Page 83 of Imperfect Player

“Did you get us adjoining rooms too? Planning on sneaking in during the night and spooning with me?”

“If that’s what it takes.” His voice is calm and even, but he makes his point.

“Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him. “Just me, a facetime with Everly, and sweet orgasmic bliss.”

Maddox steps into his room and slams the door behind him.

“You two are a fucking mess,” Slade says as he walks past me to the room on the other side of mine.

Don’t I know it.

Tucked away in my room, I dial up room service immediately, placing my usual order.

I’ve talked myself out of the drink that I desperately want to help rid me of these thoughts in my head and instead focus on the texts from Everly.

Have a good flight.

Be safe.

I miss you already.

The feeling is fucking mutual on that one. Christ, how I wish she was here. Most of the time, guys don’t bring their wives or girlfriends on the road with them. The trips tend to go by quickly, mostly practice and games followed by food and sleep. Sure, some of the guys, myself included, like to troll for women. A one-night stand. A hookup. The “out of town” girlfriend, if you will. The one you only visit when you stop in the city where they’re located.

I used to have a few of those. Regulars. Easy fucks that knew their place and purpose.

Now, I wish I was more like Fox. A fucking ridiculous thought since the guy is married, and Everly and I are far as hell from that kind of step. It’s been, what? Three days.

I don’t hate the idea of seeing her every day though. And I sure as hell don’t hate the sexy little pic that she just sent me.

Me: Are you trying to fucking kill me?

As I wait for her reply, I check my email. The message I had from Tripp tells me that the contract with the kids’ clothing company is set and just needs my electronic signature.

I shake my head, knowing that this was all Everly. The woman knows how to work me, that’s for sure. At least she uses her powers for good and not evil.

Can’t say the same for myself.

Before I can even open the email containing the contract, another email catches my eye. From him.

I don’t know what in the hell possesses me to open it, but I do.

His words are simple: “Ethan, please. I need your help.”

I chuckle at the thought.

He needs my help? That’s rich. Where was he when I needed his help? When I was just a scared kid that didn’t know where he was going to end up or if anyone would ever take care of him again? He was off building a life that didn’t include me, that’s where.

So fuck him and his request for help. No chance in hell am I going to ever do anything for him.

I toss my phone to the side and instead pick up the one next to my bed.

The same girl answers the call that did before.

“Can I add something to that order?”

Her reply is once again, yes.

“A bottle of whiskey and, uh, keep it on the down-low.”

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