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)
The answer is none of us.
But Xavier snickers. “Two, motherfucker. I got two rings.” He grabs my shoulders and squeezes me possessively. “And at the end of this season, it’s gonna be three. We’re taking the Hawks all the way.” He jerks me away from Carter, but my phone bounces in my hand, heading for the floor.
Yes, my phone is locked, but there are texts between Beck and me. I dive for it, covering it on the gym floor.
That earns me both claps and guffaws. “Nice fumble recovery,” Nate hoots.
“Bet Jason’s been sexting with someone,” Orlando teases.
My face burns from the almost truth of that. But I pop back up, phone safe in my hand.
And, thankfully, still locked.
Time to bluff. “You figured me out. I’ve been sexting this new guy. I’m gonna get on the treadmill and send him a dick pic while I run. Because I’m good at multitasking,” I say drily, and I don’t risk meeting Beck’s gaze. I’m not that good of a poker player.
They laugh, and my distraction ploy worked.
I drop my phone securely into my pocket and hit the weights. The Renegades move to the other side of the weight area. For the next thirty minutes, I focus on lifting and talking about anything but hookups.
When I’m done with my workout, I take off with Nate, not bothering to say goodbye to Beck, even though I want to, and I feel a little dickish just leaving.
Nate tosses a glance back at the gym. “You seemed a little irked. Was Orlando right? Did you meet someone?”
I scoff. “No. Definitely not,” I say, then shift the focus to him. “How are things with Oliver?”
He winces, and that’s answer enough.
“It’s not going well?”
Nate shrugs. “He never did like the limelight, you know?”
I nod, patting his shoulder. Nate and I are tight for a million reasons. Besides the obvious—we’re teammates—we like a lot of the same things, from golf to smart comedies to fun times with friends, but we also carry the same scars. I’m not asking anyone to break out the violins for us, but we both know what it’s like to be with guys who don’t gel with our jobs. That’s Oliver for him and Wyatt for me.
“Yup. That is true,” I say diplomatically. I have my opinion on his hubs, but I know better than to share. Nate’s too soft in the heart sometimes to see the shitty side of people.
“Sometimes relationships just suck,” Nate says with a sigh as we near a sushi joint we like. “But sushi doesn’t.” He smiles eagerly at the posters of raw fish tantalizing him in the window.
“My treat,” I say, glad there’s something small I can do to lift his spirits.
Nate smiles, and we dart inside. We grab a quick dinner, catching up over hamachi and seaweed salad about the game this weekend, the newest episode of Privilege, and a playlist TJ sent to me.
We don’t talk about guys, and I suspect it’s a break we both need.
Once I’m back in my home a little later, I grab bubbly water from the fridge and then settle onto a stool at the counter. Finally, in the safety of my kitchen, I take a chance, looking at my phone again. It feels like a defused bomb.
I reply to Reese, approving the photo Beck likes too, then go to my texts. A new one from him blinks at me. My stomach flips, and it’s annoying that I react so strongly to him already.
Beck: I’m going to change your name in my phone. In case anyone ever sees our convos.
Jason: Good idea. What’s my new name?
Beck: King of the Couch. ☺
I laugh, but then I put on my thinking cap. This is my chance to show I’ve got game in the naming department.
King of the Couch: I’m going to call you Streaker. But I’ll have you know I did consider Cat Charmer.
Streaker: I like both. Also, Dick Charmer works. (That name works for you too.)
Impulsively, I change the vibe of the conversation.
King of the Couch: By the way, I talked to my agent today. I told her to turn down Zena’s offer.
I hit send, then reread my declaration. When I said I wasn’t taking Zena’s deal, I meant all that the no implies—I’m not dating anyone. Including Beck, for that matter, unfortunately. Still, I want him to know I’m a man of my word.
Streaker: Awesome. More sponsorship deals for me then. She corralled me in the alley, and I already said yes.
I growl, narrowing my eyes at the phone as I type.
King of the Couch: You better not have said yes.
Streaker: Aww . . . are you trying to protect me from business partners who want to take advantage of the new guy? That’s sweet.
King of the Couch: Yeah, that’s the reason, smartass.
Streaker: No need to worry. Carter’s even going to help me write a profile. He’s been dying to put me on the apps.