Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
The afternoon session is a muscle-brutalizing mix of scrimmages, having our intercostal muscles gently ripped apart by my favorite yoga master, and more of Lauder’s inscrutable stares. By the time we hit the showers, I’m exhausted, my bum shoulder is talking back to me for the first time in a while, and my brain feels like soggy oatmeal.
Garcia is unusually quiet in the locker room, focused on his phone as he texts someone—Dan, maybe, confirming their meeting? I don’t dare stare for too long, though, afraid my expression might give something away.
“Good session, LiBassi,” Lauder calls as I head for the door, newly showered and ready to head to Stone’s.
I nearly trip over my own feet in surprise. “Uh, thanks, Coach.”
His eyes narrow slightly, a calculating look I can’t quite read. “Get some rest this weekend. Next week’s going to be even more intense.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turns away, conversation over, but the brief interaction leaves me unsettled. What game is he playing? Is he playing a game? Maybe he just legitimately thinks I’m doing a good job?
Or does he know something I don’t?
Fuck, this weird energy can’t vanish fast enough. I’ve never liked drama in the locker room, and this is worse than anything I’ve experienced before.
Thankfully, however, I don’t have much of a chance to dwell on it. I have just enough time to pick up the veggie and quinoa bowls I promised I’d grab for dinner for Steph and me before heading to Stone’s place for the main event.
CHAPTER 17
TANK
Stone’s apartment is exactly what you’d expect from a well-paid, single professional athlete who’s new in town: sleek, modern, and barely lived-in, with a massive TV dominating the living room wall and a high-end sound system that probably cost more than my pitiful signing bonus.
When I arrive at five ‘til six, Stephanie is already relaxing on the couch and Cruise is hunched over a laptop at the kitchen island with Stone pacing excitedly behind him.
“There he is!” Stone exclaims, lifting his beer my way. “Just in time, man. Garcia’s supposed to meet Dan at 6:30, but we’re expecting him to get there early to scope things out.”
“Where’s the meeting happening?” Steph asks, joining me at the island as I unpack our food. She makes a happy humming sound and rubs my back. “Thanks for this, babe. I’m starving.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, accepting the kiss she presses to my cheek with a smile.
“Focus, lovebirds,” Stone says. “Also, please remember that I’m on a dating fast and your lovey-dovey stuff is kind of like eating chocolate cake in front of a man on a diet.”
Steph lifts her hands in surrender. “Sorry about that. We’ll be good. I promise. I’m too hungry to waste any more time kissing anyway.” She collects her meal, then pushes the bag my way with a secret smile I feel damned lucky to be on the receiving end of.
“They’re meeting at an old warehouse near the river,” Cruise explains, gesturing to his laptop. “We’ve got cameras set up at three different angles, and Dan’s wearing the mic bracelet. I’m recording the feed here, and Dan has a backup drive at the warehouse. So, we should be covered, no matter what happens.” His brow furrows. “I’m trying to figure out how to livestream this shit on Stone’s T.V.” He curses beneath his breath. “But, turns out I’m a pro athlete and not a spy… Or a tech genius.”
“This all seems pretty techy to me,” I say. “I appreciate all the trouble you guys went to. I really do.”
Justin waves away my thanks, his gaze still locked on the screen. “Stop it, man. This is for us, too. We don’t want a lying, scheming snot gobbler on our team. Come take a look. Worst case scenario, we can all huddle around my computer to watch shit go down. The picture’s pretty clear.”
I circle around to the other side of the island, peering over his shoulder at his screen, where three surprisingly crisp, black and white feeds show the exterior of a grungy warehouse, the mostly empty interior from a wide angle, and a closer shot of a folding table with a gym bag and a couple cans of Mutant Fuel energy sitting on top.
I grunt. “Looks legit.”
“That’s the idea.” Stone grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the counter and comes to stand on Justin’s other side. “We wanted it to feel a little sketchy, but not so sketchy that Garcia would bail.” He snorts. “Turns out Mr. Tough Guy is from some sweet farm town in Idaho. Poor pumpkin has probably never seen the bad part of a big city up close.”
“And there’s Dan,” Cruise adds, pointing at the figure who paces into frame near the table with a chuckle. “I think he’s gunning for an Oscar. He’s been down there getting into character for two hours. He drank so many energy drinks he had to go christen the side of the building.”