Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(22)

“Sounds like a task. I don’t envy you.”

“I don’t envy me either.”





After a long run to clear my head and a cold shower to appease my muscles, I lie flat on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, my mind still whirling about my conversation with Roberts today. I wrote down some ideas of what I could write about, one having promise. I kind of liked how he spoke about the media not covering any player scandals. There could be a story that doesn’t include some dark alleyway money shuffling.

There is probably a good reason for it, and I plan on figuring that out.

In the meantime, I pick up my phone and text Silas.

Ollie: Hey, not sure what your schedule is like, but I just realized I know nothing about you. People were asking about you at work today, and I was talking out of my ass. Maybe we should, I don’t know, go on a fake date to at least get our stories straight.

Once I press send, I reach for my water bottle and down half of it just as my phone dings with a text.

Silas: People were talking about me at your work? Why?

Ollie: Um, maybe because I put a picture of you on my desk, you know, as a way to solidify the relationship.

Silas: What picture?

Ollie: Some picture I found on the Internet of you lifting your shirt up. It really put a bee in Candace’s bonnet.

Silas: Are you pleased with yourself?

Ollie: Massively. Anything to make her mad is a win in my book. I might have mentioned licking your abs whenever I want, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, can we go on a date? Or you just come over here?

Silas: How about you come over to my place? I can give you a key, and you can check out the gym. Get you situated, and then we can talk.

Ollie: That sounds perfect. When?

Silas: You available tomorrow?

Ollie: I can be. Send me the time and place, and I’ll be there.





Chapter Six





SILAS





Should I light a candle?

That seems like I’m trying too hard.

But what if it smells weird in here?

I don’t want her first impression of my place to be associated with an odd smell.

I stare at the beeswax mahogany teakwood candle on my living room coffee table. It smells really good. It could make a great first impression, even if it screams trying too hard.

“Fuck it,” I mutter as I pick up the candle as well as the lighter in the wood box I keep it in and light the stupid candle.

Once I put the lighter away, I lift my arm and check that I put deodorant on after my shower.

Yup, smells good.

Hands on my hips, I look around my place, seeing if I can do anything else to get it ready.

As usual, everything is in its proper place.

So why the fuck do I feel so nervous?

This is stupid.

I don’t even like the girl. I don’t know her, so I shouldn’t be nervous.

But something about inviting someone into your personal space exposes you in a different way. I feel vulnerable when I shouldn’t. Compared to her dorm room, I truly believe her mind will be blown when she sees my penthouse apartment.

For the seventh time in the past hour, I fluff my throw pillows just as there is a knock on my door.

I glance at the clock.

Fuck, she’s early.

I walk over to the entryway and catch a glimpse of my T-shirt and jeans in the mirror and wonder if I should have opted for sweats. Doesn’t matter now.

I grip the handle to the door, take a deep breath, and open it.

“There he is, our man,” Pacey says, charging through the door, followed by Hornsby, Holmes, and Posey.

Shit.

What the hell are they doing here?

That’s when I notice the pizza and beer in their hands.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask while shutting the door.

“What does it look like?” Hornsby says while kicking his shoes off and taking a seat on my couch. “Keeping you company.” He glances around. “Man, it looks good in here.”

“I don’t need you to keep me company,” I say as panic sets in. Ollie will be here any moment, and the last thing I want, before Ollie and I can even figure out our story, is my boys meeting her and questioning everything about our relationship.

“That’s exactly why we’re here,” Pacey says while flipping open the pizza box, the sausage and onions ruining any improvement the candle had made in my space. “You act like everything is okay, but when you left practice today, you bolted. And you haven’t really talked to us at all in the last few days. You’re retreating because of Sarah, and we’re here to make sure you’re okay.”

I’m not retreating.

I don’t give a fuck about Sarah—sort of.

And the last thing I want is company.

“And we brought pizza, so that’s fun,” Posey says as he grabs a slice and takes a huge bite. Through a full mouth, he moans, “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Doesn’t his place look nice?” Holmes asks. “These pillows are perfectly fluffed as if you’re trying to impress someone.”

“Are you?” Posey asks.

“No,” I say quickly.

“Don’t you think the pillows look nice?” Hornsby asks, harping on the goddamn pillows a touch too much.