Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Hang on. I was hoping to talk to you.”
More talking. Shit.
I froze. “Talk? To me?”
“Yeah, you. I should have introduced myself at the bar, but I didn’t want to disturb you while you were with your friends and your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wait. No one knows that. Damn it, tequila.
“Oh.”
I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs, moving to the shadowy part of the eaves when the bar door opened and customers spilled into the parking lot. It wasn’t exactly private, but we were partially hidden from view.
“She’s…we’re—what did you want?”
Hank lifted a brow. “Well, this probably isn’t a great time, but—”
“No, this is fine.” And curiosity was killing me already. “What is it?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
And there it was.
That enigmatic invitational phrase I associated with indecent proposals and morally problematic ideas. At least that was how it went down in the movies. “I’ll give you a million dollars to fuck a perfect stranger or your boss or your best friend or your best friend’s boss.” You get the picture.
I highly doubted this guy was in the market for a naked good time with yours truly, but in my tequila-addled brain, nothing made sense.
“A proposition?” I squeaked.
“More of a deal or…an arrangement.” Hank pulled a card from his shirt pocket.
I glanced from the business card to the stranger and back, sorting through the clues he’d given me and coming up blank.
“For sex?” tequila asked.
Fuck me.
Oh. My. God.
For sex? Really, Denny? Really?
When future me was nursing my future hangover, wearing sunglasses on the plane, sipping Bloody Marys, and popping Advil to soothe my aching head, this would be the moment I’d relive over and over, cringing at my drunken self while swearing I’d never ever ever mix tequila shots and the Black Horse’s crappy beer again.
To his credit, Hank didn’t blink, flinch, or laugh this time. But he also didn’t say anything and if the shadows weren’t going to swallow me whole, I was going to have to arrange my own disappearing act.
Too late. He was talking now.
“I hadn’t considered that,” he drawled in a teasing honeyed tone that made my pulse race.
“Uh…ha. Good. I was kidding!” I spared a quick glance at the bar’s entrance. “Bad joke. Sorry. Need water. Thirsty.”
“Relax. It’s okay.” He hummed as if reassuring a spooked animal. “Why don’t we go inside and grab some water at the bar?”
“No way.” I waved my hands like twin flags. “People.”
He frowned. “Okay, can I get your number? We can talk in the morning and—”
“I need water,” I repeated.
“Water. Right. Uh…I have water in my room. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I watched Hank traverse the stairs leading to the second level, snapping to attention at the sound of my loudmouthed buddies barreling out of the bar.
A lifeline at last. Hallelujah!
I was a drowning man, and those three goofballs had a key to the getaway car.
Except…I should have been home by now. They’d wonder why I hadn’t left with MK, and they’d probably ask if everything was cool with us. And the answer was yes, but it was complicated. In my current state, I was a babbler. I wasn’t ready for big truths and tequila reveals. I might even end up doing something super nutso like come out. They wouldn’t care, of course.
This just wasn’t the time. Not here, not now.
According to my calculations, the only way out was up.
So as quietly as possible, I traversed the stairs and met Hank in the hallway in front of room 228.
He jolted in surprise, one hand on the knob, the other hovering his key card over the lock.
I leaned my elbow on his door, darting my gaze left and right. “Okay, fine. Just…do it. Proposition me.”
Half a beat later, the door swung open, and I tumbled unceremoniously into the cowboy’s room.
2
HANK
“Damn, are you okay?”
Denny stood shakily, dusting the seat of his jeans as he cast a curious gaze around the room. “Yup.”
No, he was not okay.
I should have been thrilled that after weeks of plotting and strategizing, the rookie was here…in my hotel room. My golden opportunity to chat with the star forward one-on-one had literally fallen at my feet. But Houston, we had a problem.
The dude was drunk. There was a good chance he wouldn’t remember anything I said tomorrow, and I might not get another convenient shot at reaching him on his own for a while.
Denny had been almost impossible to reach. His agent hadn’t returned my phone calls, so I’d been forced to go into bounty-hunter mode and track him down. I thought that would be easy enough to do in Denver. RM Mill owned Condors season tickets, and arranging a post-game meeting seemed like a logical option.
My dad’s CEO, Carl, had invited employees and their kids to a home game and meet-and-greet afterward last month. It was a cool event. Except Denny hadn’t shown. Any direct inquiries about him through the Condors organization had been ignored or funneled back to his agent, which left me at square one…in Elmwood…doing a very poor imitation of the Mandalorian.