a better opportunity to ask my question.
But a blur of black and white leaps onto the counter, skidding across the black island, then stopping short at a butcher block cutting board.
Holy shit.
The tuxedo kitten is here.
I point. “That’s Bandit!”
In case he doesn’t know.
“Yeah, he’s pretty cool. He adopted me earlier. Evidently, he can also jump onto the stool and then onto the counter. But he isn’t supposed to be in the kitchen.” Jason scoops up the kitten. “Dude, who let you out?” he reprimands the critter, but he doesn’t sound the least bit mad.
More like . . . smitten as he scratches the animal’s chin.
“You took him home?” I ask, still a little shocked that he opened his home to a pet just like that. Jason moves fast.
“How could I resist him?” The question is almost a statement. And I suppose it fits his roll-with-it personality. Jason’s the guy who adopts a kitten on a whim, hosts a team barbecue and invites the rival players, and owns a fridge fit for a chef even though he doesn’t cook. I could see him teaching himself to cook someday just because he feels like it.
Also, he charms cats, judging by how Bandit rubs his head against Jason’s chest. “You’re supposed to be in the guest room,” Jason chides him.
“I know,” a pretty voice calls out from the hall. A brunette pokes her head into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Jaybird! I was looking for the little girls’ room, and I opened the wrong door.”
“No biggie, Lucy. I’ll take Bandit upstairs,” he says.
“The off-limits area,” she says playfully.
“You know me so well,” he says.
“Yes, yes. No one goes upstairs at your parties,” she says.
“Rules are rules,” he replies.
As Lucy leaves, Jason turns to me, blue eyes twinkling. “Think you could teach Bandit to sit quietly in his room while guests are over?”
I smile. “That might be out of my realm of expertise,” I say, though I wish I could. It might be easier to ask for a favor if we could make a fair trade.
But, for now, I’ve missed the opportunity to ask. Instead, I say, “I’ll go outside.”
“Grab some grub. Orlando makes the best barbecue,” he says. “Since—as I may have mentioned—I don’t cook.”
Kitten in his arms, he heads down the hall, turns up the staircase, and disappears.
I go outside, joining some of the guys I already know. Travis is here. He’s one of our receivers and a favorite target of mine. Our kicker’s here too. So is Nate, the top receiver for the Hawks and one of a handful of openly gay players in the NFL. Lucy, the woman who let Bandit escape, turns out to be Orlando’s girlfriend. A bunch of Renegades—the city’s other NFL team—are here as well, and I say hi to Cooper, the quarterback, and Harlan, the just-retired wide receiver. The crew welcomes me, introducing me to people I don’t know as we chat and down beers and soda.
For the next few hours, we eat and talk, diving into barbecued chicken and gourmet burgers, chowing down on kale salad, potato salad, and corn on the cob.
The afternoon is laid-back, with Jason floating among the guests, making sure everyone has a drink, a bite to eat, some dessert.
Eventually, the sun sinks in the sky, and the guests filter out. Harlan claps me on the shoulder. “Do your best to kick ass tomorrow, rookie. The Hawks are our biggest rivals, and I’d love nothing more than to see them lose every single game.” He winks at Jason as he says it. Because the message is really for him, Renegade to Hawk.