Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Be right back.” I step away, giving us both some breathing room. “The coffee should still be warm.”
She nods, but makes no move to leave. “Okay, and Stone?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. Really.” Three simple words, but the way she says them makes me ache a little.
“My pleasure, Rem,” I say, meaning it more than she’ll probably ever know.
As I head for the door, a part of me wonders what I’ve gotten myself into. Getting more involved with Remy when she’s made it clear she isn’t open to a future with me, or anyone else, is the textbook definition of setting yourself up for heartbreak.
But as I hit the elevator button, waiting to descend to retrieve our breakfast ingredients, I can’t bring myself to regret it. My dad always says anything worth having is worth fighting to hold onto. It’s advice I’ve lived by on the ice, and now, apparently, with this woman who’s determined to avoid feelings like the bubonic plague.
Somewhere along the way, between hot hookups and sarcastic banter, I’ve fallen for Remy Lauder. Completely, inconveniently, potentially tragically, and maybe even irreversibly fallen for her.
Maybe she’ll never feel the same way. Maybe this month of “fun coaching” is as close as I’ll ever get to locking her down.
But for now, watching her learn to breathe a little easier feels good. And I’m really looking forward to spending the day with her, starting with a big old plate of huevos rancheros…
And a Mediterranean omelet.
Because I’m a big believer in getting everything I want and reaching for fun with both hands.
Chapter 5
Remy
Thursday night…
* * *
“Sock puppets? You’re serious?”
“Of course not. First rule of fun club, Bossy—never take Fun Club too seriously.” Stone leans against the wall in my office after hours on Thursday, wearing a salmon T-shirt that’s already spattered with paint and a big grin.
I arch a brow. “I thought it was never to tell anyone about Fun Club.”
He shrugs. “Right, first rule after that. You ready?”
“Yeah. I was just tackling a few things in my inbox while I waited,” I say, shutting my laptop and indulging in a shoulder-popping stretch.
It’s nearly six o’clock, and I’ve spent the day in back-to-back meetings, dealing with sponsorship contracts, and talking the new intern off the ledge. Guillaume double-booked my father’s Friday lunch meeting, leading to a rare visit to the admin office from Dad, who made Guillaume weep into his latte and consider heading back to Quebec City, where he swears no Canadian is ever as caustic as my father when he’s on the war path.
Not even a French Canadian.
Not even his ex-boyfriend from Paris, who said terrible things about Guillaume’s accent after they broke up.
I felt bad for him, but also couldn’t help thinking how much more upset he would have been if he’d made the same mistake twelve months ago. Dad always comes in hard with a new team. Last year, his first with the Badgers, he was practically a super villain. He made the team hold plank until one of the rookies threw up, glared at anyone who dared to smile at him in the hallway, and refused to let our then intern, Blaire, speak to him directly.
She apparently used too many words and “wasted his time.”
But I decided sharing that perspective probably wouldn’t ease Guillaume’s mind and opted for distraction instead. I put his petty side to good use creating passive-aggressive signs to post around the admin break room, reminding people that the refrigerator isn’t a time capsule and that taking one bite out of a donut and leaving it in the box is a wasteful cry for help none of us has time to answer. Especially when we’ve been deprived of our shot at a chocolate coconut donut from Heavenly Hole.
It's been a day and a half, and it feels good to finally close my laptop. And, as much as a part of me hates to admit it, I’ve been looking forward to my date with Stone tonight.
Our date that isn’t a date, obviously.
It’s just easier to call it that than an appointment with my fun coach, who used to be my fuck buddy, who I sort of called things off with before having a meltdown in front of him and then allowing him to me give me a weirdly non-sexual bath, sleep in my bed, cook for me, and hang out watching adult cartoons on my couch most of Monday…
I’m honestly not sure what Stone and I are to each other right now, but I’m probably way too excited about spending a night doing kiddie crafts with him.
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather go bowling or something?” I ask, pushing my chair in. “There’s a cute place over in Dundee where we shouldn’t run into anyone we know. Smells like moldy feet, but has cool vintage shoes and great snacks.”