Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Makes sense.” I don’t know much about business. My friend Dylan still reviews all my contracts because that stuff gives me a headache. “Want me to give you a ride?”
“I need to stop at home first, which is twenty minutes away. I can’t go into the office wearing jeans and one of your T-shirts.” She tugs on the front of her shirt.
“That’s the only thing you should wear.”
“It has your name on the back.” She twists and taps at the vinyl decals that spell out GUNNER.
“Exactly. Then everyone knows you’re mine.” I swoop down and kiss her until she’s panting and dewy-eyed. Thoughts of leaving to go to physical therapy where they will make me pull on a rubber band a hundred times fade as my hard-on swells to aching proportions. I reach down to touch her sweet pussy, but her hand blocks my way.
“I can’t,” she says with honest regret in her eyes. “I really want to close this deal.”
I swallow a sigh and lever myself to an upright position. “Right. You should go and do that.” I adjust myself and head toward the bathroom as best I can with the morning wood bobbing in front of me like a damned abandoned pole.
“Should I tell the Uber to pick me up at the entrance or is there a different pickup place?”
“I’ll lose my mancard if I let you take an Uber,” I call over my shoulder.
“Those aren’t real.”
“Ubers are very real.”
“Kaden.”
“Okay, Ubers aren’t allowed at this building. It’s against the building code. Too downmarket.” I turn on the cold water faucet in the bathroom.
“Are you serious?”
“Yep,” I lie. I dunk my head under the stream of freezing water and let the chill travel to my balls. My back teeth start to ache from the pain of the cold, but the hard-on eases. I run a quick towel over my head and meet Frankie in the living room. She’s still wearing my T-shirt. I wasn’t kidding when I said that was the only thing she should ever wear. It feels more effective than a ring on the finger. Like my name is there on her back. Who’s going to touch her while she’s wearing a GUNNER T-shirt? No one with a lick of sense.
The ride to her place is too short, and I contemplate driving around in a circle, maybe to the next state, just to spend more time with her, but Frankie taps on the glass and says, “This is me,” so I’m forced to pull over.
“I’ll pick you up from your office. Six sound good?”
“Ubers are allowed at my office, so I can find my own way home.” Her hand is on the latch.
I reach out and grasp her arm. “You’re running away from me.”
“I’m going to work.” She tugs herself out of my grip. “I’ll see you later, Kaden. Last night was great. Really.”
I’ve never heard a kiss-off delivered so kindly, but she’s got shit to do, and delaying her won’t put her in a better frame of mind. I’m going to punt and return with a better offensive plan. “All right, Kitten, but don’t call the Uber because I’ll have to fight him, and that would look bad in front of your coworkers.”
I zip off before she can deliver a retort. At physical therapy, I ask for some advice.
“If a woman says that she’s too busy to see you, is she really too busy, or is that an excuse?”
My therapist crunches his brows together. “If a woman said that to you, she’s really too busy. If she said it to me, it would be an excuse.” He hands me a different colored band and tells me to repeat my reps.
“Nah, how is any woman too busy if Gunner wants to see her? My sister’s married, and she’d run her husband over if you called,” says my teammate Hal. He’s a lineman.
The other Mavericks player in the therapy room, Danny, pushes himself up on one elbow. “Did someone really give you the ‘I’m busy’ excuse?”
“It seemed legit at the time.”
Danny shakes his head. “You’re doomed, man. Is she an actress or pop star? Because how are you getting the Heisman shaft?”
He holds out an arm, mimicking the famous Heisman trophy stance.
“What are my options?” I ask, ignoring the doomed part.
“Flowers,” Danny says.
“No way.” Hal shakes his head. “Women hate flowers these days. It’s meaningless. I bought my girl roses on Valentine’s Day, and she was disgusted. You have to do a gift, and it can’t be chocolates either. Like I had to get hand-dipped tangerines from Belgium and a necklace from a brand that only sells jewelry four times a year to make up for the roses snafu.”
“Hal’s right,” my therapist says. “You have to give her something special and unique, or she’ll be too busy for you for the rest of your life.”