Hands Down Read online Mariana Zapata

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 182070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
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The sound of the front door opening had me standing up straight, ready to scan someone’s keychain to give me an excuse not to start going through the stupid list.

But just as soon as the smile came onto my face, it fell back off.

And it stayed off as the four men approached the desk I was working behind. The one on the left was a bulky, buff man with a tiny mohawk. The guy in the middle towered over the one beside him, in height and size. He had a buzzcut and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen as he laughed at whatever the big, buff guy had just said. But it wasn’t either of the two fit men who wiped the smile off my face. Or the older man with salt-and-pepper hair and in a suit that screamed expensive.

It was the man on the right who had me staring blankly as the group stopped in front of my desk.

That dark blond hair.

Those eyes that could be described as baby blue.

A face that was so lean, it highlighted the high cheekbones, defined jaw, and a chin that had only gotten cuter over time.

A mouth that had an incredible smile.

A smile that was currently taking over all the rest of those features that made up a face that was striking.

Unforgettable.

But mostly, it was familiar.

And I couldn’t freaking help but go up to my tiptoes, lean forward, and say a name I had just spoken out loud not even a week ago when he’d left my apartment. “Zac?”

Fucking Zac, in sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and most of all, a surprised—but happy—expression on his face. “Darlin’?”

From her spot down the counter, Deepa gasped, and I was pretty sure she whispered, “Is that…?”

But I couldn’t process the fact I knew she was a football fan—and that I hadn’t told her about Zac—because I was too busy being surprised he was here.

I waved at him and then smiled at the men with him. Leaning forward against the counter, I tipped my chin up. What were the chances? “What are you doing here?” I asked.

He’d left my apartment a week ago in kind of a trance. Distracted. Maybe shocked? He’d finished his food, offered to help me wash the dishes—I’d said no—and then left after giving me a quick hug, saying he needed to make some plans and calls. I’d made sure to tell him again to take care of himself and to wish him good luck with the workout he had scheduled in Miami. I mean, I’d been surprised and elated for him. Of course, I figured he’d feel the same way since we’d literally just been talking about it, about his chances and his future.

I had gone to bed that night thinking that I was glad he had come over and shown me those pieces of him that I had hoped were still there. It had been easy to resign myself to the idea I’d see him again in the future. Maybe for Boogie’s wedding. Not just days later.

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked with a big smile on his beaming face.

“I work here.”

Those light brown eyebrows went up, his pleased and surprised expression getting even brighter as his gaze strayed to the counter in front of me, lingering over the logo painted onto the front of it. He had to be reading the MAIO HOUSE spelled out across it. “You sure do work here, huh? I forgot all about the name ’til now.”

What was he still doing here in Houston? Had he had his workout in Miami already?

Before I could wonder over it too much, my old friend dipped his chin and extended his arms out at his sides in a universal gesture. “You don’t wanna be seen with me in public?”

Umm… not really?

But how mean would it be for me to not welcome a hug from him?

I thought about Gunner for a second. But… fuck it.

Heading around the counter, I walked right up to the man with the familiar face and wrapped my arms around his neck while he hugged me over my shoulders, all warm and freshly showered from the smell of him. He hugged me tight right back, basically shoving me into the expanse of a chest that felt as hard as I’d imagined it would.

He smelled pretty nice too.

But I still stepped away quickly and asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“We’re doin’ a video for a charity.” That gave me no news on what had happened with the Miami Sharks, and that was fine.

“Zac,” the older man who had walked in with him sighed in exasperation. I peeked at him in his tailored gray suit, white shirt, and light pink tie. He wasn’t even looking at Zac, but instead at the phone he was busy tapping away on.



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