Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Me: Aww. You miss me. How sweet.
Cooper: Fuck you, I didn’t say that.
I shake my head.
Me: Why don’t you guys come to Montana for a few days of vacation?
Cooper: We could do that. Brit’s been working her ass off. It would be good for her.
My best friend is so fucking head over heels in love with his wife that it almost makes my teeth ache from the sweetness. But I get it. Britney’s great. They’ve been married since our rookie season, and she loves to feed me.
Me: Just send me your flight info.
Cooper: She’ll be excited. Thanks, man.
I prop my leg up and drape the ice over my knee. It’s tender, but that’s to be expected after the exercise that Ivy’s putting me through every day.
Speaking of the pretty redhead, I pull up her contact and type out a text.
Me: So, who’s your favorite player again?
The bubbles bounce on the screen, and I sip my water, waiting.
Red: Who is this?
With a grin, I type my response.
Me: Come on. You can tell me.
Red: Will Montgomery.
I bark out a laugh.
Me: 1. That’s football. 2. He’s been retired for a while.
Red: I said what I said.
I like her.
And I hate that she’s busting her ass in that bar at night.
Me: Are you at Lucky’s?
Red: Goodnight, Xander.
CHAPTER SIX
IVY
Iwas up until almost three this morning, making sure my scrubs were washed and in the dryer so I wouldn’t have to scramble to find something to wear today, and I set an alarm, once every minute for fifteen minutes, to make sure I woke up on time.
Am I exhausted?
Yes.
But I’m also not going to make a complete mockery of myself today by showing up late and unprepared. Not only do I have my own water bottle with me, but I washed Xander’s as well. I’m ready to go.
I must have been hallucinating yesterday in my haze of Xander lust when I was leaving and he told me that I’m sexy when I blush. Because there’s no way in this or any other universe that Xander Hendrix thinks that anything I do is sexy.
He’s just a nice guy.
He always was. He’s a flirt, and there’s nothing more to it.
I need to remember that because I got carried away once, years ago, and it ended so horrifically that it’s a good thing that Xander doesn’t seem to remember it.
In fact, Xander doesn’t seem to remember much when it comes to me, and that kind of—and by kind of, I mean hugely—bruises my feelings.
Because when I was a teenager, Xander was the bigger-than-life athlete who came to my rescue whenever the bullies got to be too bad.
He rescued me from being shoved into a locker our freshman year.
He punched Alfie Reynolds in the face and broke his nose when he called me a fat retard at lunch our sophomore year.
I have at least a dozen more stories, all similar to that. And yet, Xander doesn’t even remember that he’d always pat me on the head and say Don’t worry about them, Red.
So there’s no feasible way that man used the word sexy yesterday.
“I was delirious,” I mutter as I pull up to his house and cut the engine.
I’m twenty minutes early because I was paranoid about being late today, so I’ll just sit out here and answer some emails on my phone.
The team wants me to report to them with my notes at least three times a week, so I shoot over the past two days’ worth of my observations.
I frown when I see an email come in from the electric company, telling me that the check I sent them for the bill for Lucky’s bounced, and I feel dread set up residence in my belly. But before I can log in to the business account, there’s a knock on my window, and I jump, tossing my phone on the seat next to me and letting out a loud squeak.
Xander grins and gestures for me to unlock the door.
“Why are you sitting out here?” he asks when he opens the door and leans his long, muscled arm against the top of the frame.
“Because I was way too early.”
The man that stars in all my dreams shakes his head and opens the back door to grab my bag for me.
“We’re pretty casual around here, Red. Just come in whenever you get here.”
“Maybe you’re busy, or with someone, or doing something.”
Or doing someone, and I don’t want to consider that.
“I’m not,” is all he says as he leads me to the front door, which is standing open. “And for the record, I’m not with someone.”
“You know what I meant.”
“And I said what I said,” he replies, repeating what I told him via text last night. It was busy at the bar, but those texts made me smile. “What about you?”
“I’m right here.”