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

indication, at least a good forty minutes must have passed since I hit Send on Wyatt’s closing report.

My breathing’s even, but I know it isn’t a sign of serenity, and rather a manifestation of the hollowness yawning in my ribcage.

I tried to do justice to Wyatt’s incredible progress with my words, and I think I succeeded. His coaches won’t have any other choice but to allow Wyatt to participate in the training camp and next season’s games.

I’m glad I could do this for him.

Still, writing up the details of Wyatt’s mental and emotional metamorphosis drained me because I relived every session not only as a therapist but as a woman in love. Perhaps hiding my devotion so it wouldn’t come across on the page was the most challenging part of all.

I sigh and reach for the mouse to close the mailing app and log out of the clinic’s system.

A few clicks and the screen goes dark. The black color is more gloomy than ever, like a shadowy night sky without stars.

A squeaking “Ah, how adorable!” seeps in from the corridor, tearing me from my somber mood.

My eyes dart to the calendar on my boss’s table. Shoot, it’s Thursday. Another quick peek at my watch confirms that it’s past three, which means it’s time for Stephanie to arrive. She scheduled an informal unit meeting to introduce us to her baby boy.

I push back the chair, jump up, and comb my fingers through my curls while sprinting to the door.

There’s a small crowd in the communal room. I rush to the door and push my way through the chatting people.

Wearing a red wrap dress and perhaps looking slimmer than she did before getting pregnant, Stephanie stands beside an empty designer stroller, prattling with Henriette.

After Laia had sent me the baby shower list for her cousin, Eva, I’d gained some insight and knowledge of baby brands. I recognize the model as the newest release from the fancy Norwegian company, Stokke.

“After I got discharged, I went on the same diet as Gisele Bündchen,” Stephanie explains to Bill’s assistant with a confident smirk. “That’s how I dropped the weight so fast. It’s undoubtedly a miracle plan.”

“Wow,” Henriette moans admiringly, and her hand moves to her own curvy hips. “Maybe I should try it, too. But I heard it doesn’t allow coffee. Of course, you wouldn’t drink that anyway while you’re nursing.”

My boss’s face moves into a horrified grimace. “Ah, no. We went straight to formula so Frankie could take over the night duty.” She points at her husband, who, to be fair, looks much more like I’d imagine a parent of a newborn to appear—like a truck just ran over him.

He’s rocking their baby in his arms, accompanying the movement with short squats while he chats with Bill.

Though I’d much rather admire the chubby Frank Jr. with his adorable blond curls on top of his tiny head, I don’t want to approach Bill. He’s been a good sport about my decision to stay just colleagues—he even reiterated his offer to cure me with hypnosis—but there’s still an odd uneasiness between us.

Instead, I step over to Stephanie and Henriette to join the discussion on “how to drop thirty pounds in a day.”

As soon as my boss notices me, her eyes light up. She puts one freshly manicured hand on her chic stroller’s pale-blue canopy and one to her chest. “Ah, Ellie, here you are.”

“Here I am,” I say while trying to decipher whether my boss had time to read my closing report about Wyatt yet.

Her cherry-painted lips are pulled into a genuine smile, which might indicate that she hasn’t downloaded her emails today and therefore isn’t aware that Wyatt’s therapy ended earlier than planned.

My boss nods, then turns to Henriette. “Could you watch out to make sure nobody approaches our stroller? Especially with tinted beverages. Poor Frankie had to scrub the fabric for hours yesterday after some lady in the park dropped her coffee right beside us.”

Henriette’s eyes widen. “Of course, but…why? Are you going somewhere?”

Stephanie puts a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, Ellie and I are going to step out for a second.”

My stomach tightens.

Jeez, I must have misinterpreted her expression.

I don’t even count my steps as we shuffle to the corridor.

It’s not luck I need for this conversation to go well, it’s self-confidence.

And I have that now, don’t I?

I might not have wanted to end Wyatt’s treatment so soon, but I’m confident he’s reached a better and more emotionally stable place in the short time we worked together. So I’ll stand my ground when Stephanie bullies me about my decision to sign off on him too early.

We reach the corridor then continue to my boss’s office.

As soon as we step inside, Stephanie raises her chin and sniffs. “Why does it smell different in here? So…clean and…plain?”

Oops.

I hurry toward the cupboard where I’d stashed my boss’s Spanish air-freshener after my first session with Wyatt. I remember the jolt Wyatt’s hot breath inflicted on my skin when he helped me open the window.

“I put your perfume bottle away because I aired the room just before coming over to see Frank Jr. I didn’t want it to break with a gush of wind,” I blabber while pulling out the glass container filled with the nauseatingly powdery fragrance and place it on its usual spot.

When I turn, Stephanie is at her desk. She leans her hips against it and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “So… I received an interesting call regarding Mr. Harrison just as we were heading over to the clinic.”

Her eyes move to my face.

Maybe it’s the new eye-shadow she’s smeared on which is darker than what she usually wears, or the realization that Wyatt’s agent must have called my boss to confirm she was all right with me releasing a closing report after only one and half weeks of therapy, but my belly knots.

“What did Mr. Nelson tell you exactly?” I ask, inching closer to her.

Stephanie’s lips twitch. “It wasn’t him who called. I