Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I don’t head to the locker room right away. Instead, I take a left toward the family room. They always put out a full spread on home game nights—high-protein, low junk, enough to fuel a small army.
And considering that’s basically what we are, it fits.
I walk in and the scent hits me—chicken, eggs, roasted vegetables, something citrusy in the air. I grab a plate and load up with grilled chicken, sweet potatoes, roasted broccoli and a strawberry protein shake.
Sliding into an empty table near the back, it doesn’t take long for my mind to drift—to Winnie.
This is slightly bothersome since normally, I’d be deep in my head about what I need to do tonight to help my team win. I don’t chastise myself though. I’ve got time to get to where I need to be and I’ve no doubt that by the time I’m pulling on my gear, I’ll be focused and dedicated to my mission.
Last night is still with me, soft around the edges but sharp in all the right places. The way she changed into that ridiculous cardigan and removed her makeup proved just how comfortable she is around me.
And when she kissed me—really kissed me—and didn’t stop…
It wasn’t just sex. It was something else. A shift. Like everything clicked into place. And for once, I didn’t feel like I had to perform or play it cool or be the guy with the right moves.
I just got to be with her.
My phone buzzes and I glance down. A text from Winnie and there’s no stopping my smile. See you tonight. Please don’t lose. I’ll start thinking I’m the bad luck charm.
I grin into my cup as I take a sip of the shake, pondering how to reply. It needs to be witty and not overly sappy.
“Damn, that’s a dreamy smile if I’ve ever seen one.”
I look up just as Atlas drops into the seat across from me, a plate stacked with eggs, spinach, and turkey sausage. His version of indulgence.
“Dude… you are practically glowing,” he says with a smirk, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork.
I shake my head. “Can’t a man enjoy his sweet potatoes in peace without being accused of glowing?”
He laughs, but he’s already watching me with that quiet, observant expression he pulls out when he’s not bullshitting. I chew for another beat, then set my fork down.
“Can I ask you something kind of serious?”
Atlas straightens, his tone shifting. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”
I glance around—the space is mostly empty except for a couple of players by the smoothie bar and a trainer refilling water bottles.
“It’s about Winnie,” I say. “About… this whole thing.”
“Yeah… sure, man.” He stabs another piece of sausage. “Lay it on me.”
Crossing my arms on the table, I lean forward. “See… this thing with Winnie is happening fast. But it also feels right. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never knew I wanted this. And I don’t want to screw it up by being too much. Or not enough.”
“Is your concern that you don’t want to be too pushy with her, or are you concerned about making a mistake for yourself?”
“I just don’t want to be the tool who doesn’t really see things for what they are. I don’t want to rush in and miss something important, but at the same time… I don’t want to slow it down either.”
He nods slowly, finishing a bite before responding. “You ever think about how much time you don’t have?”
That catches me off guard and I shake my head, not sure what he’s really asking.
“We never care how much time we have,” he says. “We think we’ve got years to figure things out. That if it’s real it’ll last, so there’s no rush, or we want to take our time so we don’t get hurt.”
“But caution isn’t inherently a bad thing,” I point out.
“No, it’s not a bad thing. But don’t let it be so strong that it prevents you from getting where you want to go. Life doesn’t always give you the time.”
Something in his voice makes me set my cup down. It’s heavy, almost fatigued, and I see it in his expression. “Are you okay, man?”
Atlas nods, a sad smile on his face. He huffs out a breath. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so morose. I’ve got a buddy who’s in a bad way… dying of cancer.”
“Aww, fuck, man. I’m really sorry. Want to talk about it?”
Atlas lifts a shoulder. “Not much to say. We grew up together and have always been tight. He got diagnosed about two months ago with a rare type of incurable brain cancer. He’s declining pretty fast.”
“Jesus… when’s the last time you saw him?”
“Christmas when I was home visiting. But I’m going to see him this weekend. He’s in Chicago.” I nod in understanding. We’re playing there against the Bobcats on Saturday. “I’ll stay the night and catch a private flight to meet the team in Montreal.”