Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Did he do that? His house cleaner, Andrea, comes twice a week and cleans for a few hours each time, but today wasn’t one of her days. I can imagine fussy Carter arranging his pillows just so, his brows lowered in judgment of the alignment.
There’s a sitting area with two leather chairs arranged in front of a small fireplace, a small table between the chairs stacked with a few hardback books. I walk over and look at them, wondering if they’re really books he’s read or just decorative.
They’re all biographies. Warren Buffet, George Washington and Billie Jean King.
“You guys should come to the game tomorrow night.” Carter walks out of the closet and I glance over at him as he speaks.
I have to force it to be a glance because he doesn’t have a shirt on. He’s only wearing black athletic shorts. And I’ve never seen a man with a body like his this close up. Tyler’s Cheetos and Fruity Pebbles addictions kept his abs so well hidden I never saw them. Carter, on the other hand, likes to snack on grilled chicken and cucumber.
“Sure, I know the girls have been dying to go to one,” I say, keeping my tone casual.
“The counselor I’m working with said I should wait until I think they’re ready for questions about their mom. Even though my teammates and their families know better than to ask about her, there’s always that random nosy asshole who could say something.”
This is a two-way conversation, and I can’t be part of it and not look at him. But I don’t want to get busted ogling his muscles, so I keep my gaze on his face as I respond.
“If anybody says anything in front of me, they’ll feel my wrath.”
Carter grins. “You have a wrath?”
“I do.”
“I can kind of see that. When we first met, I thought you were just a sweet, passive, pretty face who likes everyone and everything.”
My heart skips a beat over him calling me pretty. Must be biological because I’m not into him. At the same time, I scoff at his comment, though it does hit home. Past Suki was way too sweet and passive, and look where it got me. Burned and buried in debt by a man who took advantage of me.
Never again.
“You thought wrong. I stand up for myself, and I’ll stand up to anyone who tries to hurt the girls.”
“Good.”
I flash him a quick smile. “Remember you said that when I stand up to you.”
A corner of his lips quirks up in a sexy smile. “I don’t want you to be a doormat, Suki. For this to work, we have to be completely open with each other.”
“I agree.”
“I want you and the girls at all my home games, even if you have to leave early on school nights.”
I furrow my brow. “Okay, I don’t like the way you commanded it, but I’ll do my best.”
He starts taking the decorative pillows off the bed, stacking them on one of the leather chairs. “My team shirts and sweaters are in the closet in one of the drawers by the door. The light-blue one on the bottom is the one I’d give to my wife, so wear that one.”
I get a fluttering sensation in my stomach. His wife. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the sound of that.
Wearing his clothes feels very intimate. But I guess he’s right. It’s probably something I’d do if we were really a couple.
“You said it’s a sweater?”
“A jersey. We call them sweaters.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll have someone from the front office bring over some stuff for the girls to wear tomorrow.”
My gaze starts to drift down to his defined chest, which has hair a shade lighter than the hair on his head and face. His shoulders and chest also have a few freckles. I check myself, forcing my eyes back to his.
“If that...sweater is important to you, I don’t want to risk ruining it.”
“You’ll be fine. It’s already got a rip in one arm from the game I wore it in.”
“You only wore it once?”
He nods. “I wore it when my team won the championship my second year in the pros.”
I clear my throat, unsure what to say. “I’ll, um, see how it looks on me tomorrow.”
He’s done with the pillows. There are only two left on the bed, one on each side, both with crisp-looking white pillowcases.
“Wear it,” he orders.
I bristle at his no-nonsense tone over what I’ll be wearing. I never signed over this level of control to him.
“Look, just because your past girlfriends have all been vapid groupies who wept over wearing your jersey, that doesn’t mean I’m doing it.” I fold my arms to emphasize my point.
“My last girlfriend was a professor of archaeology at NYU. It’s been a long fucking day and I have another long fucking day tomorrow, so can you just give me a break on this one so we can go to bed?”