Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Unfortunately, no, you can’t help me with anything,” I say, pulling boxes from beneath the table so I can load the leftover jam into them. “I have to find someone I have great chemistry with who can play pickleball on a level that will win the Sugar Days tournament.” I look up at him. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
He holds his hands out. “Um, hello?”
“What?”
“I’m a professional athlete, and unless I’m reading this all wrong, we have excellent chemistry.”
I roll my eyes. “Unless I’m reading this all wrong, the chemistry you’re referring to has nothing to do with pickleball.”
His grin deepens.
“Don’t.” I hold up a finger and shake my head. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“Come on …”
“Since you’re a professional athlete, then you should know that the chemistry between two people in an athletic situation is special. You can’t force it. You either have it, or you don’t.” My hands go to my hips. “This tournament is important to me, and I have to win.”
“I could pretty much guarantee that if I’m your partner.”
I stare at him before pulling my gaze away and continuing to pack the boxes. He makes sense, and I hate that. It would be so much easier if I didn’t feel like we might have some chemistry—and maybe even some outside the bedroom. And that’s exactly why he can’t be my partner.
My focus has to be on the game and not on his probably hot shirtless body working out next to me. I’ve seen Gray shirtless. There’s zero doubt that Jory’s body is beyond delicious. Besides, he seems like the kind of man who wants to take control and lead. Normally, I find that sexy, but on the pickleball court, I’m the alpha. Something tells me we’d wind up in a battle between ourselves, and I can’t risk being distracted and losing to Jasper.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say. “But I have a guy trying out on Monday evening, and I have a feeling we’ll be a good match.”
I hope. Adam Cartwright emailed me last week about possibly joining me in the tournament. I did my due diligence and poked around on the internet. It turns out that he was a standout basketball player a few years ago and played tennis for two years of high school. It’s not the greatest résumé, but I can absolutely work with it.
“Fine. But when you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”
I lift my chin, his gaze grabbing mine and holding it tight. “That’s cute.”
“Oh, it’s going to be very cute. I’m looking forward to it.”
“You clearly don’t know me at all,” I say, smiling at him.
“That’s your own fault.” He winks. “I gotta go find my kid. It was nice meeting you, Markie.”
“Tell Gus good try.”
Jory’s chuckle drifts behind him as he walks away, and for some reason, I don’t think this conversation is over.
CHAPTER
THREE
Jory
“What do you even do with peach jam?” Gus asks, sliding the jar across the kitchen island. It skids precariously close to the edge of the counter before spinning in a circle and coming to a stop.
I shut the door behind us and remove my shoes. The air is cold enough to freeze out a polar bear—just how I like it. I told my landlord, one of my best friends, Miles, that I’d pay extra for the electric bill. He laughed me off. Something tells me that he’ll change his tune when the first invoice arrives.
“You can do a lot of things with peach jam.” I take my wallet out of my pocket and plop it on the counter next to the refrigerator, along with my keys and phone. “Putting it on toast is the first thing that comes to mind.” And the only thing, but Gus doesn’t need to know that.
“Peaches and toast? That sounds gross.”
I shrug because he’s right. It does sound kind of nasty.
Gus snorts.
“What?” I ask, bracing myself. That look has smart-ass written all over it. “What’s that little snort all about?”
“This is purely … What's that word? Hypothetical?” He pauses, mulling over his word choice. “Okay. This is purely hypothetical, but I wonder if Markie would’ve said yes to dinner with you if you would’ve splurged and bought two jars.”
I roll my eyes, placing glasses from the sink into the dishwasher. “Keep it up, and you’ll do the dishes tonight. And there’s nothing hypothetical about that.”
“I mean it. She probably thought you were cheap.” He opens the fridge. “You’re good-looking, rich, and mostly charming despite your cheesy pickup lines—which you really do need to work on,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “And I definitely wasn’t the problem. I’m a gem. She loved me.”
I laugh, peeling off my shirt. The lemonade from earlier has dried into a sticky mess. “Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”