Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(25)

Eh.

I type a message back anyway, not caring if I wake him up. He deserves it simply for giving me shit.

Ellie: It’s a favor, not a relationship, so nothing to talk about.

I let my hand drop down onto the bed at the same time my phone vibrates. I lift it to my face again and glance at the screen through tired eyes.

Kingston: Are you setting out to break my heart early on? Not sure I’ll survive that.

The man is a ruthless flirt. Most of the time—unless, of course, he’s touching me—it’s easy to ignore him because he’s my friend, but ever since I realized it’s been three years since I last had sex, I’m having a hard time not fantasizing about him. Oh, and it doesn’t help that I’ve signed on to be his pretend girlfriend. When he was dating Cheryl, or the long string of others who came before her, I didn’t think twice about him. Mostly.

Ellie: I’m changing your name in my phone to pathetic.

Kingston: Good. And I’m changing yours to sexual deviant.

Ellie: Sexual deviant? snort Not even close.

I go to my contacts and actually do as I said I would, then go back to the text message app as another text comes in.

Pathetic: So what do you say? Meet up tomorrow to go over a few things? Like what kind of lingerie I prefer you to wear.

Ellie: I doubt you’ll have a problem with the lingerie I choose to wear.

Aww, crap. I totally didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

Pathetic: Mmm. Is that an offer to show me?

Of course Kingston took it that way, though.

Ellie: Not in this lifetime.

Pathetic: Now I’ll spend the rest of the night thinking about your underwear.

Ellie: You’re incorrigible.

Pathetic: I saw how long it took you to type that. You were erasing sexy, weren’t you? Replacing it with a big word.

Ellie: Sexy? I can think of a million adjectives to describe you, but sexy isn’t on the list.

It is definitely on the list. At the top, in fact.

Pathetic: One day, little girl, I’m going to bend you over my knee for lying so easily.

Okay. My bedroom suddenly grows warm, and that makes absolutely no sense because the air conditioner is set to arctic since it’s only October and the summer heat still lingers in the humid Texas air. This conversation has gone off the rails, and I need to end it before I get in over my head. If I’m not there already.

Ellie: Good night, pervert.

Pathetic: Keep it up. I’ll show you pervert. Good night, little girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Rather than continue to argue with him, I toss my phone on the bed and stare up at the ceiling fan slowly turning above me. I narrow my eyes.

Is that…?

Aw, hell. It most definitely is.

There, coating the blades of my ceiling fan, is about two inches of dust.

Damn.

I should probably clean that.

I briefly wonder which occurred more recently: the last time I had sex or the last time I dusted.

Not that it matters. I haven’t had sex in so long my vagina is probably dusty too.

Gross.

I should get up and clean. (My house, not my vagina.) Or maybe I’ll just up the speed on that thing (the fan, not my vagina) and then no one will notice.

Glancing at the clock, I sigh. It’s almost four in the morning. I need to shower and check Bianca’s homework. Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll still be tired and I can sleep for a couple of hours before my daughter has to be up.

And if not, I’ll mainline some coffee and … go through the house and turn up the speed on all the ceiling fans because, like sex, I don’t see dusting in my future.





9

Kingston

Tuesday, October 11th

Last night, after I received Ellie’s text response—which I honestly didn’t expect—I found that I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts pinged back and forth between the f*ckup that has become my life in recent months and what the future holds for me. The immediate future, mostly. And the few minutes that I did sleep, I dreamed about Ellie wearing chocolate syrup (and absolutely nothing else) instead of the lingerie she teased me with.

If it wasn’t bad enough that I dreamed about her, I didn’t remember that dream until six miles into my run. That led to some rather uncomfortable miles to follow, then ended with an intense session with my soapy hand while I was in the shower.

But I’m a grown man. My dick isn’t in charge of me or my day. I have responsibilities and I’m no longer thinking about Ellie naked. Or chocolate. Now I’m gearing up for practice, which will allow me to focus on the most important thing in my life. My job.

“Whaddup, Mount Rushmore?”

“Aww, yeah! The big man is back!”

“Rush!”

I know the guys are trying to psych me up for the day because that’s what they do. After our last shitty season, it appears we’re all doubling the effort, and I honestly can’t complain. I need to stay focused if I expect to get ice time rather than being benched while Locke takes my place. No doubt, the kid’s pretty damn impressive in goal when he wants to be, but I’m not ready to be second-best just yet. Hell, maybe not ever.

It’s my job to prove my worth, to show what I’m made of, and just like everyone else, I have something to prove to the team. They need to know they can rely on me. And me on them.