Page 44 of Hard to Lose

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, sinking back against the headboard behind me.

“It means how many freaking emails did you send out yesterday?” I open my mouth and then close it because I did send quite a lot. “I mean, did we or did we not talk about you maybe finding something—”

“I am relaxing. I’m—”

“What have you seen?” she asks. “Where have you gone? I mean, if you’re out there doing more than just working and living some, then you should have some stories for me.”

“I do have stories. I have narrowed down the top three possible social media managers. I finally signed Micah Hanover, and we both know what a pain in the ass he’s been. I am in contact with a social media analyst to tell us what we’re doing right and wrong and how to appear more appealing to athletes. I have—”

“I’m talking about non-work stuff, Chase. Quit deflecting.” She rolls her eyes, then her husband, Hunter, walks by in the background.

“Save me, Hunter,” I say and put my own hands around my neck in jest.

“Ha. I’m out of this one,” he says and holds his hands up.

“Thanks a lot,” I mutter as he laughs.

“Quit changing the subject,” Dekker says in her most motherly voice as she crosses her arms over her chest, having to adjust them to her pregnant belly. “Tell me the places and things you’ve seen.”

“I’ve seen”—Gunner’s face flashes through my mind. The way his teeth dug into his bottom lip when he pushed into me. And I fight the laugh that bubbles up out of nowhere—“Things.”

“Things?” she says, her brow narrowing.

I lose the battle in fighting the smile. “Yes, things.”

She stares at me across the connection and a mischievous yet knowing smile slowly spreads across her lips. “Things? Meaning a man. You’ve been there less than a week and you’re already seeing someone?” she demands in a harsh whisper, as if I’m going to get in trouble for it. “Who is this unexpected piece of yumminess?”

“Yumminess?” I bark out in laughter. “You really are getting into Mom-Mode with words like that.”

“What would you prefer I say? Beefstick?”

“Gross.” We laugh and then when it fades, I’m left with my oldest sister staring at me expecting an answer. “He’s the bartender at the bar I went into to ask around. His name is Gunner and he’s a way better human than I’ve ever been.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he’s too good-looking for his own good on top of being a really good guy.”

“That’s a lot of ‘goods’ in one sentence.”

“He volunteers his time with kids. Supposedly a decorated war hero.”

“He said this or—”

“Another person said it. Gunner plays it down.”

“Huh,” Dekker says. “Oooh, I’m picturing nice muscles, a tattooed sleeve on one arm, and hair falling into his eyes as he broods at you across the bar.”

“Or when he’s hovering above me,” I deadpan and then all but die at the transformation in her expression.

“What? Wait. You have slept with him? I was joking before.” She moves at lightning speed and shuts the bedroom door just as Hunter comes walking in, eyebrows raised, wanting to hear the juicy stuff. “This is sister talk,” Dekker says and puts a hand on his chest, pushing him out the door. When she sits back down, she has a huge grin on her face. “So tell me everything.”

It’s times like these that I do love having sisters. It’s like having three best friends who love you unconditionally—good and bad.

Now to have some fun with her. “I’ve decided to volunteer while I’m here.”

“Hold up. I didn’t just kick Hunter out so that I could hear about you doing something decent. You don’t do decent. You do calculated. You do things that elevate your status. So don’t tell me about you being decent when I want to hear about you being dirty.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s cruel.”