Page 61 of Imperfect Player

“I’m not pretending shit!” I shout. “I care about her, okay? I like her.”

“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it besides break her heart?”

“Back off,” Fox says, pressing a hand to Maddox’s chest.

“You know I’m right,” Maddox argues with Fox.

“Even if I did agree with you, which I don’t, it’s not your place,” Fox informs him.

“I’ve heard your warnings, and I don’t care.” I laugh. “I don’t fucking care because Everly is worth it. She’s worth your wrath, this damn game, all of it. She feels it too, and fuck if I’m not going to take a shot at happiness because of you.”

I pat Fox on the back. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the talk.”

“You got it.”

Jogging off the field, I immediately grab my phone and dial Everly’s number.

“This is Everly.”

“You sound sexy when you’re being professional.”

I can practically see her cheeks flush, the visual an automatic turn on for me.

“Um . . . ”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Oh, uh . . . nothing. Why?”

“Meet me at my place in an hour. I’ll text you the address.”

Before she can argue or make an excuse, I disconnect the call.

My smile grows.

My entire life I’ve avoided relationships, friendships—love. Done everything in my power to keep it away because I didn’t believe in it, believe in people.

The moment I met Everly all that shit went right out the window.

It wasn’t something that I could fight or even control. She was inevitable. We are inevitable.

I have every intention of showing her exactly that tonight.

Chapter 17

Everly

When the door swings open, I smile broadly. Only it’s not Ethan on the other side. A very young, very gorgeous woman opens the door. She can’t be more than twenty.

My heart sinks as I try to remind myself that Ethan and I are just friends. He can spend time with whoever he likes, he doesn’t owe me anything. While that may be true, the sight of a beautiful woman in his home still hurts. It’s a reminder of the type of woman he goes for. One much younger, much tighter, than me.

I just don’t know why he would invite me here if he was already . . . occupied. Maybe to prove a point? Solidify our “friendship” since we’ve come close to blurring some lines?

The woman just stands there, smiling at me.

“Is . . . Is Ethan here?” I ask.

I manage the words, holding back my tears as I speak.

---