Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Reese Forster was touching me.
Red alert, red alert.
His hands flexed on my arms before he chuckled. “Again with the questions?”
“Questions?” Aiden looked between the two of us.
He hadn’t dropped his hands.
He was still touching me.
I couldn’t even formulate a response except what was exploding up from my toes, my legs, my groin, my stomach, my chest, my throat. “If scientists are able to add a rhino’s horn to a horse through DNA manipulation, is that a real unicorn?”
Aiden made a gurgling sound, but to his credit, Reese didn’t even blink.
He responded right away. “No. That’d be a horse with a rhino’s horn.”
“Whaaat is happening?”
Reese ignored Aiden, finally dropping his hands—and yes, he left tingles where he had touched me. His eyebrows dipped down. “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”
I snorted. “Fantastically so.” Somehow my hand found my hip in the most backward movement ever. I twirled and dipped it like it was an airplane going in for a landing. “You know me. Us camp groupies always have to keep you on your toes.”
His eyes remained locked on mine.
I was such an idiot.
Aiden was almost gawking at us now.
Then Reese gave a little grunt and stepped back. “You’re not a camp groupie. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Little did he know…
The door that connected the gym to the concessions burst open behind Reese, and I heard the familiar whisk-whisk-whisk of Keith’s khaki shorts before he bellowed out, “Charlie!”
I was right fucking here. I gritted my teeth.
Reese looked back.
Aiden stepped aside to see Keith too, and I stepped out from behind Reese.
“Oh!” Keith ground to a halt, that damn Boss mug in hand. He must’ve put hair product in his curls since breakfast because they looked wet. I’d bet my measly camp salary he was trying to impress the players, or the coaches.
Keith liked to pretend he was an expert on the sport.
To his credit, he did know quite a bit. He coached his daughters’ basketball teams, and one time I had to help. I’d been slightly impressed with the way he blew his whistle. Until it became annoying. He blew the thing every five minutes.
“I’m Keith Gimpel.” He stuck his hand out. “I run this place.” His smooth-talker voice was on. He was hoping to impress Reese Forster now.
Reese just nodded at him and moved back a step, to the side. “Thank you for letting our team use your facilities.”
Aiden stepped forward, shaking Keith’s hand instead. “I’m Aiden, one of the team’s trainers.”
Reese stepped back again, as if Keith’s presence repulsed him—or maybe that was my wishful thinking. Either way, Aiden moved forward again, engaging Keith in further conversation, and somehow, Aiden had Keith walking back into the concessions area a second later.
I was in awe.
I might need to be friends with this Aiden if he could handle Keith like that, because that’s what they both just did. My boss got served, in the best way ever.
Reese had gone back to watching me, and I couldn’t help myself. “That was awesome! It’s like you have creepy-guy radar, and Aiden’s your superhero,” I gushed.
Reese winced. “I don’t know if it’s like that exactly.” He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Your boss is a dick. I can tell.”
Stalker mode: engaged. Again.
“I think I want to be your best friend.”
I cringed, hearing those words before I could take them back, but a second later, Reese Forster laughed. It was small, brief, but it was there. And the sound flooded me with a warm, slightly gooey feeling.
“Let’s just keep it at weird camp buds, and by that, I mean you give me a damn ball. Now.”
That edge from last night was back in his voice. It was slight, but it was there, as if he’d been trying to hold it back.
I nodded, turning for the cage. That was the guy who’d showed up last night and practiced for four hours straight by himself, and with a vengeance—as if he needed to save the world with his basketball skills.
I felt honored he was even trying to hold back with me.
After handing over a ball, which Reese took in the same instant half-dribble, go-between-the-legs motion as he walked toward the court, the screen door slammed shut once again.
Please, not Keith. Please, not Keith.
Grant walked around the corner. “Hey—”
I shot my hands in the air and clapped them together. “It worked!”
I must’ve shouted, because Reese stopped dribbling. He and Grant both looked at me, but I didn’t even care. At this point, both were aware of my quirks.
“Okay.” Grant shook his head, rubbing his hand over the side of his face. “I’m not even asking. Did that trainer guy find you?”
“Yes. We need tubs.”
“Tubs?” His eyebrows rose.
I nodded. “Tubs and other stuff. Water. Sports drinks. Towels.” I indicated the spot behind him. “He wants a table set up there with all of that, and a second one outside. And he wants ice for the tubs.”