Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Plain and simple.
I won’t let a guy walk all over me. Not after the way Wyatt, my ex, tried to manipulate me. We had a good thing going for a while until he gave me an ultimatum about my job.
That didn’t fly.
Football is my first love, and it deserves all my attention.
I’ll turn Zena down. I’ve got a busy season ahead. My dad to look out for. My volunteer work at the Alliance. And this new podcast.
There’s no time for dating. No time for sex. And no time to worry about Beck.
Eventually, I’ll run into him around town, and when I do, I’ll just smile and wave.
With that decided, I finish my weights routine and head for the cardio equipment, ready to claim a treadmill.
Then the door swings open to the gym, and Beck walks in.
What. The. Fuck? It’s like I just summoned him.
Rationally, it makes sense that our paths would cross in a gym, but holy shit. I was not prepared. For any of my reactions. Both the desire and the annoyance as I take in the sight of his chiseled jaw, his broody eyes, his broad frame.
I don’t wave. I don’t smile.
I do the opposite.
I clench my jaw and breathe out hard. My entire body is strung tight.
This is a big problem. With this powder-keg of irritation inside me, I can’t smile and wave at Beck.
If I were in the pocket and saw a play would fail, I’d call a new one.
Because . . .
What if there’s another reason Beck stood me up? What if he’s trying to figure out how to come out? I think of Whitney and Jonah, learning who they are and what they want. I think of my younger self and the angst I went through before I came out to my teammates.
I’ve got nine years of being out in public under my belt. Beck doesn’t have any, as far as I know. What if that was what he wanted to talk about when he texted me to explain?
Do the right thing.
I make a line of scrimmage decision as I cut across the treadmills to catch up with him.
4
MY TO-DO LIST JUST GOT SHORTER
Beck
I arrive at the gym and swipe my card. The place is packed, teeming with fitness warriors attacking StairMasters and spinning fast on bikes. Making my way past the rows of cardio equipment, I hunt for Carter like I’d search for him on the field. Fair skin, trim beard, hands like oven mitts.
There he is, at the back of the gym, working out with some guys who look familiar. I’ve just started toward them when a voice I last heard in my fantasies calls out: “Cafferty.”
I shiver.
I fucking shiver.
I turn around to face him. I’m battered by the unfairness of my reaction to Jason McKay. It’s instant and unmistakable like I’ve been zapped with electricity.
Crack. Pop. Sizzle.
He’s as handsome as ever, those blue eyes the color of a clear sky. They laser in on me, and in a heartbeat . . . my chest heats up.
Don’t think about that night.
And maybe while you’re at it, don’t think about how good he looks, all that determination in his gaze, the sheen of sweat at the neck of his shirt, the curve of his lips.
And that dimple. That stupid, fucking, adorable dimple. I could stare dopily at him for my whole workout.
But I won’t.
I snap back to this moment, not on memories and not on foolish wishes. “Hey, McKay,” I say, but that sounded weird. The rhythm of those words. “It rhymes. Hey, McKay.”
Talk much?
That’s not what I wanted to say either. Why is this so hard with him? Oh, right. Attraction this strong trips me up. Thanks, lust.
“That it does,” Jason says, then holds out a hand. “Congrats on the trade, man. Exciting stuff.”
I take his hand and pump, doing my damnedest to erase other images of his hands. On my chest, my face, my cock.
My cheeks burn. “So, this is your gym?”
He glances around and nods. “Yup. My turf,” he says, then flashes a grin. “Of all the gin joints in San Francisco.”
I recover quickly. “They serve liquor here? Who knew it was a full-service gym.”
“Oh yeah, this place has everything. Full bar, driving range, and facials,” he says with a wink. “What more could you want?”
To talk like this.
Except banter with Jason isn’t on my to-do list. And while now probably isn’t the time for sorries, it might be my only chance.
But Jason speaks first. “So, listen—”
“Do you have a second to talk?” I ask because I’m going first.
He startles but recovers quickly. “Yeah, sure.”
One speedy look around says I spoke too soon. Jason’s teammates are here. So are mine. Fans probably too. We’re standing by the water fountain, near a row of treadmills, ten feet from the weights. This was a mistake. This is not where I can explain what happened that night a year ago.