Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Hendrix makes me a cup of coffee with the perfect amount of cream and sugar. He hands it over and leans a hip against the counter. “I need to hit the road as soon as we eat.”
I sip my coffee, moan slightly over how good it is, and put the cup down so I can flip bacon. “I know. I hate it, but I know.”
“But then I’ll be back for the home game Saturday and won’t have a road game for six days, so we’ll do lots of shacking up then.”
I laugh and move to the cupboard for a plate. I layer paper towels in preparation for the bacon, to soak up the grease.
Hendrix’s phone is on the counter nearest me, and it dings with an incoming text. I grab and hand it over to him and move back to the pan. He doesn’t spare it a glance but crosses his arms while holding it.
“So, I was thinking,” he says tentatively, his tone pulling my attention. “Would you mind if I moved some clothes and stuff here?”
Whoa… that’s big. I turn to face him, tongs in hand. “You’d want to stay here rather than me bringing stuff to your place? Your place is so much nicer.”
His phone chimes again with an incoming text, but it’s ignored. “I don’t know about that.” Hendrix looks around my house with a soft smile. “This is a home. It’s cozy and lived in.”
“It was built in 1969 and has paneled walls,” I reply dryly. “And creaky, drafty floors.”
Three successive dings hit Hendrix’s phone, and it’s enough to drag his gaze away from me.
I unload the bacon from the pan onto the paper towel-lined plate. “And to answer your question, of course I don’t mind you leaving stuff here. I want to spend every night with you when you’re in town, but I’ll happily go to your place if you’d rather. As long as we’re together, and I just realized… man, we’re moving fast. Throw a few I love you’s around, and we’re practically moving in together.”
I laugh but he doesn’t laugh back, and I turn to face him, realizing he’s been quiet while I’ve been chattering. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze is still pinned on his phone, but he asks in a cold voice, “Do you know Carmine Betta?”
My blood turns to ice, and fear wells inside me.
“I can see that you do,” he grits out as his gaze lifts to mine.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt out, throwing the tongs on the counter and turning off the stove. I don’t even know what he’s looking at, but his glacial stare and the flat set to his mouth tells me it’s not good.
“Oh really,” he drawls sarcastically. “Because I think you talked to a reporter by that name who’s written a very long article about the Titans.”
He turns the phone my way, and I can see the title, Insider Says Titans’ Woes Are Pervasive.
“No, Hendrix,” I exclaim as his head dips to read more of the article. “I didn’t.”
“You did, Stevie,” he grits out as his eyes race over the words. “There’s information in here only you know.”
“What?” My head spins. I told that reporter nothing—except my mom blabbed about Stone and Harlow. But that’s moot. They’re engaged.
Hendrix’s phone rings, and he answers it. After listening a moment, he says, “Yeah… I just read it.”
I’m stunned to inaction and can only helplessly take in the disgust in Hendrix’s expression when his eyes meet mine. He sighs after listening to whomever is on the other end of the line. “I don’t know. I’ll call you later.”
He hangs up and walks back to my bedroom. I use the opportunity to dive for my iPad in the living room, pulling up Chrome and googling the article.
My stomach churns as I start to read:
As most sports fanatics know, the Pittsburgh Titans hockey team was obliterated in a devastating plane crash earlier this year. What fans might not know is the lengths the team, and owner Brienne Norcross, will undertake to keep the organization flush with cash. Players who weren’t on the plane when it went down, dubbed “The Lucky Three,” are spiraling out of control—car crashes, punching fans in bars, and one player even leading his girlfriend on, only to dump her and hook up with a stranger within hours. I’ve got all the dirty details of the Titans’ imminent demise below.
Vomit rises in my throat, and I swallow it down. “No, no, no, no, no,” I moan as I continue to read… really just skimming, but none of it is sinking in. I see phrases that stick out, each one a jab in the heart, but I can’t process it fully.
… dumped his girlfriend in a bar and hooked up with his current girlfriend the same night…
… almost came to physical blows after Highsmith’s nonchalance over wrecking Bateman’s Porsche…