Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I sputter, shaking my head. “No. Not at all. I’m not.”
His smile rockets up the cocky levels. “You sure about that?”
“I can’t date a client,” I say, completely serious.
He scans the café, like he’s making sure no one’s eavesdropping, then leans in closer. “Fine. A fake date,” he whispers, sketching air quotes.
“Rowan,” I whisper, a little imploringly.
“It’s cool. In time, you’ll admit you want it. For now, consider this my yes.”
He’s messing with me. He has to be messing with me. That’s the only explanation. Best for me to just laugh it off and move on. “You’re confirmed then,” I say, all sunshine and business. “I’ll text you to set it up. And I’ll know if it’s you by the number of exclamation points.”
“Zero for me,” he says.
“I know, Rowan. I know.”
He looks toward the door of the busy bookstore café, then back at me, and there’s some reluctance in his eyes, I swear. Like he doesn’t want to go. As he stands, his phone buzzes and he gives me a look of apology. “Might be Mia.”
“Check it,” I urge.
He does, then smiles, and says sheepishly, “She likes to send me dog and cat jokes.”
“Read it to me,” I say.
“Why did the cat sit on the computer?” He pauses before delivering the punchline. “It wanted to keep an eye on the mouse.”
I smile. “Cute.”
“Yeah,” he says, and there’s this sweet affection in his voice. Then, with a small, almost begrudging smile, he adds, “Well, I can’t believe we have to keep doing this, but I’ll see you again.”
He doesn’t make it sound like the worst punishment in the world.
I’ll take that as progress.
8
A GIFT FOR THE GRUMP
ROWAN
Like a dog shaking off the first snow flurries of the season, I do my best to shake off that encounter with Isla.
The way she nailed me was a little terrifying. And I’d thought I was good at putting up walls. Damn, she’s incredible at tearing them down. She’s a one-woman wrecking ball, decked out in pretty clothes, and with shiny hair I want to run my hands through—then pull.
And that goes on the long list of things I shouldn’t think about my best friend’s sister.
Not just because she’s his sister, but because he knows how scarred my heart is, which makes it all the more surprising he’s pushing this matchmaking thing.
As I drive to the arena, I hit Jason’s number on the console, skipping formalities. “Dude, you know better than anyone what happened with my ex. Why are you so set on me moving on?”
“Same reason your teammates are. We just want you to be happy.”
“News flash: I am happy,” I say.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t,” I reply.
“Look, I’m not saying you’re going to find the one. But it wouldn’t hurt to meet someone, spend a little time with them. It’s been a long while since Regina.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah, and that’s a good thing,” I say as I pull into the players’ lot.
“Let Isla do her thing. She’ll find you someone nice, caring, funny, trustworthy. It’ll be good, even if it’s not forever.”
And that right there tells me everything—Jason’s well aware I’m damaged goods. He might want me to find someone for the short term, but he knows there’s no way it’d be anything more.
Which is why I should stop thinking filthy thoughts about his sister. But does it matter? Nothing is going to happen with her, so who cares?
“All right. We’ll see,” I say, then hang up, unclip Wanda from her seat belt and dog seat, and walk her to the arena. She stops before the door to pee, then we head inside.
“Ready for doggy daycare?” I ask the little cutie.
She wags her tail as we head down the corridor. At the end of the hall, the team photographer is there with her camera, snapping pics.
“Hey, Rae,” I say. “How’s it going? How’s the little one?”
“He’s great. Two years old now. I hardly have to put him in air jail any longer when I walk him,” Rae says.
“That’s serious progress for a little dog.”
“Don’t I know it,” she says.
I keep going, making my way to drop Wanda off at Dog Tails. She usually stays with my parents when I travel, but during home games, and often when I practice, I drop her at the dog daycare that opened recently at the arena. It’s for players and their pets—and for fans on game nights.
Sawyer Dumont owns and runs it, a cool guy I’ve gotten to know. He’s dry and relatable, and a kindred spirit since he’s had a rough road in romance too.
When he opens the door, I say hello, then ask how he’s doing.
“Well, considering I’m getting ready to sell the house I owned with my cheating fiancée, it could be better,” he says, then pastes on a smile. “But at least I’m free of all the romance bullshit.”