Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
I shrugged. “Place is half mine. It’s a pride thing.”
A tiny smile curled her lips. “You’re a professional football player. You shouldn’t be cleaning floors.”
“I hit people for a living. This is therapeutic.”
That earned me a soft, genuine laugh. I continued working, carrying the warmth of it like a fucking trophy.
I rinsed the mop, locked it in the storage closet, and gave her a slow, seductive smile as I sauntered past, very much enjoying the pink stain that appeared on her cheeks.
“Night, baby.”
Ten minutes later, I was a hundred feet behind her on the sidewalk, hoodie pulled up, ball cap low, looking like any other overgrown tourist heading for the subway.
Patience, I reminded myself…again. And once more, when I stepped under an icy spray at three in the morning.
Friday brought another double shift for Rylin and an afternoon thunderstorm that flooded the gutters. She worked through both, sneakers taped so tight across the toes that the duct tape had started to fray. While I was demolishing my lunch, my sister Lexi texted a photo of my nephew playing pee-wee ball, and my mama texted a reminder to call on Sunday after the game. I replied to both, then answered when my little brother Brad called to tell me he’d won his high school football game.
After hanging up, I ordered an extra staff meal and made sure Tammi delivered it straight to Rylin with instructions to give her a message from “Your friendly neighborhood tackling machine—no arguing. Just eat.” Tammi rolled her eyes, but did as I asked, earning me a soft “thank you” mouthed across the room from Rylin that almost knocked me out of my chair.
Later that night, I noticed the flickering security light over the back-door alley. I went to the maintenance closet, grabbed a ladder and a fresh bulb, then replaced it under the hiss of steam pipes. By the time I was done, the damp heat had made my shirt stick to my skin. A small price for Rylin stepping into brightness instead of shadow.
Saturday morning, I limped into The Tight Line at nine sharp, my hamstrings barking from Friday’s full-speed pursuit drill. The place smelled like cinnamon French toast—thanks to the breakfast menu I'd suggested.
Raiden already sat in a booth, his arms spread along the cushion and a Nighthawks hoodie framing that all-American grin. Glancing around at the crowd, I tossed him a smug look since he’d argued that we’d never have enough patrons in the morning to make it worth it.
He ignored my grin, then clocked my limp and snorted. “You’re getting old.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered, sliding opposite him. “I could out-bench you in my sleep.”
“In your dreams, Alabama.”
Before I came up with a response, my eyes slid toward the counter, as if they’d been magnetically pulled there. Rylin was behind it, pouring coffee into several mugs on her tray. A long braid kept her hair out of her face, but dark gold wisps still escaped at her temples. She laughed at something Lionel said, and the sound arrowed straight through my body, causing my cock to throb more painfully than my hamstrings. I grunted.
“Micah?” I vaguely heard Raiden say my name in an exasperated tone that made it clear he’d been trying to get my attention.
“What?” I growled absently, still watching Rylin’s every step.
“That’s her?”
My head swiveled, and I stared at him, my face carefully blank.
“Who?”
Raiden shook his head. “I’d heard from Tammi you were mooning over someone, but I didn’t believe it.”
“You gossip more than my nosy, eighty-year-old neighbor.”
He ignored my jibe, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face as he leaned back again, spreading his arms out across the back of the booth. “So this is happening? She’s the one?”
My eyes darted over to Rylin for a half second before I snarled, “Keep your fucking voice down.”
He raised both hands. “Apologies, Romeo.”
Raiden had already ordered us both a coffee when I arrived, so I took a sip to buy a second, then admitted, “Yes. She’s mine.”
“Does she know that?” he teased.
“I’ll let her know when she’s ready to hear it.” Which was the truth. Rylin wasn’t temporary, and I was prepared to play the slow game, even if it killed me. And the blue balls just might. But she was worth anything…worth everything.
Raiden chuckled. “You should work out that frustration on the field tomorrow. Coach’ll appreciate the hits.”
Before I could answer, Rylin approached, her order pad in hand. She slowed a fraction when she saw Raiden, recognition sparking, but she recovered fast.
“Morning, gentlemen. What can I get for you?”
“The Pancake Audible,” Raiden declared. It was a triple-stack of buttermilk pancakes layered with cinnamon-maple butter, crispy bacon shards, and a drizzle of bourbon-spiked syrup. Flip the play, score in syrup. It wasn’t the kind of breakfast we normally ate during the season, but he was obviously in the mood to indulge.