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)
Why did it have to feel so terrible?
A canine snarf forced Chloe’s eyes open to find Pierre standing at the edge of the bed. She’d already taken him for his 5:30 a.m. jaunt—accompanied by her landlord, as she’d been doing every morning for the last week. “Mister Sig asked me to go with you on these early walks,” Raymond had said, by way of explanation.
Of course Sig did that.
Of course he did.
Pierre sat down with a blustering sound, looking up at Chloe expectantly. She’d really been giving him the bare minimum this week, hadn’t she? Walking him, feeding him, petting him when she could muster the energy. The poor pup deserved better.
“What kind of a dog mother am I?” she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow. “You deserve to go on a doggie date, don’t you, boy? Do you want to go see your friends at the dog park?”
Pierre’s tongue lolled out, his butt scooting forward an inch on the carpet.
“That looks like a yes. Okay.” Chloe turned the phone over again and punched out a stiff-fingered text to Elton. “I’m a little surprised he reached out, aren’t you, Pierre? Considering I brought four hockey players down on his head the first time we met.”
The afternoon Sig had kissed her up against the door.
His touch, his voice, his scent remained fresh in her head, like he’d just been there.
You’re going to feel my weight on top of you, Chloe. You’ll feel it behind you. Beneath you. You’re going to feel the weight of me, of us, everywhere.
You’re going to trust me to find a way for us, even though it’s getting harder. You delete everyone else, but you don’t ever delete me. Ever.
Chloe fairly dove out of bed and speed walked to the bathroom, as if those memories were hot on her heels. They found her and plagued her as she went through the motions of brushing her teeth, running a comb through her hair, sighing when it refused to cooperate, and fashioning her locks in a messy bun. She cleansed her face and did her best to conceal her lack of sleep with a quick, natural layer of makeup, but proceeded to look like hell.
“Oh well, Pierre,” she said a few minutes later while pulling on yoga pants and a Bearcats sweatshirt. “It’s a dog park, not a fashion show, right? And, anyway, you look good enough for the both of us, don’t you?” She reached down to snap on his leash, scratching his head for good measure. “Yes, you do, goodest boy.”
It was only a five-minute walk to the park, though it took ten because Pierre kept stopping to taste the air. Chloe let Saturday morning in the North End wash over her, trying to glean what comfort she could from the familiarity of locals meeting for brunch, crisscrossing with tourists on the Freedom Trail, the scent of coffee and bacon drifting down cobblestone streets. The sky was overcast and her sweatshirt was definitely warranted, but spring was beginning to kick in, the promise of warmer days giving the temperature a slight lift.
When she reached the dog park a few minutes later and found it empty, she frowned.
Elton had liked her text response. Had he changed his mind? Stood her up? Or was he just running late. Chloe had just slipped her phone out of her front pocket of her sweatshirt when she heard the commotion. Men’s voices. A lot of them. Loud ones.
Coming from the neighboring baseball field.
Were some of those voices familiar?
She stepped into the gated area and started to close it behind her, her chin jerking up when she heard someone say, “Suck my balls.” And that someone was Corrigan. Not a doubt in her mind. And where Corrigan went, so did Mailer. What were the Orgasm Donors doing at the baseball field at 9:30 a.m. on Saturday morning . . .
Chloe’s mouth fell open.
They hadn’t gone through with that ridiculous challenge, had they?
Certainly not.
But she found herself exiting the penned dog park and marching up and over the small rise, anyway, just to be sure. When the baseball field came into full view and she saw the parties assembled, she resolved to never again underestimate the competitive nature of professional athletes. Although they were being noticeably unprofessional this morning, if the “suck my balls” comment was any proof.
Corrigan and Mailer were shoulder to shoulder, facing off with Elton, who had a whole baseball team of men—and one young woman—standing behind him, attempting intimidation by crushing their fists into their leather gloves. Burgess was leaning against the chain-link fence, arms crossed, as if he’d just come in case an adult needed to step in. Several other members of the Bearcats team were also in attendance, and she couldn’t help it, her eyes raced furiously from face to face, trying to locate Sig, but he wasn’t there.