Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Honey, what about the prosecco?”
“Enjoy the headache tomorrow.” She pushes through the door and disappears down the street.
I would chase after her if I wasn’t already half in the bag and also fairly convinced she would cause me bodily harm.
I polish off the bottle of prosecco and take an Uber home. There, I get out the good scotch and pour myself a glass. Drunkenly, I wish I could make Willy my date to our reunion. I could pose as her boyfriend. I’d prove that I’m not just the asshole prom king who lucked into being good at hockey.
While I drink my scotch, I scroll through my photos. My smile is so wide I can feel it stretching my cheeks. In most of them Willy looks stiff. But in one of them she’s smiling.
She’s so damn beautiful with those expressive eyes and that stunning smile. I hold my phone to my chest and close my eyes. Drinking a bottle of prosecco after four whiskeys and following it up with scotch definitely wasn’t my best plan.
Maybe I can convince Wills to be my date after all.
And hopefully I’ll figure out how to keep her, too.
CHAPTER 6
HEMI
Igrab my phone from my dresser as I roll out of bed and pad to my bathroom. I have five missed calls from Shilpa and one text message.
Shilps
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
I sincerely hope things didn’t happen last night that will make my job harder. Flip hasn’t been as bad lately, but he still falls off the be-a-good-boy-and-don’t-broadcast-your-extracurriculars-to-the-whole-world wagon on occasion.
Shilps
Call me now.
I dial her immediately.
“What the fuck is going on?” Shilpa demands.
“I don’t know. I just woke up. Did one of the boys do something stupid?”
Silence follows.
“Shilps?”
“Look at Dallas’s socials.”
“What? Why?”
“Just look, and then we will discuss this,” she replies.
I quickly pull him up, expecting that he was out with Flip or something after we parted ways last night. He wasn’t sober when I left him with an entire bottle of prosecco.
My heart stops when I see his most recent post. Because it’s so much worse than him making out with some random woman.
His arms are wrapped around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder, the widest, prettiest smile lighting up his face. His freaking boner was nudging me in the back. He’d said something ridiculous, and for a second, I’d smiled. For one freaking second. We both look deliriously happy.
But the caption he’s paired it with is the worst part. In all caps. WITH THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.
“Oh my God. What was he thinking?” My phone dings with a new email.
“Is this real, Hemi?” Shilpa asks.
“What do you think?” I open the message, and my already-roiling stomach sinks. “Head office wants to see me this morning.”
“What time?”
“In two hours.”
“I’m coming over. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Should I respond to the email?” My entire body has gone numb. I have no idea what’s going on. Is this some kind of sick joke?
“Keep it simple and say you’ll be there. If anyone else messages, ignore them. If it were me, I would put nothing in writing.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Shilps, am I going to lose my job?” This makes it look like Dallas and I willfully went against the team’s no-fraternization policy. And in a very in-your-face kind of way. While it’s not impossible for relationships between people in-house to be sanctioned, there’s a very clear process to follow, which includes paperwork and meetings with the head office prior to great public pronouncements.
“Not if I can help it. Try not to panic. I’ll be there soon.”
Shilpa ends the call, and I get dressed in a rush.
My roommate’s door stays closed, which isn’t a surprise. She works the night shift at a call center, and we rarely see each other. It works for both of us.
My head is spinning, and my stomach is in knots.
Shilpa arrives eighteen minutes later with two coffees in hand. She’s dressed for work, her long, dark hair pulled up in an intricate bun, her makeup on point. I, on the other hand, am the conductor of the hot mess express.
She purses her lips. “Real or not real?”
“Not real.”
“What happened yesterday to prompt this post from Dallas?” Shilpa hands me a takeout cup that I gladly accept.
Going into a meeting with the head office uncaffeinated seems like a bad idea.
Dealing with drama is part of my job as director of public relations for the Terror. These boys are fueled by testosterone, and sometimes they think with their dicks instead of their heads. So I handle it. I smooth it out. I help the guys make better career and personal life choices when I can. But I am not the reason for drama. So I’m at a complete loss as to what to do.
If any other player announced something like this on social media before bringing it to me and Shilpa, I would tear them a new one. I’ll probably still tear Dallas a new one. But it’s not just him on the line here; it’s me, too.