Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
He’s referring to my agent, Charlotte ‘Coach’ Coachman—now Parker and his wife. Coach represents most of the guys on the team. She’s one of the top agents in the business and aggressive as hell.
Will cocks his head in Parker’s direction. “Coach forced you to live with her?”
He nods. “Yeah, when I was drinking all the time. She wouldn’t help me unless she could keep tabs on me. But she got my life and career back on track. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if not for her.”
Interesting. I knew Parker had not only a puck bunny problem but an alcohol addiction a few years back, but I had no idea Coach was the reason for his sudden change of heart. In some ways, I understand it. With Mia back in my life, I want to be what she needs. Years ago I wanted that, too. But my addiction had gotten in the way, forcing us apart.
Knowing Coach helped Parker get his shit together makes me want to confess to Mia why I left her ten years ago without as much as a goodbye. She deserved so much better than me. I knew it then, and I know it now. Mia could have anyone, and yet she wants me for some reason. I’m broken, still unable to get over the past that still haunts me. She has no idea how much of a mess I am on the inside. I can’t offer her anything more than sex.
When the horn blares, signaling the end of the game, the area erupts into a mixture of boos and cheers. We beat the home team, so we weren’t expecting a standing ovation. My performance definitely doesn’t deserve one. I have to do better. I need to be better for myself and my team.
After I shower and change, my cell phone is the first thing I reach for. I open my last text message with Mia.
Ethan: We won our first game.
Mia: Congrats! So happy for you, E.
Ethan: Wish you were here. I miss you…
This time, the chat bubble doesn’t pop up on my screen. I wait a few minutes and still no reply from Mia.
Shit, what did I just do? It was the truth. I do miss her.
I’ve wanted to spend time alone with Mia for days, but with Will around all of the time, it’s been a challenge.
“Waters, you ready?” Kane says from behind me. “Time to go.”
I glance over my shoulder at Kane, Will, and a few other players, who are waiting for me to leave for the hotel.
Nodding, I shove the phone into my pocket and sigh, now wondering if my feelings for Mia are one-sided. I sure as hell hope not.
I kick my feet up on the dashboard and lean back in my seat with the binoculars in front of my eyes. After three hours of staking out Old City Records, we haven’t had a single lead pan out. One day, my source tells me the dealers are running a major shipment through the store, the next it’s something else.
“Hand me the Cheetos, would ya?” I point at the bag of cheesy goodness on the dash in front of Clarke. “I’m starving.”
She picks up the bag, glances at the nutrition label, and sighs. “How do you eat this crap? It’s loaded with saturated fat and chemicals.”
I take it out of her hand and laugh. “It says made with real cheese on the front of the bag. That counts as a food group.”
She chuckles. “You’re impossible. No wonder your brother worries about you. Coffee and Cheetos is not what I’d consider a good dinner.”
“We’re on a stakeout. Eating junk food and pounding stale coffee is part of the gig.”
“We’re not cops,” Clarke points out. “Following around dealers in hopes of getting a good lead on the Old City Records drug ring will get you killed.”
“They have no idea we’re watching them. Stop worrying. For someone who wants to become an investigative journalist, you sure as hell don’t take enough risks.”
I scan the dark city block for a sign of something. Anything. But no one has walked past Old City Records in over an hour. Inside the store, the lights are dim, casting barely enough light to see the person seated at the front counter.
“Go waltz in there and make nice with the clerk. Wouldn’t that be easier?”
I shrug against the leather seat.
“Well, they’re hiring,” she hedges. “There’s a sign on the door. Go apply for a job.”
Clarke says this as if it’s the most obvious choice. I would’ve done that sooner if it were an option.
I snort. “I already have a job, one that pays shit. I doubt Fred will take too kindly to me working at a record store in hopes I’ll find something big enough for him to print.”
“Show him what you got, and maybe he’ll change his mind.”