Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
A stony—but perhaps, reluctantly impressed—Grace regarded her for several moments. “This thing between you and him is really over?”
Don’t hesitate. Just get it out. “Yes.”
Chloe pretended not to see the layer of sympathy flit across Grace’s face, because she couldn’t handle sympathy just then or she might wallow in self-pity forever. “Fine. I was looking for a reason to skip yoga, anyway.” She sniffed, looking Chloe up and down. “I guess torturing you could pass for cardio.”
Hope ballooned in Chloe’s chest. “Definitely.”
“Let’s go. I guess the beast can come, too,” Grace said, backing into the elevator and smacking her hand on the side of the metal door to keep it open while Chloe rushed forward with grateful tears in her eyes. “Don’t expect me to console you.”
“I won’t.”
“He’s shit hot, I get it. But . . .”—she made a slashing motion—“there will be others.”
There wouldn’t. There would be no others like Sig. Not in a billion, trillion years.
But Chloe just smiled and nodded, beginning her life of keeping it to herself.
And hoping it wouldn’t kill her.
Chapter Twenty
Something was wrong.
The plane had landed five hours ago. They’d been transported to the hotel, eaten a team meal, and changed into business casual attire in which to arrive for the game.
During that time, Sig had called Chloe approximately fifteen times.
Without an answer.
As he sat in the eighth row of the charter bus, watching Detroit go by in the waning sunlight, he pulled nervously on the knot of his tie, leaving it skewed to the left. The organ in his chest was fluttering in a way that he hated. Not like it fluttered last night, in an I’m-so-crazily-in-love kind of way. This was anxiety. If Chloe wasn’t answering his calls, something was up. She always answered, immediately catching him up to speed on everything that had taken place in her life since the last time they spoke, be it her lunch order or an itch she couldn’t reach.
He lived for those details.
Had she lost her phone? Was she hurt? Kidnapped?
“You’re not going to believe this motherfucker,” Corrigan shouted, popping up a few rows ahead of Sig, holding up his phone. “He actually named a time and place for this game.”
“Who? What game?” Burgess groused. “The one game you should be talking about is the one we’re playing tonight.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Captain,” Mailer chimed in, standing up in the row across from Corrigan. “Normally, I would, anyway. But we’re being challenged by a baseball player. Named Elton. The significance can’t be ignored.”
“Elton from the dog park?” Sig’s attention had been caught. “Didn’t we scare this guy off? Why is he still a thing?”
“He hit on your sister,” Corrigan pointed out.
“She’s not my sister. And by the way, you’ve hit on her, too.”
Corrigan snorted, looked around for support. “Yeah, but I play hockey.”
Sig looked back down at his phone, willing a text from Chloe to appear. “I fail to see your logic.”
“The bottom line is,” Mailer started, “he named a time and a place for this baseball game. Us versus them. We have to show.”
“Have you ever played baseball?” Burgess asked the Rookies.
“How hard can it be?” Corrigan shrugged. “They don’t even wear mouthguards.”
Mailer was nodding along with his friend. “They wear hats, instead of helmets.”
“No pads. Just a little cup over their dicks.” Corrigan curved a hand over his junk to demonstrate, as if it was necessary. “It’s not even a sport.”
“Have fun embarrassing yourselves,” Sig said. “You won’t catch me out there learning a new sport on the spot. I need better odds.”
“If we start losing, we just incite a brawl,” Mailer said, as if that should be obvious.
“Something tells me the new GM won’t like us brawling in public,” commented someone in the back of the bus.
That gave Mailer pause. “So you don’t think I should invite her then?”
“We’re done with this conversation,” Sig called. “Sit down and shut up.”
“Next Saturday,” Corrigan said while collapsing back into his seat. “Nine in the morning. That field near the dog park.”
“Nope,” Sig barked, agitated. No text from Chloe. No call back. What was going on?
“Hey,” Burgess said from the row behind him. “What’s going on with you?”
Sig shook his head. Wasn’t going to answer, but the words just tumbled out, because he couldn’t carry the abundance of nerves alone at this point, especially before a game. He’d get himself killed out there. “Chloe isn’t answering her phone. It’s been too long and I’m getting worried,” he said, turning slightly in the seat. “I hate to ask, but do you think Tallulah could check on her?”
“Does she have a performance tonight?” asked Burgess, taking the phone out of his suit jacket pocket. “Something that might prevent her from answering?”
“No. She should be home.”
The captain grunted. Dialed. “Hey, gorgeous. Have you spoken to Chloe today?” He listened for a second. “She hasn’t talked to her since last week,” he said to Sig. Then to Tallulah, “Could you give her a call? Go see if she’s all right, if she doesn’t answer? Sig can’t get her on the phone . . .”