Chapters (50)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- DEDICATION
- CONTENTS
- CHAPTER ONE PALMER
- CHAPTER TWO PALMER
- CHAPTER THREE COLE
- CHAPTER FOUR PALMER
- CHAPTER FIVE PALMER
- CHAPTER SIX PALMER
- CHAPTER SEVEN COLE
- CHAPTER EIGHT PALMER
- CHAPTER NINE PALMER
- CHAPTER TEN PALMER
- CHAPTER ELEVEN COLE
- CHAPTER TWELVE PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN PALMER
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN COLE
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN COLE
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN PALMER
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN COLE
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN PALMER
- CHAPTER NINETEEN PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY COLE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR COLE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX COLE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT PALMER
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE COLE
- CHAPTER THIRTY PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO COLE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR COLE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX COLE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN PALMER
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT COLE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE PALMER
- CHAPTER FORTY COLE
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE PALMER
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO COLE
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE PALMER
- EPILOGUE PALMER
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Oh.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t take you up on that offer?”
She walks backward toward her car. There’s a hesitation in her eyes, and I hold my breath to see what she says.
“I’ll let you know what Val comes back to me with,” she says, grinning. “But she might refuse because I’d get a meal with the guy she was trolling last night.”
I let out a loud chuckle. “That was you, and you know it!”
She shrugs, as if that’s all there is to say, and climbs into her car. Ethan waves as they pull out onto the street.
I wave back. Because that’s all I can do besides wonder if I’ve just made the right decision.
The point Palmer made was valid. Can I respect the stop sign? Can I ignore how much she turns me on? Stirs something soul deep?
I have no fucking idea.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN COLE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
COLE
Hey, Scott.”
My agent asks me to wait a moment and then puts me on hold.
I walk along the tree line of my parents’ property and breathe in the fresh air. The scent of pine and soil, still wet from the sudden rainstorm after yesterday’s practice, fills my lungs and helps settle the frazzled state of my soul.
My body aches. My right arm is so tight from practice that it feels like it might snap like a recoiled rubber band. I work my shoulder in small circles like the physical therapist taught me, ignoring the scream of my muscles and the fire that bites down my spine.
I stop moving to catch my breath.
“Sorry about that,” Scott says. “It’s good to hear from you, Cole.”
Right. Scott Canelo is full of shit. There’s no way it’s good to hear from me after our last conversation ended in a standoff. His frustration with the perceived lack of cooperation on my end makes him feel like I don’t take the process seriously and that I don’t appreciate his hard work. But I do.
Scott works his ass off to secure me postcareer opportunities. I absolutely respect his efforts and am grateful to have him on my side, even if my actions don’t always match my appreciation.
“I just wanted to check in with you and see how things are going,” I say, breaking the ice. It seems a better way to start the conversation than admitting that my feelings haven’t changed and I still need time.
“Things are looking good here,” he says. “We still have the streaming opportunity on deck. The network sent a proposal over this morning, but I don’t think my secretary has forwarded it to you yet.”
“I haven’t checked my email since this morning, but I didn’t see it.”