Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Good girl.
“I didn’t say no,” she reminds me.
“Maybe you should have.”
“See? This right here. Mixed messages, and I’m over it, Ry. If you don’t want me, that’s okay, but you don’t get to touch me and confuse me anymore.”
Not touch her? Fuck, I don’t like that.
“Maybe I just need a little time to get my head on straight,” I reply and push my hand through my hair. “I don’t want to fuck this up. I can’t lose you, Wills.”
Her eyes soften just a bit at that. “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here. But you need to figure your shit out and make up your mind, because I don’t enjoy feeling like I’m being played with. I don’t deserve that. You’d punch someone else out for doing that to me.”
“I’d destroy them.” I’d fucking kill them. The thought of anyone else putting their hands on this woman makes me homicidal.
“Then you don’t get to do it either.”
I nod and blow out a breath. “That’s fair. I won’t touch you.”
She looks almost crestfallen at that, and it only makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.
“Fine.”
Well, shit. Now, I want to hug her. This is all fucked up.
“I’ll come back for coffee,” she says and turns to leave.
“Wills?”
She pauses, sighs, and then looks back at me. “Yeah?”
“It’s only because I respect you and care for you, and I need to be careful.”
She swallows hard. “Figure your shit out. Okay?”
I nod, and then she’s gone.
“Fucking hell,” I grumble while staring at my computer. My eyes are killing me. I’ve been stuck at my desk all day, working through my investment portfolio, along with wrapping things up with my agent, who is on my last damn nerve.
He won’t stop trying to push me to sign another contract. We already informed the team of my decision to retire. I’m not backing out on that.
But he’s doing his best to badger me into it. We’ve been emailing back and forth all afternoon, and now my phone is lighting up with his name on it.
“What.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” Andy says. I can hear the edge in his voice.
“No, Andy, you just don’t like being told no.” I dig my fingertips into my forehead. “I’ll be in Seattle next week for the press conference.”
“We’ll be announcing your new contract at that press conference,” he snarls.
“No. We won’t. I’m not signing another contract with Seattle or anyone else. I’m retiring. From everything. I’ll do appearances now and then, but I’m not working for ESPN. I’m not taking on new endorsements. I’m done, Andy.”
“This is bullshit,” he mutters. “After everything I’ve done for you—”
“You can stop right there. I made you a wealthy man, and we both know it. It’s not my problem that you have a gambling addiction and can’t keep a quarter in your pocket.”
“You don’t know—”
“Oh, I know. You’ve made it clear that the money you get from me is the only thing that keeps you afloat, and I’m drying that up on you. Again, not my problem. I hope you get help for the addiction, but you and I are through. Even if I chose to stay in the sport—which I’m not—I would seek out a new agent. I’m not your meal ticket, Andy.”
He hangs up on me, and I set the phone down before I throw it against the wall. I’m not excited to go to Seattle next week, but I need to say goodbye to my team, and I need to sell my house.
When I’m finished there, my life will truly be settled here in Montana.
With a sigh, I turn off the computer and stand, roll my neck and stretch my back, and then follow my nose to the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask when I see Willow standing by the sink.
Christ, she looks good in this kitchen. Yeah, it may be a little misogynistic, but it’s true. It’s been a few days since I found her in here, eating ice cream. I’d been thinking of her, had already taken a shower and fucked my hand with thoughts of her running front and center, and still, I couldn’t shake her.
And then I walked in here, and she was sitting there in practically nothing, like a goddamn wet dream.
And I took it too far. Since the next morning, after our talk, she’s tried to act normal, but there’s an edge to her that’s driving me nuts. Now that I know just how amazing she tastes, how hot she is, I want more of her.
“Meatloaf,” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “With potatoes, salad, and corn on the cob.”
“Awesome, thanks for making it.” I want to hug her from behind. Wrap my arms around her and pull her against me, bury my face in her neck, and then fuck her against the countertop.
To ensure I absolutely do not do that, I open the cupboard for the plates to set the table, and Aiden walks into the house through the back door.