Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“What the hell is remotion sex?” Nolan asks.
Stevie laughs. “I think he’s trying to say ‘range-of-motion exercises.’ We’ll get to those tomorrow.”
“Oh. That makes a lot more sense, ’cause I don’t think he’s gonna be in any kind of shape to have sex in the foreseeable future.”
“Probably not, if getting excited makes him cry.” She pats my shoulder. I know it’s her hand, because it’s soft and warm and it seems to have a direct, semipsychic connection to my dick, making it stir. “See you tomorrow, Shippy.”
“I hate that fuckin’ nickname,” I grumble. And then it’s lights out.
CHAPTER 13
PRETTY PAINFUL
Bishop
“Hey, Shippy, rise and shine.” Those words are followed by a repetitive poke at my shoulder.
“Would you fuck off?” I slap my brother’s hand away. “And stop calling me Shippy.” I pry one lid open, slowly. It’s a challenge. My brain and body are not interested in doing things like moving or being alert.
“You have company.”
“Huh?” I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s nine in the morning. I’ve been out for a lot of hours.
“Company. You have a visitor.” Nolan is grinning, like an asshole.
“Stevie?” I attempt to sit up in a rush, forgetting that I’m not really in any kind of shape to be doing anything quickly. I bite out several curses and flop back down on the mattress.
“Look at how excited you got there for a few seconds. I mean, I get it. That chick is hot.”
“That chick is off limits, brother, so keep your hands to yourself. And don’t flirt with her,” I snap.
“I can’t not flirt. That’s like me telling you not to be an asshole.”
He has a point. “Just stay away from her. If she’s not here, who is?”
“Ryan.”
“Who?”
“King.”
“Oh.” No one ever addresses Kingston by his given name, apart from his parents. Not even his siblings. He’s always been King or Kingston for as long as I can remember. “What’s he doing here?”
“Picking you up for a team meeting or something. Or maybe going door to door trying to recruit people into his Polo Army.”
I ignore the dig at Kingston. He’s a good guy. Super straightlaced. Like, the straightest arrow I’ve met. Guy still drinks milk with dinner, and often at the bar, or whenever he can, really. He rarely has more than one beer, and he doesn’t drink at all if he’s driving. He honestly looks like he should head up the chess club, with his uniform of polos, khaki pants, and polished dress shoes.
“Can you tell him I’ll be out in a minute?”
“Sure thing. You need help?”
“I’m good.”
Nolan leaves me to manage getting my ass out of bed. I notice that my bathroom looks a lot cleaner than it did last night. It takes me a full ten minutes to get ready. Kingston is sitting at my kitchen island, drinking a glass of milk.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no problem. I came early since I know you’re not moving fast these days.” He finishes his milk, rinses out the glass, and puts it in the dishwasher. “You ready to go?”
“Yup.” I pocket my wallet and phone. Since I’m on crutches, King takes my to-go coffee, and we head for the elevators. I glance at Stevie’s door; the paper is gone, which means she’s already left for work. I wonder if we’ll still have our morning underwear competition now that she’s helping me with PT. Guess I’m not going to find out today.
“How was practice yesterday?” I ask once we’re in Kingston’s SUV. He drives the speed limit dead on and keeps his hands at ten and two, like he was taught in driving school. While he may be a rule follower, he doesn’t expect that of anyone else. He accepts people for who they are—rule breakers and all.
“Okay. You getting injured shook the team up, though. You know how it is: some of the guys are superstitious. How you handling things?”
I wish I wasn’t one of the superstitious ones, but losing team captain and being out with an injury after the first exhibition game is shit luck. “I’m not happy, obviously. I don’t want to miss the beginning of the season.”
“I get it, but that’s a bad pull. You don’t want to rush it and reinjure, either.” King flicks his blinker on a full block from where he has to turn.
“I know. It hurts like hell. I’ve never done this kind of damage before. I wish they hadn’t put me on defense. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been playing forward.” I lift my hat and run a hand through my hair. “I can’t afford to have a bad season, you know? I only have a two-year contract, and if I screw this season, I could be sent somewhere else—or worse, the farm team.”
“You’re too good of a player to get sent back to the farm team,” Kingston says.