AllFreeNovel
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1
Friday
Exhausted, I step out of the shower, reach for the towel hanging on the wall, run it back and forth over my head a few times to dry off my hair, and realize it needs a good trim. I place the towel back on the hook and head over to the sink to grab my toothbrush.
Glancing down, I notice that my screen is all lit up, no doubt from one of my teammates—probably Tony—who, like me, left the fundraiser a little early, got their date off and out the door, and wants to meet out.
The only place I’m going is to change my sheets and slide in between fresh ones and sleep like a baby.
My phone rings. Toothbrush in my mouth, I blindly hit Accept.
“Well, shit, rookie, you didn’t have to get off her to take my call.” Tony chuckles.
I spit the paste in the sink. “What can I do for you?”
“Put your dick away,” Turner grumbles.
What the fuck? I think as I look down.
I quickly lift the phone up so they’re not eyeballing the goods. “Is there a reason your video-calling me?”
“Wanted to invite you to Mom’s for dinner with some of the team on Sunday. There’s going to be a lot of food, man. Home-cooked.” Tony smiles.
I catch Turner giving a very subtle shake of his head, his eyes growing bigger, almost comically, and I remember the last time Tony invited us to his mom’s. His entire family was there, like aunts and second cousins and a very large group of friends. The one o’clock meal ended up being served at four. We sat with them for hours. Any attempt to break away from the onslaught of questions, making the day feel more like an interrogation than a gathering, proved futile. When we finally got called to eat, it was … not good, and I’m not a picky eater. Obviously, none of us were rude enough to say a damn thing, but you bet your ass, I will never put myself in that situation again without an exit strategy.
“Appreciate the invite but …” I pause and try to come up with something, anything, but I can’t. I’m a horrible fucking liar.
Turner chimes in. “He’s headed home to Texas before the exhibition games in Vegas, remember?”
My stomach knots, and the call ends. The reality is, yeah, I need to head back to Texas soon.
I shoot Turner a text.
Me:
Thank you for the save.
Turner:
You owe me one.
When I walk out of the bathroom, I see that Mallory hasn’t moved an inch. She has her completely bare back facing me, her mass of blonde hair flowing down from the pillow. The woman is gorgeous and knows it. She’s also highly career-driven. She’s a media specialist who worked for a pro basketball team, the Stallions, before the Mets hired her. Our stance on relationships is the same—neither of us has the time or a desire for a one. We’re married to our careers.
The thing about careers is, you can’t fuck them or take them to an event that requires a date. This is exactly why our arrangement has worked. She’s aware of the rules—hell, she helped write them six months ago—so the fact that she’s still here is disconcerting.
She rolls to her side, facing me, props her head on her hand, and says those four words that can fuck up a good thing. “We need to talk.”
I know what’s coming, so I cut her to the quick. “Respectfully, please remember that we agreed this wasn’t ever going to be more than?—”
Laughing, she sits up. “Are you kidding me?”
“You’re a great woman, but?—”
“Pope.” She slides off the bed and walks over to my closet, pulling out one of my jerseys and sliding it over her head.
No. No. Hell no. She’s not doing this.
She laughs as she clearly reads my face. “You’re settled here, and you have this great home with rooms to fill?—”
