Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Biological? No. But Wes – the man married to the woman that’s now threatening to throw her club – might as well be.” He lets his shoulder brace itself against the structure so we’re matching positions. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. His family was there for me while my mom was dying and basically adopted me after she did. My dad’s never been in the picture.” An unconscious adjustment to the designer watch on his wrist is executed. “Then when his parents died that brotherly bond just got stronger.” He slides his free hand into his navy, nautical, embroidered shorts pocket. “I know firsthand that blood isn’t what makes you family. I also know that change isn’t always a bad thing even when it can feel like it’s the worst thing.”
His decision to be so open and honest and vulnerable is what prompts me to do the same, “I’ve never,” the word choice continuation receives a small smirk, “had a biological parent present in my life.”
Sympathy swiftly slides into his sweet stare. “Seriously?”
“Nope. Sperm donor was a minor league baseball player – whose real family was back in Dalvegan, so he wanted nothing to do with us – and Mom – who was absolutely a cleat chaser – died during childbirth, leaving us to be raised by Gammie.” Sadness unfortunately seeps into my tone. “We um…we lost her last year to a heart surgery complication…during the NBA finals.”
“No shit…”
“One weird benefit to us being part of the same franchise was knowing the owner – in good conscious and good press – couldn’t let one of us go but not the other.”
“True.” The corner of his lip twitches upward during his nodding. “So, you’re a cheerleader?”
“Retired cheerleader or dancer – depending on how you wanna define it,” I correct, hearing Jericho summon us to the putting area. “This was not only my last season as a Highland Hellcat but last season as one period.”
“Why?” We begin making our way in that direction side by side. “You look like you’re still in good shape.”
“I’m in great fucking shape, Imzadi.” Waggling my eyebrows further reiterates the lack of animosity in my retort. “Still super fucking flexible.”
J.T doesn’t bother swallowing his groan.
Or needily biting his lip.
Or gravitating closer as if anxious to put that to the test.
“I’m just… ‘old’.” Our arrival at the starting line is attached to a defeated sigh. “Does it suck?” Placing the ball on the ground occurs next. “Yeah.” My body straightens back out to make a swing. “Will I let it stop me from continuing my life-long career of dance in some capacity?” I grip my putter a little harder. “Fuck no.”
The first swipe I make at the tiny green object sends it soaring.
Unfortunately, the bumpy ridges Bryn was bitching about earlier prove to be a problem for me too.
My bright piece returns to almost the exact same spot I placed it sparking me to squeak. “Fuck!”
“See,” Bryn teasingly waves her instrument around. “It’s not just me. It’s fucking Voyager.”
“Fucking Voyager,” I instantly echo.
“I know you’re a cheerleader-”
“Retired.”
“-but don’t encourage her,” my fake boyfriend loudly scolds between snickers.
“It’s what I do,” cheekily escapes on a comical wink.
“How about I show you the right stance for this type of terrain?” he sweetly offers.
“You’re in last place, yet you wanna show me how to play better?”
“I know my put-put skills don’t show it-”
“You call those skills?”
“However,” the glare I’m given is good natured, “I have been trained by some of the best golf coaches out there – including Cooper Copeland’s secret weapon to winning so many charity tournaments.”
“Then why aren’t you playing better?”
“You ever think that maybe I’m letting you win?”
“No.”
“And you’d be correct because I’m not.” New rounds of laughter echo throughout the space. “Sports just aren’t something I’ve ever been good at.”
“I like that you’re willing to admit that.”
“I like that you’re willing to keep fake dating me in spite of that.”
“Maybe even real date you depending on your coaching skills.”
Yet again laughs flood the room displaying to Wheeler – who thinks I didn’t see him skeptically watching us in the far distance – that we are the couple we claim to be.
Is it Crusher crazy that all this feels real?
That I like that it feels real?
That I want it to keep feeling real?
How Deep Space Nine disturbed does it make me if I’m falling this fast for a guy I barely know?
“Show me.” Sweetly insisting is attached to a small wiggling of my hips. “Show me how to get a hole in one on a single stroke.”
J.T. audibly groans louder as he slides behind me. “You’re making this harder for me on purpose, aren’t you, Beloved?”
“You should always be hard for me, Imzadi.”
His hands land firmly on my hips and gently tug me backwards to physically reiterate the words he purrs beside my ear, “You mean like this?”