Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he adds quietly. “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to make it make sense.”
I nod, clinging to him again, letting his presence anchor me while the storm passes through. And while my head is all kinds of fucked up over how to handle this with my mother, there’s one thing that has never been clearer to me.
Whatever this is between me and Crosby—it’s the most real thing I’ve ever had in my life.
CHAPTER 29
Crosby
I’m moving on autopilot through the chef’s line, tray in hand, eyes flicking between the digital menu boards and the clock mounted above the pasta station. I’ve got about ten minutes before I have to be back upstairs to review film footage with Coach Michaels.
Definitely enough time to eat, but not enough time to linger.
I stack my plate with grilled salmon, quinoa and roasted brussels sprouts, even though I don’t particularly care for the tiny little cabbages. Too bitter, but I also know they’re good for me, and I do eat for nutrition, not pleasure, when I’m training.
I note a handful of players scattered in small clusters, some still in training gear, others already showered and dressed. TVs along the walls cycle through clips from last night’s games, the sound low enough that conversation stays intact.
I claim a high-top near the corner, hook a foot around the stool, and set my tray down. Fork in hand, phone out, I skim a sports news site while I eat.
I’m barely lifting my third bite when a familiar and grating voice cuts through the noise. “Well. This is unexpected.”
I freeze, my fork hovering before my mouth when I see Cherry standing there. I have thankfully not seen her since the Halloween party, and I’d hoped things had blown over. We’ve had two home games since then and things seem to be okay with Miller, at least to the extent that we happily ignore each other.
My irritation at her sparks hot because this woman is out-and-out lying to her husband to cause trouble and stir drama. She’s standing too close, expression bright, like she’s stumbled across an old friend instead of cornering someone who clearly doesn’t have time for this.
“Grabbing a late lunch?” she asks sweetly.
I’m not in the mood for her games. I’m beyond trying to have polite conversation with her the way I have in the past. This deceitful busybody crossed a line that I can’t forgive.
“What do you want, Cherry?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Her brows lift, mock surprise. “Straight to business, huh?”
I don’t respond, setting my fork down on my plate so I’m not tempted to stab myself in the eye to end this misery.
She shifts her weight, resting her elbow on the edge of the table. The posture is casual, but I see pure calculation in her eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you about Miller,” she says. “He seems to be upset about an interaction you two had at the Halloween party. He loves how tight this team is, and well… I don’t want that to be ruined.”
I don’t buy for a fucking second that Miller didn’t tell her all about our conversation. My pulse kicks up a notch as I understand she’s trying to bait me. I should get up and walk away, but I need to stop her antics right now.
I rest my hands on my thighs, forcing them to remain flat and not curl into fists of frustration. I lean toward her, keeping my voice low. “If you’re so worried about it, Cherry, I suggest you stop making up lies about me to your husband. If there’s strife between us, it’s all your doing.”
She brings her hand to her chest and manages to sound innocent. “Why would you think I would do that?” She shakes her head, lips pursed in mild confusion. “You must have misunderstood him.”
“I didn’t misunderstand anything,” I say, irritation bleeding into my tone despite my effort to keep it contained. “He told me you said that I was acting out because I wanted you back.”
Cherry tilts her head, studying me like this is all very interesting. “I never said that.”
“You’re lying. I might not know Miller well enough to know his capacity to be devious, but I know yours.”
Her expression cools enough to register. “That’s a strong accusation.”
“Then explain it,” I snap. “Because I’ve never said or done anything that would make you—or him—think I want anything to do with you.”
She exhales slowly, gaze drifting past me for a beat before returning. “Crosby… I think you’re being defensive.”
There’s no stopping the surge, my blood pressure amping up like my head’s about to explode.
“I think,” she continues calmly, “that there’s a lot between us that never got resolved. I think you still have deep feelings for me.”
I stare at her. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”