Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“SHE’S WORKIN’ FOR LUKE FUCKING ALLEN!”
FIFTEEN
LUKE
I rub my thumb across the calluses on my palm then down over the surgical scar from when I broke my middle finger at the tail end of my fifth season with the Pinstripes. It still aches occasionally, but it’s nothing compared to the pain I felt that first time back on the mound. I thought my hand was going to break in two, thought I’d have to walk away from the game for good then. I was wrong. I played another eight seasons after that.
I miss the sport more than I thought I would. I know the season’s well underway. I’ve caught a few minutes of a game here and there in my office, but mostly, I can’t stand to watch it. Jealousy rages inside me.
No one understands my choice to walk away. Not my coaches, not my manager, not my ex-agent.
“I can see why you’ve been holed up in retirement,” David said to me at dinner the other night. “Choice piece of meat you have there.”
Considering I had a hunk of fajita meat on my plate, it took me a second to realize he was referring to Chloe.
I don’t know why I felt compelled to answer him. “She and I aren’t together.”
He laughed at that. “Really? Damn, you’re being serious, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “You’re a better man than me. She’s sexy and convenient. Just right there, cooking all your meals every day, looking like that.”
I should have rearranged his face right then instead of waiting until later. Then he wouldn’t have had a chance to put his hands on Chloe. I can’t even think about that night without my blood boiling. I grab another baseball, wind up, and throw. It slams against the target at the end of the cage. Its speed flashes in red on the monitor, confirming I’m just as fast as I’ve always been.
It’ll be easy enough to find a new agent. I haven’t been with David for long. His dad was my agent before he retired and he’d been grooming David to take over for him, so I signed on with David because I trusted his dad. Well…I learned my lesson, didn’t I?
I take another ball out of the basket at my side. I throw at that target until my shoulder tells me to quit.
Besides, Harper will be awake soon anyway. I don’t want her wondering where I am.
I had this training facility built on the back of my property when I first purchased the land. It’s disguised to look like an auxiliary building in the same style as the main house. It’s tucked to the side of the pond, out of view from the road. There’s a gym, sauna, physical therapy room, batting cages, you name it. Seems like a pity to let it go to waste, so I’ve been sneaking out here every morning, practicing and staying in shape.
It’s been hard for me to walk away from the game. Harder than I could have imagined, in fact. If I didn’t have Harper, I don’t think I’d last. But then again, if I didn’t have Harper, I wouldn’t be walking away in the first place.
I swipe sweat off my brow and head back toward the house, passing near the garden. It’s not even 8:00 AM and Chloe’s already out there. She loves that garden and tends to it often, but has she realized Ned’s been helping her with it too? He’s been watering and pruning the plants, adding fertilizer and such, even though gardening isn’t his favorite pastime.
Ned’s actually my great-uncle. He used to drive trucks, and anytime he’d come through central Texas, he’d make sure his route included a stop-off to visit our family. When those long days on the road got to be too much, I offered him a position with me here.
I guess Chloe doesn’t realize he’s not just some employee. I can see her reaction now. Her jaw would drop, her eyes would go wide. “You’re related to Satan!?”
It makes me smile just thinking about it.
I stop for a second, back in the tree line, watching while she slowly strolls down the aisles with their overflowing beds. She has a cup of coffee in her hand and she’s wearing a sweater and yoga pants. Her long hair is loose and getting slightly mussed by the early morning breeze. She tucks a few unruly strands behind her ear then grabs for her basket. She’s picking off a few things as she goes, planning her creations in her head, I’m sure. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
Or maybe just thinking about her.
I’ve been hard on myself where she’s concerned. For four weeks, I’ve slammed that door shut and locked it with a deadbolt for good measure. But here I am, staring at her like a freaking weirdo, just wanting a glimpse of her like this. She’s so golden in the morning light, tan and fresh-faced.