Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Chess goes to a table and picks up a large camera. “They don’t need a play-by-play excuse, James.” She doesn’t glance our way as she adjusts her equipment. “Changing room is to the left. Strip down, and James will get you oiled up.”
She might as well have dropped a stink bomb in the center of the room. I swear we all take a step back, our faces twisting with various levels of shock.
“Oiled up?” Finn sounds like he’s sucked a lemon through his teeth. “You fucking with us?”
“When I fuck with someone, he knows it, Mr. Mannus.”
Ryder laughs. “I love this chick.”
“I am not a chick, Mr. Ryder. I am a woman.”
Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and I elbow his side.
“Let me guess,” Finn drawls. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”
Ryder chokes on a smothered laugh, and I run my hand over my beard to hold in mine.
“Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”
Chess has the stare of death. Like, scary fierce. I’m pretty sure her closet is full of the skeletons of other smart-mouthed ball players who dared to cross her path. It’s so bad we all stand there like recalcitrant boys who’ve been hauled up before the principal.
But my lips are twitching. I know in about ten minutes we’re going to be bare, and Finn is going to hate every second of it. I itch to take out my phone and text Fi. My smile dies a swift death at the thought of her. Fi didn’t sound right. She was hurting, and damn if I know why. The distance between us is like a cold hand gripping my spine. I don’t like the feeling, or the fact that she didn’t tell me the truth.
But I’m going to find out. The sooner I’m stripped and oiled the faster I can. I take a deep breath and step forward. “I’ll go first.”
Twenty-One
Fiona
It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved to her own office at the end of the hall.
She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead, she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered Elena’s design contribution.
She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”
God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really fucking good.
I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.
“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth than this.”
“Fiona? You okay?”
I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak, anyway. “Anything else?”
She frowns a little. “Ah . . . no.”
“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”
I leave her standing there. For now, I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.
It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.
I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.
“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.
Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”
Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.
But now a golf ball-size lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite Felix.