Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
"Keep digging, Porter," Ethan snapped. "And I'll convince Ms. Goodman to add a few more clauses to your contract that leave you on the wrong side of the receiving end."
"It's all right," I said, waving my hand at Ethan. He seemed impressed at me taking the reins and motioned me in a go-ahead motion. "I don't date baseball players." Maddox laughed a little at that.
"Hockey players?" he asked, and I tilted my head at the oddness of the question. "The Reapers are almost as popular as the Hurricanes now."
Ethan snarked out a dark laugh. "Angry that your brother's team is eating up some of your feeding grounds?"
Maddox shook his head, a confident smirk on his lips.
I laughed. "I'm more of a football girl," I said, but it was pretty refreshing to figure out that this guy had no idea who I was. Whose daughter I was. And for the first time since accepting my new job, I felt like I made the absolute right choice.
I'd earned this job off my resume and my experience, and yes, a little recommendation from Weston, but I was where I was meant to be. I could feel that in the marrow of my bones. Here, I was not Coach Goodman's daughter. Here I was Savannah Goodman, contract manager for the Charleston Hurricanes.
And despite my broken heart, that title felt pretty damn good.
I’d just changed into my most comfortable yoga pants and tank top, the Charleston heat almost as insufferable as Raleigh heat. I was determined to get at least one box unpacked today. Diving headfirst into a full-time position had left me little time to settle in my home, but if I was being completely honest, I was having a hard time finding motivation. Outside of work, there was nothing I wanted to do but turn on a Taylor Swift record and wallow in my own misery.
But today, I vowed to get my glasses unpacked so I could stop drinking bottled water and wasting so much plastic, despite me recycling.
I sliced open the box, and meticulously put away my glasses one after the other, singing a terrible breakup song at the top of my lungs that did nothing to cleanse my soul of the emptiness that continued to plague it.
I was settling into life here in Charleston, and I was more than happy to be next to my best friend London, but damn it, I still was so hurt. And lonely.
I missed Hendrix. Not just his incredible body and what his mouth could do to mine, but his laughs, his jokes, the fights we had, and the make-ups we had. The way he could be content lying next to me watching Netflix just as much as he could be bending me over the arm of a couch.
And just the thought of those memories coursing through my veins had me sinking to the floor and not reaching for another box.
I sat there for the better part of an hour, listening to the music, doing my best to cleanse my soul of the negative energy that continued to hit me wave after wave with each memory I couldn't force out of my head. I was just about to reach for my take-out app when a knock at my door sounded.
I hopped to my feet, desperately hoping it was London for a surprise visit complete with vodka sodas and a bag of greasy burgers and fries—the heartbreak starter pack. I flung open my door, prepared to cry on her shoulder for the hundredth time, but I froze in my entryway.
Because it wasn't my best friend with junk food and liquor.
It was Hendrix fucking Malone.
21
Hendrix
“You weren’t at the office.” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind as I stared down at Savannah…who lived in Charleston just to be close to me.
“It’s Saturday,” she said slowly. “In the off-season.”
“You weren’t there yesterday afternoon.” I knew because I’d been there, looking for her.
“I left at three.” Her brow furrowed. “How did you—”
“I was there yesterday. Looking for you.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. I loved her so fucking much, and just the thought that she really might love me, too, was almost too much to process.
“At the Hurricanes offices?”
I nodded. “I would have been there sooner, but it turns out Maddox Porter isn’t big on answering his fucking phone.” I’d been so frustrated I’d nearly banged on the doors to force someone to let me in. “It took hours to get ahold of him so he could get me in, and by that time, he was all too smirk-happy to tell me he’d seen plenty of you, but you were gone for the day.” That smartass little comment had almost earned him one to the jaw.
“What?” She shook her head as a couple walked by behind me. “We aren’t having this conversation in the hallway. Come in.” She opened her door and stepped back. “You know Maddox?”