Page 1 of Summer with a Player

Prologue

Elle Levine

Thank you for calling Miss Tusaine’s Readings for the Divine, your personal guide to your future. In a moment, you’ll be connected with Lavender Meadows. To accept all that is waiting for you and the charges, please press one.

I wait on the other end of the line for the robotic voice to connect my new caller with me. Another person waiting for answers they believe only someone like me can give. Which I can. Reading people is ingrained in me, taught to me my entire life. Do I have to make up things and pull those ‘answers’ out of my ass most times? Yes. Does it make the person I’m helping feel better so I don’t have to feel like a complete piece of shit? Also yes. And that’s why I do what I do. Well, that and to save up money formy nursing degree. That’s the end goal for me, to be a nurse. Someone who canreallyhelp people and not just fake it.

I wait another moment for the caller to go through the motions before Lavender Meadows, my pseudonym, takes over and whisks them away to their future, whatever they hope that will be. The line beeps, signaling it’s my turn to speak.

“Thank you for calling Miss Tusaine's Readings for the Divine, this is Lavender Meadows. How may I help you tonight?” I give them a moment to gather their thoughts and listen, waiting for some cues as to where this “reading” is headed.

“H-hello. I-I don’t know why I’m doing this. I really don’t. But I need to know… I don’t know what I need to know exactly. Ugh, I’m messing this all up,” the caller cries, struggling to come to terms with whatever is plaguing her at the moment.

I quickly study the computer screen in front of me, looking at the name she said when asked for her credit card information.

“Sarah,” I begin, and she gasps. Hearing her name from me just adds to the realness of the call, showing that I really do “know all”. “You’re struggling, I can tell. Take a few deep, calming breaths for me and let’s see if we can’t figure this out. Okay?” I say, coaxing her into compliance.

“Thank you so much,” she breathes, and from there, I know she’s hooked and ready.

Sarah’s call lasted about thirty minutes, but in that time frame I was able to make her realize that her pregnancy didn’t define her and the fact that she was unsure of who the father was - either her ex-boyfriend or her brother’s best friend - didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy. I told her that she should take the bull by the horns and go after what she wanted without holding back. She spoke several times of the brother’s friend, so I made mention that her future was bright in the way of taboo notions, and if she followed that path it would lead to great heights. Hopefully, the baby was his and he loved her too. Only time would tell. No one could predict the future. *cough*

I’m just about ready to sign off for the night when my screen indicates I have a last-minute caller. I wait again for the robotic voice to do its thing before answering. Giving my usual spiel, I listen as the caller goes to speak.

The caller - John Dough, obviously fake, yes spelled that way – speaks, and my breath catches in my throat. His voice, rich and deep and delectable, made my hair stand on end, and a tingle reverberated through me straight to my core. I’d never heard a voice so… delicious.

That call lasted an hour, and he called back every night for a month. We never exchanged any personal information with each other, keeping the mystery alive, but I always wondered what it would be like to hear his voice in my ear or caressing my skin. To this day, my body still vibrated at the thought of my John Dough, mystery caller and the focal point of all my late-night fantasies.

Chapter 1

Asher Gray

"Alright, assholes," I say, bouncing the ball between my hands. "Are we going to play basketball or stand around all day?" Kaleb, Dakota, and Ryder are already trash talking and laughing as we divide into teams.

The game kicks off, and our sneakers squeak against the pavement as we dart back and forth, chasing after the ball as it pounds against the concrete. My roommates, who are also my teammates on our professional hockey team, Charleston Renegades, decided that it would be a good idea to relax by playing a competitive sport. They should know that a friendly game of basketball in our house’s driveway turns into high stakes when competition is all of our livelihoods.

"Come on, Jet, you can do better than that!" Dakota teases me using my hockey nickname as I miss an easy shot.

Frustration kicks in as the ball swishes past the hoop and Dakota, not missing his chance, sprints for it. He grabs it with ease and shoots, scoring a perfect two-pointer. His hazel eyes gleam with victory, sending a smirk in my direction. "That's how it's done, boys."

Dakota “Lucky” Miles is something else. Picture the perfect poster boy for mischief and mayhem. He revels in his heartthrob status both on and off the ice. Being the resident "fuck boy" of the Charleston Renegades comes naturally to him. His brown hair is always messed up perfectly, like he just rolled out of bed after a night spent partying hard or being tangled in the sheets with some unnamed girl.

"Nice shot, pretty boy!" Kaleb chimes in, ruffling Dakota's hair on his way past. Dakota simply grins at him and takes possession of the ball again, but I run by and snatch the ball from him.

"Oh yeah? Watch this," I retort, grinning confidently. Sweat drips in my eyes from the heat and humidity of the salty air from the ocean breeze. Although, I welcome it, since we spend most of our time on frozen ice.

With a quick flick of my wrist, I send the ball soaring towards the hoop. It smacks against the backboard with a satisfying thud before swooshing through the net to score. My friends erupt in both cheers and groans, with a few of them high fiving each other and playfully shoving.

Kaleb glares at me. "You just got lucky, Jet."

Kaleb “Viking” Jensen, our team’s goal-tender, shakes his head at me, a wry smile playing on his lips. Standing at an impressive 6'3", with a blonde mop of hair and intense gray eyes that seem to pierce right through you, he oozes a sense of quiet dominance and authority, both on and off the field. You can always tell when Kaleb steps into a room - not because he's loud or obnoxious, but because his very presence demands attention. He's the kind of guy who keeps his mouth shut but his eyes wide open, who speaks more through his actions than his words.

"Or maybe I'm just that good," I shoot back, winking. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the thrill of the win is a welcomed cortisol boost.

"Your ego’s showing. Put it away. We've got a game to win." Ryder grins, tossing me the ball.

Ryder "Wolf" Raines. Just hearing the name has the ability to frighten the opposing team. There's an energy about him that's both intimidating and alluring. He's the team's captain, our rock, our undisputed alpha. He's a towering figure in shoes, and then you add the height from the skates, and he’s scary tall. His muscular frame is built like a brick house, and his dark hair is peppered with streaks of silver that do nothing but add to his ruggedness.

There’s something about Ryder’s demeanor that screams danger and mystery. Yet at the same time, you can sense there’s a gentleness beneath his gruff exterior. He's not one to express hisfeelings verbally, but let him pick up his guitar, and it's as if he pours out all the sentiments he holds back in beautiful melodies.

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