Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
He’d deal with it, though. For now.
She’d taken time out of her day to come meet him. Trusted him to come along as she explored his city. The unknowns were a fair trade-off for feeling his pulse pounding for something other than a hockey game. Yeah. Fine. He’d let it be vague. For now.
Burgess checked his watch. Fifteen minutes early.
Maybe he should call Sig. His teammate might be able to help him figure out how to handle the fact that the girl he wanted to sleep with was trying to prepare him for the dating scene. Other women. Sig dated, right? They didn’t really discuss their love lives, but Sig always claimed to be busy these days when the young guys went out to clubs or parties.
His other option was Wells.
Yeah, he’d call Wells. The golfer had gone through some recent turmoil trying to lock down his caddie, which was probably the same level of difficulty as trying to land his grad student au pair. Jesus Christ, was that really what he was trying to do?
He thought of her braiding Lissa’s hair.
Glaring at him over a peanut butter smoothie.
The way she’d blushed when he leaned in to kiss her.
The first night she’d lived in his place and he’d come home to find her bent over the kitchen table in a leather skirt.
Yup.
Land her. That was the game plan.
Burgess took out his phone, sighing as he tapped Wells’s name in his contacts. This was going to be insufferable, so he’d damn well better get some insight out of it.
“Burgess. What’s up.”
“Wells.” He paced the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop window, dismayed to see his hair was back to being out of place. What he wouldn’t give to slap a hockey helmet down over the whole mess. “How is wedding planning going?”
A pause ensued. “You called me to talk wedding plans?”
“No. But I’m working up to the real reason I called.”
“The reason wouldn’t happen to have a name that rhymes with awooga, would it?”
“Awooga barely comes close to rhyming with Tallulah.”
“Ahhh, but you are calling about her. See what I did there?”
“This was a mistake.”
“Don’t hang up. Don’t. Josephine will kill me if I miss a chance to get the tea.”
“The . . . what?”
“The gossip, man.”
Ohhh. Tea was gossip. A couple of Lissa’s recent statements were suddenly making sense. “Are you in charge of planning any part of the wedding or are you just showing up looking smug?”
“I’m going to show up looking smug and I’m in charge of music. It’s called multitasking.”
“Band or DJ?”
“DJ. But I was thinking of surprising Josephine with something a little extra during the ceremony. Like . . . a choir? Or a harp. I don’t know. Something fucking romantic.”
“Harp.” Burgess quit his pacing, taking a moment to recall why that instrument stood out in his mind. “Sig Gauthier’s future stepsister, Chloe, plays the harp. She’s supposed to be really good. Like a prodigy or something. Let me know if you’re interested.”
“Wow. Look at you coming through with harpist recommendations. Send me the info.”
“Fair warning, if Chloe goes to the wedding, Sig goes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t ask. But if you end up hiring her, make sure you add two to the guest list.” All right, that was enough small talk. He had less than ten minutes now before Tallulah showed up. “I’m meeting Tallulah in the park.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. When?”
Burgess removed the phone from his ear briefly to see the time. “Eight minutes.”
“Is this a date?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“That’s two different answers.”
“Fine. No. It’s complicated.”
“Let me tell you, I’ve been there.”
“That’s why I called you.” Burgess let out a long breath, scanning the park across the street, just in case Tallulah had arrived early. “I’d like to make her my girlfriend.”
A nostalgic chuckle from Wells. “I’ve been there, too.”
“Yes, I know. With Josephine. How did you do it?”
“I fired her. Don’t do that. That was very specific to our situation, okay? I repeat, do not fire Tallulah.” The rattle of golf clubs could be heard in the background. “Does she like you?”
“How would I know?” Burgess growled.
“Is she giving you any signs?”
“She gave me a massage last night in the kitchen.”
“Then I’d say you’ve got a fighting chance, my man. Especially if it was a dick massage.”
“It was a back massage, shithead. Jesus.” He licked his hand again and furiously tried to smooth down the piece of hair that had chosen today to stand straight up. “What does it mean that she wants to help me get back on the dating scene?”
Wells didn’t answer for several seconds. “You know, you could have led with that. It’s kind of the crux of the issue, wouldn’t you say?”
Burgess grunted.
“I’m out of my depth here, Sir Savage, but I’ll tell you one thing I know purely from a standpoint of self-preservation.” His friend seemed to be pausing for dramatic effect. “Do not actually let her get you back on the dating scene, do you hear me? If she has even the slightest ounce of interest in you and you go on a date with someone else, it’ll sink faster than one of my putts.”