Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Arley giggles at the same time she slowly shakes her head. “We are not having a quickie, Cowboy. This was the quickie.”
“But-”
“I’m not asking,” she states in a singsong manner.
“But-”
“And I’m not arguing.”
Having my own words thrown in my direction initially irks me but the sounds of her snickers and the sweet kiss she plants on my lips afterward send the irritation elsewhere.
What can I say?
When it comes to the love of my life, I’m practically the phrase “Yes, Dear” with legs and a gun and an affinity for cake.
The two of us take a beat to properly steady our breathing before completely collecting our composure and adjusting our clothes.
Thankfully, getting from the penthouse to where the games are held doesn’t take too long, even with all the gameday traffic. Having a premium parking pass allows us closer spots but still not that close. Once I’ve found the best available space – clear shot to the exit, under a streetlamp for tactical sight advantage, and within direct line of sight to where one of the security guards is to be stationed – I kill the engine, walk around my truck, and assist my texting girlfriend out.
As much as I wanna know who she’s texting, I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
That it probably isn’t Seventeen.
That it’s probably T giving her shit about needing the grand he owes me for the wedding.
Or her parents who we promised during Thanksgiving dinner we would go see in Hawaii once this issue is settled.
Hell, it could even be one of her nephews in search of homework help because Monte refuses to get them a tutor when his sister is – academically speaking – a certified genius.
And if it is Seventeen then I trust that it’s just business.
An unexpected giggle escaping her has me tugging at my hoodie collar as I hit the lock button.
Alright.
I’m trying to trust that it’s just business.
She told me about the conversation they had in her office and was adamant that he got the message.
Knowing what I know about him?
I can’t say I’m so easily sold.
“Excited?” I warmly ask and tuck my keys into the pocket so that I can wrap an arm protectively around her shoulder.
“Fuck yeah,” she enthusiastically replies, putting her phone away. “And I will be even more excited when we win.”
“You mean if we win.”
“No, I mean when.” Arley nestles in closer to me during our approaching the entrance. “The team analysis I did is in our favor.”
“You know as well as I do, players – like agents – don’t always fit the formula.”
“And you know as well as I do that patterns of performance – for both agents and players – can and often do create easier to predict outcomes.” Her gaze swings up to mine. “Statistical analysis and data evaluation are part of the process for owners and managers when deciding who to keep, who to trade, who to bump down, who to bump up, who to have two-way contracts with and so on. Using that same information along with this season’s known line pairings, I can pretty much conclude which team has the winning numbers.”
“On paper, Angel Cake.” It’s impossible not to grin. “Never forget the most important behavioral trait of humanity as a whole is its unpredictability.”
She scrunches her nose in a silent concession.
Love the woman.
Love even more when I get to teach her something useful.
Opening the door to the building immediately sends a sensory overload straight into our faces. While the crowd outside is somewhat strong, the lights, the security screeches, the crying kids, and yelling vendors shift everything to an astounding level.
Arley does her best to put on a brave face and joins a line to walk through.
She wanted to come.
This torture session was not my fucking idea.
Me?
I’m happy keeping her home on our couch.
Under a Dalvegan blanket.
Drinking tequila shots and eating Thai food.
She was the one insisting she wants to get out and do more things, that she can’t spend the rest of her life hiding out from the world simply because it won’t get any quieter nor will people’s words get any smaller. Since being forced to hole up, she’s stumbled into wanting to be out in the world where she can have more experiences.
Work through some of her sensory struggles.
The bar was a huge fucking first step.
The engagement shower the next.
The holiday split into two equal halves – between Monte’s and my dad’s – logically came after that.
Attending a hockey game – in person – seems like a steep jump to me, personally, but like I said before.
When it comes to her, I’m basically a broken bobble head, nodding and nodding and nodding because I love to see her happy.
“I’ve got plugs if you need them,” I reassure quietly near her ear after we move up in the line. “They’re big D green, too.”