Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
He peers over the frames of his reading glasses—they’re new, and he hates them. “I think I’m good for now. You did a great job today, Queenie. You should be proud of yourself.”
I feel like a glorified lackey in a pretty dress, but I appreciate his trying to make me feel good with the compliment. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiles and taps the end of his pen on the desk. “I’ve got another hour or so of paperwork to finish up, but you can head out if you want.”
“I can wait; it’s not a big deal.” I’ll just internet stalk my hookup.
“No point in you hanging around for nothing. You can take an Uber, and I’ll meet you at home.”
“Sure. Okay. That sounds good.”
I leave my dad to his paperwork, quickly tidy my desk, order an Uber, and head for the front doors of the arena. It’s quiet in the building, the team workout long over, and most of the administrative staff have already left.
The car is already waiting for me, so I slip into the back seat. Uber Man is super chatty. I Mm-hmm and make other affirmative sounds while he regales me with his plan to open up his street-taco shop. At least he has a dream and a plan to go after it. By the time he drops me off at the house, I’m craving tacos.
I walk around the side of the house and down the short path to the guesthouse, which is a one-bedroom miniature bungalow—it’s three times as big as my previous apartment and much, much nicer. Not that I need the space, or the luxury. In fact, I’d trade it in a heartbeat if it meant I’d be more self-sufficient and would have a real direction in life. At least my dad is understanding, and he likes having me around.
As soon as I’m inside my apartment, I flip open my planner and retrieve the piece of paper Ryan gave me this morning. It’s actually a grocery receipt. I get caught up in scanning the items he purchased. Four gallons of milk? Geez, he must really love dairy.
I flip it over and scan the rushed but neat writing on the back. Receipt paper is notorious for smudging, and my hands were clammy when I took this from him, so the ink is smeared across the white paper, making it difficult to read. I think it says Please call me, and there’s a phone number, but I can’t tell if the second number is a three or a six or a nine, or what.
I drop down on the couch and squint at the receipt some more. I definitely need to figure out how to handle this. The last thing I want is my dad finding out I messed around with one of these guys, when he specifically asked me not to.
I exhale a long breath and watch the ceiling fan spin for a minute. How the hell am I going to see this guy every single day and not think about all the amazing things he did to my body?
CHAPTER 4
CREEPING CREEPER
Kingston
“I think it might be better for both of us if we didn’t talk for a while.” I cringe and turn down the volume as Jessica’s sob comes through the surround sound. I’ve been sitting in my car for the past hour. At first I was waiting for Queenie to leave the arena, but Jessica called, so now I’m trying to explain, again, why her texting me every day isn’t in either of our best interests.
“D-d-don’t you still care about me?” she says between sobs.
“Of course I still care, Jessica, but this is making it impossible for either of us to move on.”
My response is followed by more sobbing. I spend the next ten minutes trying to reassure her that it’s not her, it’s me, and that not talking for a while doesn’t mean we’ll never speak again. I’m so busy talking her down from the emotional ledge that I nearly miss Queenie leaving for the day.
As it is, I watch her get into an Uber. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk to her, so I hastily end the call with Jessica and follow the Uber, hoping I can catch her. I have to drive over the speed limit and run a couple of stale yellows to avoid losing her.
Based on the neighborhood, and the direction we’re headed, I have a feeling she might live with her dad. I’ve been to Jake’s a couple of times for team get-togethers over the years. He lives on the corner, so I pass the driveway and make a right before parking on the street at the side of the house.
Jake is still at the arena, although I have no idea how far behind Queenie he’ll be, so I need to make a move. I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs and cut the engine. After stepping out of the vehicle, I round the corner and knock on the front door, then ring the doorbell, but no one answers. It’s a nice day, so maybe she’s outside.