Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Barker.”
I turn to see Chance Bateman standing next to me. “Hey, Coach. Bourgeois is looking good.” I nod to the field where Thomas is kicking field goals.
“He is.” He nods. “He’s got talent.”
“Big praise from the soccer star.”
He laughs. “We all have room to grow. Trust me. I know that all too well. Anyway, I thought you should know you’ve been a hot topic at my house this week.”
Interesting. “Really?”
“Like you didn’t already know.” He shakes his head, an amused smile tilting his lips.
“She’s a tough nut to crack,” I say. I don’t bother telling him I’m talking about Emma. He already knows.
“Not so much.”
“Are we talking about the same person? Emma Deaton?” I counter.
“That’s her.” His grin grows wider. “You’ve somehow managed to get my wife on your side.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the flowers were a good move, and now Aubrey wants to know everything about you.”
“Aubrey, right.” Is that disappointment I feel?
“Yep. I’ve been instructed to gather all the dirty details and report back.”
“And what would your wife think about you telling me that?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “My wife, Aubrey, she’s an attorney. She’s not currently practicing, but she still has the… shall we say, ‘special talent.’ You’re lucky it’s me asking and not her.”
“Maybe she can work on Emma,” I mutter under my breath.
“I need to bring some nugget of information home to my wife. So, tell me this, Barker. Why Emma? From what I know of you, this isn’t your MO.”
I can appreciate his forwardness. “It’s not. I’ve dated for mostly charity events, or team events things like that. Nothing… like this,” I confess.
“Again, why Emma?”
I shrug. “She turned me down.”
He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “That’s it? She turned you down, so you’re sending flowers and obsessing over your phone, moping around here like you’ve lost your best friend because she turned you down?”
“Who’s moping?” I ask, because the other two are facts.
“You are. You’ve been distracted all week, and your game shows it.”
“Wait just a minute. My game is fine. Kaden and I are connecting, making the plays,” I say, referring to me and our starting running back, Kaden Hahn.
“You’re making plays, but your head’s not in it. You’re on autopilot. Your arm is lax and your throw’s timid compared to what you're capable of.” He pauses, letting this new revelation sink in. “Look, for some reason my wife is rooting for you. She thinks you’d be good for Em. But she’s family to us. She’s not a game.” With that, he turns and walks away.
I should yell out to him. Stop him from walking away, but I’m frozen, my feet unable to lift from the turf as if I’m standing in quicksand. The last three days float through my mind, and although I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’ve been going through the motions. I’ve got to get this girl out of my head. I’m too far in to turn back now. I need to at least take her to dinner, to drinks. Fuck me, something to get her out of my head. I’d like to think dinner, and some time in my bed would be the perfect ending to this little… whatever this is, but if I can’t get her to call me after sending her flowers, I know damn sure my dick isn’t getting anywhere near her. No matter how bad we both want it. And she does want it. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. I see it as her breathing changes anytime I’m near her. She’s fighting this pull between us and I don’t know why.
Pushing Emma out of my mind, I get back on the field. I finish practice, being more present than I have been all week. In the locker room, I’m quiet as I rush through a shower and head out with nothing but a couple of waves and nods to the guys.
Twenty minutes later, I remove the keys from the ignition and stare at the shelter in front of me. I didn’t plan to come here, but this is where I ended up. I don’t rush to get out as I try to form what I’m going to say. More than that, I try to work out what the hell I’m doing and why this woman is getting to me.
Ten minutes later, I still have no answers and realize that I’m the creeper who’s sitting in the parking lot of an animal shelter. Reaching for the handle, I start to climb out of my SUV, but I freeze when I see her. Her long dark hair is braided and thrown over her shoulder. She’s wearing a tank top with the shelter’s logo, and a pair of tight pants, leggings, a man’s best friend.