Page 30 of Slap Shot Scandal
I stomp across the pavement, Harbor jogging to keep pace with me.
“There you two are. I thought maybe you got lost!” Gia chuckles at her own joke, holding the door open for us.
A blast of cold AC hits me in the face as we step into the lobby. The décor’s dated, lots of shiny gold and glass, a modern aesthetic leaning more toward retro now. A few beachy paintings hang on the wallpapered walls. A wood-paneled front desk sits empty.
“I have the keys to one of the vacant condos. The manager’s at lunch, but she said to go ahead and take a quick tour. She understands our predicament and knows how busy you are, Weston.” Gia shoots me an apologetic look, and Harbor’s mouth opens like she’s about to clap back with a comment about her own busy schedule.
She must think better of it, though, clamping her mouth shut tight. I can’t help but stare at her glossy pout,caught up in an image of Harbor on her knees with my dick sliding between those pretty pink lips.
Gia smashes the gold button for the elevator and I’m back to reality.
I shouldn’t have these wildly inappropriate fantasies about the PR consultant intent on trotting me and the team out like show ponies.
No matter how gorgeous she would be on her knees, begging for my cock.
“Weston, I know you and your brothers are thinking about renting a house. And that could be a great option. But at least take a quick tour here so you can report back to the guys.” Gia babbles on about the building as the doors to the elevator creak closed and we begin the achingly slow ascent to the fourth floor.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
After a few long minutes, the doors slide open and we step out onto a sea of beige carpet. The same shell wallpaper from downstairs hangs on the walls, each door marked with a gold shell bearing a number.
“Here we are, 422.” Gia whips out a key and unlocks the door, letting us inside.
The condo’s small but airy, with a view of the ocean from the living room.
“Million-dollar view.” Gia flashes me a smile and I catch the slight tightening of Harbor’s lips, one side tipping up into a strained half-smile.
Almost as if she’s jealous.
I square my shoulders and puff out my chest a little before striding over to the kitchen, a small but adequate space directly next to the living room. White cabinets line the wall and the appliances are stainless steel, good enough to get the job done.
“How many available units are there?” Harbor asks, popping her head into a cabinet.
“In this building, I believe there are currently ten available units. There may be an eleventh, but it’s being renovated right now,” Gia says, checking the printout she’s holding. “Besides these condos, I have a few single-family homes I can show you. Also, some cute townhomes only a few minutes from here.”
“That’s a nice thing about this location, though, right?” Harbor says. “Everything’s close because we’re in a small town. So convenient.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, stuffing my hand in my pocket. Always focusing on the bright side of things.
Annoying.
“Let’s take a quick look at the bedrooms. This is a two-bedroom unit, so you have one bedroom for guests or an office.” She leads us out of the kitchen and down a narrow hallway. “Here’s bedroom one.”
Gia flips on a light and reveals a small, boxy room with no window. “There’s an en suite bath.”
We peer into the bathroom, which has all the necessities. Shower, sink, toilet.
“Then on the other side of the hall’s the second bedroom, also with an en suite.”
This room’s the money room, significantly larger, brighter, and better, with a sweeping view of the Atlantic.
“You could fit a king-sized bed in here, no problem.” Gia’s eyes linger on me, flicking over my arms, my chest.
Harbor clears her throat. “The room dimensions are adequate for standard furniture. Although I’m sure most players prioritize function over aesthetics.”
“You’d be surprised what professional athletes prioritize.Right, Weston?” Gia shoots me a flirty smile, but I ignore her overture.
“Mostly just winning,” I say, Harbor’s knuckles whitening around the notepad she’s holding.
