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

Cora’s face tenses as if she just really realized she spoke loud enough for us to hear. She clears her throat. “Yeah, I did. But only for a short time.”

Laia opens her mouth, but I shake my head at her.

Cora hates direct questions that relate to her past. The little we know about our friend’s childhood—which she must’ve spent in challenging circumstances—is through piecing together her fragmented remarks. It’s extremely rare for her to share any details about how she grew up—especially positive memories.

Laia takes my hint and turns her question into a sigh. “Ah, to be young and not have to think about what we eat, right?”

Devon returns. “Pete’s looking for a parking spot. He said he’s got a surprise for us. I wonder what it’ll be,” he says, sitting down.

“A girlfriend, maybe?” Laia offers with dreamy eyes.

I wave. “I doubt that we’ll meet Pete’s soulmate tonight.”

Devon squeezes Laia’s hand. “I think Ellie is right. Pete’s still a dog with two tails in his singlehood. But you’re a die-hard romantic, honey, and that’s just one thing I love about you.”

I catch Cora and Hope ogling my brother and Laia with a certain longing in their eyes.

In Cora’s case, I’m less surprised. Her boyfriend, Andrew, isn’t particularly forthcoming about his emotions—if he has any, that is. He’s been together with Cora for over a year, but I’ve never heard him laugh or even chuckle during that time. Cora claims that his work makes him serious—he owns an accounting firm. It might be the case that Andrew carries his job into his private life because he always dresses in a suit and tie from the monochromatic land of gray—alternating only between ash and mouse-like hues—even for a casual Sunday barbecue.

But Hope’s reaction puzzles me a little. Maybe her relationship with Mitch isn’t as gleeful as she wants us to believe?

Before I can think further about this, Laia turns to me, and her eyes pull into two curvy lines as her cheekbones lift. “While we wait for Pete, tell us how your pitch went. I’d like all the details—who you’re coaching, what you said to Stephanie, and how she reacted?”

“Can we start with the who part?” Cora takes a sip from her chilled white wine—strictly Chardonnay, the only kind she’d ever order—then gives me an expectant glance. “Until now, you only said it’s a guy in his thirties. That’s not much. Is he rich?”

Hope clicks her tongue. “Most importantly, is he handsome?”

When my friends didn’t ask me specifics after my announcement, I hoped to skip their questions about my client altogether. Looks like I counted my chickens too soon.

“He’s…well, he’s—” I stutter then pause.

Why did I admit I was treating a young man? I should’ve just lied and said my new case was an elderly housewife.

I throw a slanted glance at my brother.

No, that fib wouldn’t have worked. I have to count myself lucky that my brother didn’t mention the gibberish I told him about Wyatt on the phone.

While I look for a piece of information I can share, I adjust the basket of tortilla chips so that it sits at a perfect angle with our table’s edges and pull the dip into the geometrical middle. I shove Cora’s coaster into a straight line with mine.

Cora throws me a suspicious glance. “He’s what, Ellie? And why are you so uneasy when speaking about him?

“Girls…” Devon leans back on the comfy leather chair that Diego recently bought to complement his hacienda-style tables. “Ellie’s tense because she signed a confidentiality agreement and answering your questions would make her breach that.”

“Yes, indeed.” I give my brother a grateful smile and nod. “My lips are officially sealed, sorry.”

To be honest, it’s not just the legal consequences that prevent me from revealing Wyatt’s identity.

If my brother and my friends learn that I’ve accepted to do therapy with Wyatt—while openly avoiding his company for years—their curiosity will be tickled, to say the least. And their questions might stir up topics I prefer to keep untouched.

“We don’t want you to break the rules,” Laia says. “Just let us guess what he does for a living. We ask, and you only have to nod.”

“Is he a hotshot attorney?” Cora chimes in.

Hope taps her palm on the table. “Why would that be the first profession that comes to your mind? Lawyers don’t need anger management.” She strains her voice to sound furious and wrinkles her forehead exaggeratedly.

Everyone laughs.

After I catch my breath, I say, “He’s not a lawyer. And stop speculating.”

Cora pokes me between my ribs. “Just one last attempt. If not a legal eagle, then a business owner…perhaps…a CEO?”

“Did I mention that I’ve got a date for Sunday?” I throw in a distraction.

I’m not keen on gossiping about the handsome doctor who asked me out, but I’m tired of repeating that I’ve got nothing to share about my mystery client’s identity—and certainly not that he’s the skeleton in my soul’s closet that I never wished to dig out.

“You’ve got a date?” Hope’s brows jump up.

I try to not feel insulted by her bewildered undertone. “Yes, his name is Bill. He’s the department head in my clinic.”

“Ah, a successful doctor, very good.” Cora smiles approvingly.

I knew she’d like Bill just based on his financially rewarding career path. Once, in the heat of an argument with Hope, we managed to learn that Cora used to live in a crummy trailer park as a kid, so I guess her focus on the economic stability of her partner is understandable.

Laia leans forward. “How’s this Bill? Tell us more.”

Before I can, my brother exclaims, “Look, Pete’s arrived. And, no…I can’t believe this!” He jumps up, a ridiculously big smile stretching on his face and dashes forward.

An alarm goes off in my mind, and my stomach grows rigid.

I turn my torso, the chair creaking from my jerky movement. Its caterwaul is in sync with the inner shriek reverberating in my mind.

No, he didn’t! 

But apparently, he did…

My brother only reserves this outburst of joy for a few people.

His family.

Laia.

And his best friends…

It’s not