Page 33 of Waiting Game

Well, there are no fucking words for how good it was.

Once I’ve paid the fare, I head toward the building and see that Quentin, Liam’s doorman, is waiting for me with the door wide open.

“What a greeting,” I chirp.

He beams at me. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Cole.”

We bump fists before I wander over to the bank of elevators and start my way to Liam’s apartment.

The door’s also open when I get there, but he’s not hovering so I know Quentin clued him into my arrival.

Liam became super freaky about security after his kidnapping—for obvious reasons. It’s his agoraphobia that worries me more than anything though. He says he’s not scared to go out because he can function, i.e. he can work and can travel for away games, but otherwise, he’s always at home.

Always.

Sounds like agoraphobia to me but he denies it.

Slamming the door closed behind me, I call out, “If you two are kissing, you’d better stop. I don’t want to see that shit.”

“Fuck you, Cole,” Gracie calls back.

I smirk at nothing as I wander into the kitchen where Gracie’s surrounded by stationery.

Packs of it. And I’m talkingpacks. Stacks of books, pens galore, a gluttonous gourmand’s array of highlighters.

I hook my arm around her neck and draw her in for a noogie. “You opening a stationery store and didn’t tell me, Gracie?”

Liam eyes our byplay. “You have a death wish.”

That’s the only warning I get.

Suddenly, Gracie’s fingers are literally in my nose and she’s dragging my head back.

“UNCLE,” I screech, but only because ya don’t hit Gracie even if she’s not afraid to punch first.

See, it’s not the gentleman in me that knows that. It’s the Blue Demons’ Neanderthal who has the survival instincts.

Gracie will prank you.

She’ll prank youbad.

Nothing is worth being the focus of her ire.

Gracie might be like a sister to me, but it’s a fool who underestimates her.

Funny thing is, of course, that I figured she was like a sister to Liam too. Until she started wearing his number, 35, in a diamond-encrusted pendant. They’re engaged, but she isn’t wearing his ring yet.

She lets go of my nose the second I surrender and hops off her stool to go and wash her hands.

Rubbing my abused nostrils, I mumble, “You’re more prickly than usual, furball.”

“Gray calls me that. Don’t switch out names.”

Liam hides a smile. “She’s angry.”

“I’d never have guessed.” I head over to the refrigerator and simultaneously give her a very wide berth. “What’s up, G?”

“My cousin told her the contract’s ready for her to sign. He’s waiting until the playoffs are over to fire DeLaney and then it’s going to happen.”

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