Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“He wouldn’t have seen it coming. I’m small but speedy. And I got good aim. I’ve been practicing my Bruce Lee one-inch punch.”
Another chuckle escapes. “Oh, you have? Remind me not to piss you off.”
God. I miss her.
“August,” she sounds reproachful. “I would never hit you.”
“No?”
“No, my violence is reserved for bullies.” She pauses a beat, and her voice turns sly. “And we both know you’re far too sweet.”
This girl. She’s pure endorphins to my system. Before now, only football accomplished that. And yet, this high I feel with her is different. At the end of the day, football is only a game. One day I won’t be able to play. But Penelope?
I need her.
“Now, Penelope,” I chide, loving our game, “I thought we discussed this whole ‘calling me sweet’ thing.”
Only then does it occur to me that last time we “discussed” this topic, it ended up with Pen on her back and me being seconds away from claiming her soft mouth. And she’d balked.
Hell.
I can’t do this anymore. Not with Pen. Eventually, she’ll pick up on my duplicity. I might lose her. Either way I flip it, I might lose her. The thought has my blood running cold.
This is where I tell her the truth: that I’d like to renegotiate. That I want her. Just her. No game day kisses, unless they’re real. I want the real.
“Pen—” In the background comes the sound of a woman laughing. I pause, recognizing the voice. “You’re still with Monica?”
“We’re going to get dinner. It’s early here.”
Which means I can’t talk to her about this now.
“West Coast. Right. I can’t remember where I am half the time.”
Sympathy laces her voice. “Get some sleep.”
Not likely.
Twenty-Four
August
“And you, what, just hung up?” March’s disappointment comes through loud and clear.
“Yes,” I grit out, doing a set of quick push-ups. My phone rests on the weight bench at my side. It’s bad enough having this conversation. I might as well be active lest I bust out of my own skin.
“Sigh.”
“You don’t say ‘sigh,’” I tell him, grunting through another round. “You just sigh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Doesn’t have the same impact over the phone. And I need my sigh to be impactful, bonehead.”
“I don’t know why I keep calling you.”
“You desperately need my help. Obviously.”
He’s not wrong. Are my feelings for her that transparent? And if so, how does Pen not see it? Or does she and it makes her uncomfortable?
Whatever the case, I can’t go on interacting with her as I have with this agreement hanging between us. It isn’t fair to either of us. I need to get my head in the game and stop fucking around. It’s always been my way—before her.
I finish the final round and flop back onto the floor, panting slightly. My body aches with a nice burn. But not enough. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I never hesitate like this.”
“True. You always take action. As to what’s wrong with you, where to begin?”
I flip him off, knowing he can’t see it but also knowing he’ll know that I am. I can all but feel the smarmy grin on his side of the phone.
“You know what’s wrong,” he says levelly. “It’s Pen.”
Sighing, I jump to my feet and grab a towel to wipe my face. “I fucked myself here, LB.” LB: little bro. It still shames me that I’ve had flashes of jealousy toward him. That particular tidbit, I will not be sharing.
“Sounds about right, BB.” Big bro. His voice turns dry. “When who you really should be fucking—”
“Funny.”
“It’s really not,” he deadpans. “Sexual repression is no laughing matter.”
“I swear, I’m about to hang up.”
“But you won’t. Not when you need to talk it out.”
I strap a set of weighted bands around my ankles and start with high steps. “I should have called Jan.”
March makes a scandalized noise of horror. “He’d just kick your ass. You know he thinks of Penny as his kid sister.”
“For the love of football, can you not twist it that way? I’m fucked in the head enough over this as it is.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” March adopts his business tone. “Look, neither of us have done much by way of pursuing women. We’re Virgin Pursuers, if you will.”
I give the phone, and March, the stink eye. “Never use that term again.”
“Eh, I kind of like it. Regardless, I gotta imagine it’s humbling not having Pen fall at your feet by this point in time. And, let’s be honest here, it’s been a long time.”
“One day, LB, you’re going to be humbled. And I will sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Sure, sure.” He doesn’t sound remotely concerned. “My point is, that as a VP, you’re not thinking clearly. Your virginal ignorance in the art of pursuit—”
“I swear to God—”
“—has you overlooking one very important thing.”
“What? And I warn you now, if you go on about popping pursuit cherries, I will fly out there and literally kick your ass.”