Page 58 of Violent Little Thing

He might let go a little, but never to the point where he’d done the night he’d lost Lauri.

And I was never going to force him to.

Dad reluctantly ordered the cauliflower-crust pizza.

When it got there, it was thanks to a sixteen-year-old who knew Court and fangirled hard.

“Is he famous?” Mom asked in a near whisper.

I explained about his previous soccer career, and then reminded her that he’d just taken over two professional teams.

“Oh, yeah.” Mom laughed. “I forgot about that.” She locked her gaze on me. “How’s working with him? Hard to pick your tongue off the floor?”

I bumped her with my shoulder. “He is pretty to look at, isn’t he?”

“He’s going to make some pretty babies when that time comes.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, he is.”

Sixteen

Ask yourself: Is my dick big enough to be acting like this?

—Charleigh to Court

Charleigh

I moved out the following weekend while Court was in Seattle at an away game.

According to him, it wouldn’t be forever. Owners weren’t necessary for every game. But until the new coach was established, he was going to be at every single one.

Which I commended him for. I was all for him going and not me. I stood by my earlier convictions, football was boring.

So boring, in fact, that the only thing good about going to any of the home games was the halftime entertainment and the food.

I found that I was addicted to the foot-long coney dogs.

Not that I was willing to pay for them. If they weren’t free, I’d never have eaten the first one.

Court had seen me eyeing them and had come back with them shortly after the guy had passed below our suite window.

Anyway, Court was in Seattle and I was in Montana, doing my job. I’d had to go be the backup owner for the Cowgirls while we signed a new center-back defensive player.

I’d fully expected to have to duke it out with a certain drunk, but to my pleasant surprise, she was nowhere to be found.

That meant that she’d gone to Seattle.

Good for me, bad for Court.

But that was earlier, and now I was knee-deep in moving hell.

I hated moving with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

The one good thing about it all was that Jessa had begged me to leave my furniture.

She’d even paid me for it. She’d given me more than it was worth, which I’d explained to her. But she was insistent, so I left my garage sale finds to her and was only moving out personal items.

I’d even been asked to leave the bed.