Bree
“Touchdown!” The roar in the owner’s suite pulls me away from my ebook.
Jason, Lars, and Jason’s dad Matt cheer like lunatics, while they chest bump Uncle Link.
Men and their sports.
I have no one here to commiserate with me. Chloe is somewhere with her husband, and the other women in the suite either really like the game or they’re trying to get Uncle Link’s attention by feigning interest.
I take another sip of my drink and hide my boredom and disappointment. The countdown is official; I move in less than a week, and there’s no sign from Jason that I was anything beyond the contract we created. I know he’s still sexually attracted to me because of some of his unconscious gestures. The way he smiles at me sometimes, tells me the memories are there, but I want him to miss me, to want to be with me, to ask me to stay.
Jason slides into the seat next to me and passes me a drink.
“Your drink, m’lady. I figured you’d like your favorite drink to make you look like you’re at least having a little fun.”
It’s his usual flirty demeanor, without any of the sexual perks. We’re trying to live in our downplayed world, but our interactions are awkward. I’ve written and erased the text, suggesting we fuck, until I leave, too many times to count. It would be counter productive to screw him, knowing I’ve fallen, when I shouldn’t have.
I must leave it absolute—all or nothing.
“Thanks,” I accept with a tight smile.
“Aubree! You’re embarrassing me. Have a little team spirit, girl,” my uncle tells me when he sits on the opposite side. “How you think it looks for people to see you reading, during America’s sport?”
At forty-five Uncle Link is very much the attractive bachelor he’s rumored to be. He’s wearing a suit to the game because it sets off his debonair air with his trimmed goatee and low-cut hair. His words. He still workouts almost daily because he wants to look like an entrée. His words.
In other words, Link, Jason, and Lars are in good company. The lot of them are professional man-whores.
“I’m trying. I have on the jersey.”
“Because you were asked to wear it. Come on, Pop Tarts! This is your legacy.”
“Pop Tarts?” Jason repeats his eyes triumphant because of the ‘Ollie’ incident.
“Yes. The only thing she would eat when she first moved in with me. It’s been her nickname ever since.”
“Uncle,” I begin, trying to stop the tough love speech that follows my Pop Tart nickname.
“Then one day,” he continues. “I looked her in the eye and said, ‘I know we’re sad, Babygirl. But I’m not buying another damn Pop Tart until you eat real food.”
“Yeah, you have to tell people you love the truth no matter how much it hurts,” Matt chimes in, giving Jason a pointed look.
“That’s right,” Uncle Link cosigns.
Jason clenches his jaw but doesn’t respond. Something passes between them— a father son squabble?
I change the subject to ease the lingering tension. “Unc, you raise one teen, and now, you’re a parenting expert?”
He squeezes my face as he chuckles. “Damn right I am. Look how you turned out. Pretty, smart, and successful in your field. I can’t believe you got the new position, Pop Tart.” He shakes his head. “Yes, I can. Wait until you see how I renovated the condo. You’re gonna love it.”
The excitement I would have felt two months ago escapes me.
“I need a refill,” Jason announces as he rises. “Anyone else?”
Matt grabs Lars. “We’ll help.”
“You don’t need to, Dad.”
“We will,” Lars insists.
