Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

I contemplate deleting his message without reading, but in the end, I flip it open.

“Son, you keep ignoring me. Why won’t you answer? If it stays like this, I must find another way to make you listen to me. Dad.”

After years of absence, after all he has done to Mom and to me… How can he even wonder why?

Make you…

Those two words speed up the bloodstream to my temples, and tiny luminous dots flash in front of my eyes. My fingers tighten on the windowsill, and a small cracking sound reaches my ear.

I blink down at the small hole beneath my thumb.

Did I just do this?

My white knuckles and the piece of wood in my palm are unmistakable signs. I exhale loudly and hurriedly wedge the chunk back into place, but it doesn’t stick.

I take a step back and observe the sill. The gap isn’t big, perhaps not even noticeable. It was likely already corroded. That’s why it gave way when I squeezed it. I hide the splinter inside my palm and slip it into my pocket.

Whooshing steps echo behind me, and Ellie’s soprano chirps, “Ready to talk?”

Her voice has got the quality of cold Gatorade after a soul-crushing workout—soothing and reinvigorating at the same time. Or at least, that’s the effect it has on me. The one it always had.

My shame about disfiguring the window dissipates from my chest, and a slight buzz takes its place as I turn to face her.

Ellie strolls toward me with a tight-lipped expression. “Why did you decide to work with me?”

Ellie is a good head shorter than me, but the way her green eyes throw daggers at me makes me feel like she could burn me to a crisp with her stare.

I shift my weight. “Because you’re a huge NFL fan?”

Ellie blushes but doesn’t flinch at my banter. “It was a fib, and we both know it. I wanted to convince my boss to give me this case. But that was before I knew you were the client.”

My throat prickles. “I didn’t mean to cause you dismay.”

“Dismay? Don’t worry, I’m not upset.” Ellie crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I just know that our history isn’t the best foundation for a successful therapy.”

I search her gaze.

She meets my eyes with a challenging glare. One that makes me immediately regret the dismissive way I spoke about our relationship during the meeting.

I rub my neck. “I said our past wouldn’t be an issue because I didn’t want my agent or your boss to know that—”

Ellie puts up a hand. “No need to apologize. We dated for a month, that’s all.”

She doesn’t blink and her hands are dead-quiet. Ellie used to be fidgety when concealing something. “I can’t tell if you mean it,” I mumble, taken aback. “The Ellie I knew always wore her heart on her sleeve.”

Ellie purses her lips and shoots me an enigmatic glance. “Time has passed. I grew up.”

Now she’s telling the truth.

The white coat she wears above her purple top and the grey pencil skirt can’t hide how her curves have matured into an even more enticing package. Also, she might have the same cheeky freckles and green eyes as the girl whose lips I worshipped, but her gaze has gained an undecipherable depth.

My eyes zoom in on a thin silver necklace from Tiffany’s I’ve never seen before.

Who gave it to her? Does she have a boyfriend?

Ellie starts drumming with her thumb on the tips of her fingers.

A smile makes its way to my lips.

Finally, something I know.

“What are you grinning about?” she asks with a suspicious frown.

I point at her fingers. “I’m just comforted to know that not everything has changed. You still do this when you’re jittery.”

Ellie drops her arms to her side. “I’m not jittery, just biding my time while you’re musing.”

Touché.

“If you think we shouldn’t work together, why didn’t you speak up during our meeting?” I ask.

“I couldn’t, not after you agreed to my boss’s idea.” Ellie shakes her head. “She’s never granted me an opportunity like this before. And even now, she only did it to avoid missing out on your kind.”

“My kind?” My brows lift.

Ellie’s nose wrinkles and the freckles jump into a wild dance, designating patterns I still know too well. “Football players. My boss hopes you’ll encourage your troubled colleagues in the various teams to use our services after you finish your treatment.”

I click my tongue. “I see.”

“I couldn’t refuse your case, not unless I was ready to quit my job. And I’m not.” Ellie lifts her chin with so much sass that I can’t help but give her a bemused smirk. Her next phrase, however, wipes the smile off my face. “But you, you could have easily backed out once you learned I’d be your therapist. Why didn’t you tell your agent to find you another clinic? And don’t tell me it’s because you trust my football know-how.”

Because I want the chance to make up with you. 

I swallow this first reason and recite only my second one. “Because my job is on the line, too. Haven’t you wondered why I need a therapist on such short notice? My head coach made therapy a condition for me to play in the new season.”

I narrate the events that led me to Coach Fielding’s ultimatum.

Her brows lift higher and higher as she listens. Once I finish, she asks, “What did that wide receiver say to you exactly?”

“He said I had happy feet.”

Ellie furrows her brows. “That doesn’t sound that offending to me.”

I shake my head. “Foul-mouthing about a quarterback’s footwork is a serious insult, believe me.”

“Was it the worst remark you’ve ever received during your entire career?”

“No, of course not. Cussing is a low-road strategy some players use to distract their opponents. I’ve been told all kinds of things during a game. Even stuff I wouldn’t care to repeat.”

Ellie sniffs and throws a meaningful glance at me. “So then what was different about this one? Did you have an ongoing war with this teammate?”

I shake