Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Andrew sighed. “Do you love her at least?”
“I haven’t been with anyone else in four months.”
He frowned. “That’s not a yes. That could mean she’s a great lay.”
I pointed. “Watch it.”
“Seriously, Wilder. This is a big fucking deal—changing your entire life for someone. Do you love her or not?”
“I’m content.”
“I’m content when I sit on my grandmother’s couch and she makes me her homemade gnocchi. Doesn’t mean I want her to have my baby and uproot my entire life.”
I raked a hand through my hair. “Doesn’t matter what I want now. Because it’s happening. We’re having a kid.”
14
SLOANE
Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk finishing up some work when my phone vibrated with an incoming call. I got excited, thinking maybe it was Wilder, only to get the ultimate letdown when I read the name on the screen. Josh. My ex was the absolute last person I felt like talking to—even seeing his name irked me—so I let the call go to voicemail. But I was curious, so when my phone chirped with a new message, I couldn’t help myself and pressed play.
“Hey, Sloane. Long time, no talk. I couldn’t decide whether I had a better chance of you reading a text from me or answering my call. Or maybe I’m kidding myself and I have no shot at either. At least I got to hear your voice on your message.” He paused, and for a few heartbeats I thought that was it, that he’d hung up. But then he spoke again. “Anyway, I miss hearing it. I’d like to talk, if you have some time. So … yeah. Call me back. Please?”
I shook my head. What balls. Though I realized this might’ve been the first time I’d thought of Josh and only gotten angry, not sad. A few months ago, a call like that would’ve thrown my whole day off, but now, I didn’t find it too difficult to get back to work.
A few hours later, a CNN alert popped up on my phone. Most of the time, I ignored them, but this particular one snagged my attention. US Rugby League approves expansion team.
I swiped to open. Oh wow. How have I not googled this man for old photos yet? The article had two pictures of Wilder at the top. The first must’ve been from his playing days—his teammates had him on their shoulders as he held a gold trophy of some kind in the air. He had no shirt on, and his chest was so carved with muscles, it didn’t look real. I pinched the screen and zoomed in. Wow. Just wow. It took a solid minute of drooling before I panned up and studied his face. He didn’t look that much different than he did now—same smile, same sparkling eyes. It said something when those peepers weren’t the first thing to catch your attention.
The second photo was of him in a suit, looking handsome, but serious. Underneath, the article gave details about his ownership of the new team, along with two billionaire investors, and the stadium they were already in talks to secure. I hadn’t heard from Wilder since the night of the wedding, when he’d left the ball in my court to get together. I’d thought about him every day—even picked up my phone and debated texting him on more than one occasion. But in the end I always chickened out. Now, though, I had an excuse. In fact, it would be rude of me not to reach out. At least that’s what I told myself as I started to type.
Sloane: Congratulations! I just read the big news on CNN. You did it!
I’d thought he might be busy with press and stuff, but the circles on my phone began bouncing around immediately.
Wilder: Thank you. What are you doing tonight? Maybe my friend can help me celebrate …
I smiled, wishing I could, but I had Olivia tonight.
Sloane: Sorry, I can’t. My brother has a twenty-four-hour shift that started this morning so I’m making dinner for my niece at seven, followed by watching double episodes of Pretty Little Liars.
Wilder: I’m a good cook, if you need some help …
I smiled.
Sloane: I’m sure that’s how you want to celebrate getting your own professional rugby team—with a fourteen-year-old whose hobbies are rolling her eyes and giving monosyllabic responses.
Wilder: You’ll be there, right?
I felt my brows dip.
Sloane: Yes, of course.
Wilder: Then there’s nowhere I’d rather celebrate.
My heart went pitter patter. Before I could type back, another text came in.
Wilder: My brother is here, too. I think they might get along. His hobbies are rolling his eyes at me and busting my balls.
I nibbled my bottom lip, which was going to be swollen from all the gnawing the last few days. How could I say no when he’d achieved such a major accomplishment today? It was the friendly thing to do, wasn’t it? And what could happen with two teenagers around? Nothing, of course. Not that anything would happen if we were alone, either, but …