Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I wondered if it would be his persistence that toppled the wall…
Or if I’d be the one handing him the sledgehammer.
How Wrong You Are
Livia
Three days passed without seeing Carter in person, but he made sure I didn’t forget him.
I threw myself into work for the rest of the week, burying my head in numbers, emails, and meetings until my eyes burned. Still, he had a way of slipping in. A text waiting for me every time I stepped out for a coffee run. A bag of Thai takeout delivered to my door after a twelve-hour day, no note except Eat, Coach. A late-night call when I was already in bed, his voice low and lazy as he complained about how bored he was on break, yapping about absolutely nothing until I finally told him to hang up and go to sleep.
But it was the third day that he really got under my skin.
First it was a smug selfie on the golf course, his arm slung around one of his teammates, the other holding up a gaudy little trophy like he’d just won the Masters instead of whatever beer-fueled scramble they’d been playing. Something about his goofy, care-free grin, and the fact that he’d wanted to text me had an unbidden smile spreading on my face. It was like he was a proud cat with a mouse in his teeth prancing over to show his owner. I loved that he thought of me, that he wanted to brag to me, to show me how well he’d done.
And then I’d promptly scolded myself for feeling anything at all.
Then, hours later, when I thought I finally had a hold on my emotions, another photo came through — this one darker and grainier. It was him, Jaxson, and some rookies I wasn’t too familiar with at a bar, drinks in hand, neon lights bleeding into the frame. The text beneath it read:
Carter: Alright, Coach. Think I’m ready for the big leagues? We’re at Boomer’s and there’s a whole group of women trying to get behind the ropes of our VIP section. Should I try to land one and take her home?
The heat that flared in my chest was immediate and uninvited — sharp, hot, and blatantly territorial. He was acting in accordance with our contract, asking me for permission before he pursued anyone else.
But I was pissed he even wanted to.
I rolled my eyes and typed back with a fury I didn’t know I possessed.
Me: Bold of you to think you’re ready for that. Come here and I’ll show you exactly how wrong you are.
He’d showed up an hour later.
I had him bound before he could get a word out, delivering a firm smack to his ass as punishment for even suggesting another woman could fill my role.
He’d only grinned, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss before murmuring words that tilted my whole world.
“Come on, now. You know I don’t actually want anyone else. I just wanted your attention. And I got it.”
I’d reacted with another sharp smack on his ass, this one more for me than him, because damned if I didn’t smile.
Damned if I didn’t like hearing that he only wanted me.
Now, it was Valentine’s Day — my least favorite holiday in the fucking world. And since my best friend had a husband now, our tradition of ordering takeout and binge-watching Bravo shows had taken a backseat to her getting some real romantic action.
I wasn’t mad at her for it, though. In fact, it’d been me who’d had to help her get her head out of her ass and move past her trauma to let Vince in. And I’d been happy to do it.
But it didn’t change the fact that Valentine’s Day sucked.
Which was why I’d entertained Carter’s text this morning asking me what I was up to, if I wanted to hang out. Let’s have a lazy non-romantic bum day off, he’d proposed.
And like an idiot, I’d said yes.
I played it off like I was just bored and had nothing better to do. The truth was I didn’t want to be alone on this dumb holiday.
And I wanted to see him.
So here we were, both of us on Carter’s couch, him kicked back on one end watching a golf documentary, and me with my feet in his lap, pliers in hand as I bent a stubborn jump ring into place. The delicate chain was cool against my fingertips, the gemstones clicking softly together every time I shifted them. A little pile of extra links and beads rested in a dish at my side, catching the lamplight as I worked on the bracelet I was set to give Chloe as a wedding gift when she and Will returned from their trip. Zamboni was snuggled between me and the back of the couch, snoozing away with his head on my stomach.