“Are they all that awful?”
“Yes.”
His grin says he’s lying. “But you’re not.”
“I’m fucking perfect.”
I smile instead of agreeing with him out loud.
Because from where I’m standing, heispretty damn perfect.
Idowant to spend more time with him. Get to know him better. Sleep with him every night.
And figure out how to convince my stepdad that medating one of his players isn’t the worst thing that could ever happen.
“I think Dad can be reasonable,” I say as Holt’s phone dings.
He glances at it, then at me, then back at the phone.
“What?” I ask.
“Coach emailed.” He thumbs over the screen. “New addition in the office… Owner’s daughter… You know the rules… Only time I’ll say it…”
My heart sinks. “No.”
His smile is grim. “Yep.”
His phone dings again.
He reads the screen and sighs.
“What now?”
He holds out the phone.
I wipe my hands and lean across the island to see.
It’s a text from Fletcher.
Fletcher:You’re fucked, man. Been nice knowing you. Extra bummer that I can’t take your dog when Roland kills you. But can I have your weight set? Good grips.
It’s not funny.
It’s not.
But I laugh anyway.
Yeah, dark humor absolutely gets you through sometimes.
“If I’m a dead man, I’m going out happy,” Holt says. “We still on for the movies? Please?”
Go on a date with this handsome, kind, generous man?
And then come home with him afterward?
How could I say no?
“Only if I get fries at Cod Pieces first.”
