Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I say, my voice feeling a bit rough. I shift in my seat, not liking the way my zipper is digging into me, but it does remind me. “Wanted to say hey before I left, but I do need to head out. Got some things I need to do before tomorrow’s game.”
I give Joy a pointed look, hoping she catches on to my top secret signal because I can’t exactly say Can you take a look at my dick again? in front of Shepherd. She smiles, her eyes alit with what seems to be mischievousness, which I pray means she understands and is agreeable.
“Yeah, get some sleep. I’ll be behind you shortly. Need to eat really quick first,” Shep says, lifting a hand toward the waitress. When she meets his eye, he mimes eating from a plate and she nods.
“I’m going home too,” Joy tells Shepherd, standing up. “Congrats on the win, bro. Check the play around twelve minutes into the second period. The biscuit pass was smooth as silk. You need to be ready for that next time.”
Shepherd blinks and reaches for his phone, already taking her advice to heart.
Together, but not, Joy and I walk toward the door of Chuck’s. I feel an urge to place my hand on her lower back, but this isn’t a date. We’re not leaving together. We just happen to be leaving at the same time, for me to flash her. Which is completely normal.
Except it’s absolutely not.
Outside, the moon is high in the sky, giving everything a blue tint, and the fall chill has turned downright cold. Joy huddles deeper into her jacket. “I’m tired. Can we do this in your truck or something so I can go home?”
I’ve never heard a woman so uninterested in seeing my cock before. If I’m honest, it kinda hurts my feelings. Or it would, if I had any feelings where Joy Barlowe is concerned other than annoyance, irritation, and frustration.
But I can’t show that—the hurt or the exasperation. I need her.
“Yeah, climb in.” I open the door to my truck, and she climbs in like she’s done this before, automatically reaching for the handle by the windshield and stepping on the running board. For a split second, a flash of jealousy shoots through me and my heart rate spikes.
Whose truck is she used to getting into?
I’ve never known Joy to date anyone, and fuck knows, Shep would be shouting that from the rooftops before hunting the guy down. He’s protective of his sisters, especially Joy, who hangs out with mostly dude-bros because of her job.
It takes me walking around to the driver’s side and getting in myself to realize that she rides with Shepherd sometimes and we have the same type of truck. His is all jacked up like he’s going off-roading at any minute, whereas mine’s straight factory build, but it’s the same design, with the same hand and foot holds.
In a single breath, I feel stupid. I have no right to be jealous over who Joy Barlowe spends time with anyway. It’s her business, not mine. Our arrangement is purely transactional—she looks, I play well, done deal.
“You’re not seriously worried about DeBoer, are you?” she asks as soon as I slam my door.
I shrug, not used to sharing my thoughts with anyone. Joy doesn’t seem to give a shit about what I’m used to, though, and digs into my sore spot without hesitation.
“He’s good. I’ll give him that,” she admits, “but he’s green. He’s not ready for the top offenses in the league yet.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Yet,” I snap at her, not wanting to hear a compliment about the guy who probably has at least three different plans to get me out of his way. “He’s fresh, malleable, and hungry. I’m stuck in my ways, which if the other team does their homework on me—and we both know they do—they can play to my weaknesses. I’m the old dog that can’t learn new tricks at this point.”
Angry at the progression of time and my inability to stop its incessant march, I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Joy doesn’t so much as flinch at the aggressive, physical outburst, but the subsequent silence in the truck is heavy. I stare out the windshield, not wanting to see the judgment in her eyes, even if I deserve it.
“I’ve never said that aloud before,” I confess quietly after a minute. “Sorry for—” I wave my hand at the wheel, not sure why I’m apologizing since I don’t give a shit what she thinks. Or I shouldn’t. But it feels like the right thing to do.
Joy reaches over and touches my hand gently, her fingertips light against my skin as she soothes the sting from both the slam and the uncharacteristic emotional overflow. “These are magic. Don’t mistreat them or take them for granted.” I lift my eyes to meet hers, but it’s too dark to see if she’s being serious or fucking with me. Knowing her? It’s fifty-fifty either way. “And you’re not that old. What are you, like, forty? Forty-five? Haven’t you heard? Forty’s the new twenty, so you can totally learn new tricks. We’ve got this thing called the internet now. You can use it to learn all sorts of things.”