CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 by Chance, Jacob (digital e reader TXT) 📕

“You could wear only a trash bag and it wouldn’t look plain.”

“So you’re saying you like my legs.” I wink.

“Meh, I’ve seen better.”

What? “Who has better legs?” I ask, and she shrugs. “Who?” Now I’m getting slightly annoyed, and I really want to know who she’s referring to.

“Levi has some killer thighs,” she states, clicking her tongue appreciatively.

What the fuck?

“My legs are bigger than his,” I say, defending my thighs like she personally insulted them. But by complimenting Levi’s thighs she basically did.

She arches an eyebrow. “Bigger doesn’t mean better.”

“Well, I work out with the guy and he can’t press half the weight I can with my legs.”

“Your legs aren’t the only thing oversized,” she says, snorting. “Your ego needs to cut some weight.”

“My ego is healthy and my legs are perfectly in proportion with the rest of me. If you know what I mean.” I poke her arm with my elbow and she shoos it away with a wave of her hand like it’s a buzzing fly.

“Here are some pants that might work for you.” She heads to the side of the main aisle and I follow.

Bending my elbows, I pump my arms and lean my head from side to side as I walk. If I’m going to suffer through clothes shopping, I’m damn well going to amuse myself.

Nadia stops between racks of clothes and throws a questioning glance at me. “What are you doing?”

“My imitation of a dutiful boyfriend.”

She presses her lips together, and I can tell she’s fighting hard not to laugh. “Can you walk normally please?”

“What’s normal? You mean like this?” I do the robot and slowly move forward.

“Flynn.” She calls my name and I freeze in place. “Flynn, come on. That’s not what I meant.”

I straighten up slowly, still in robot mode. “Flynn,” she barks my name, her exasperation clear.

“Okay,” I agree. I can’t piss her off too much. She is helping me. “I’ll behave… for now. If you take too long shopping, though, I can’t be held accountable for what happens.”

My threat must scare Nadia, because next thing I know, my arms are full of clothes and she’s shoving me into the dressing room. Peering over my shoulder, I whisper, “Ever had dressing room sex?” She rolls her eyes. “We can save that for another time,” I say. “I’ll try these on quick so we can get out of here.”

“Try them on in the order I stacked them and show me what they look like.”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am.” Disappearing into the first room, I drop the pile of clothes on the empty chair in the corner and get down to business. With the amount of clothing Nadia picked out, this is going to take longer than I planned. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited her. But then I think about how many times she’s already made me laugh and how much more fun this has been because she’s with me, and I know I made the right decision. The more time we spend together, the quicker she’ll become comfortable with being seen with me. That will make our relationship look all the more convincing.

8

Nadia

“How’s this look?” Flynn walks out wearing a pair of khakis and a navy blue sweater that hugs his broad shoulders. He makes an average outfit look anything but.

“That looks great.”

“We live in South Carolina, when am I ever going to wear a sweater?”

“It’s November, the temperature is cooling off. Put it in the buy pile,” I say.

He smiles. “Don’t you need to see the back side before you make a decision?” He turns around and pauses for too long before retracing his steps to the dressing room. He darts his head out. “Do the khakis make my ass look fat?”

I can’t hold in my giggle. “No. Now go try on the next outfit.” I shake my head at his ridiculousness, but deep down, I enjoy his ability to lose himself in the moment—which helps me do the same.

While I was growing up, there was plenty of love in the Patel household, but there wasn't a lot of time spent being silly. Sometimes in life, you need some levity, and Flynn provides that in spades.

He struts out grimacing. “Another sweater?”

“Yeah. What’s your deal with sweaters? Why do you dislike them?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’ve never liked them.” He rolls his shoulders. “I feel too confined.”

“Well, you look great in them, so suck it up and add it to the buy pile.”

“You’re pretty bossy,” he tells me, and I usher him forward with a wave of my hand.

I patiently wait as he tries on the rest of the clothes. Everything fits like they were personally tailored for him, and by the end of his amateur fashion show I’m more aware than ever what a fine looking specimen he is.

As if I needed reminding.

* * *

“Signing all those autographs for those teenagers was really nice of you,” I say, leaning my forearms on the table.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Flynn, it was a whole team’s worth of kids.”

“I couldn’t really sign one or two and say no to the rest. That would’ve been an asshole thing to do.”

“There are plenty of professional athletes who don’t care what other people think,” I reply.

“I remember what it was like to be that age.”

Glancing around the bright sandwich shop, I take in all the framed pictures of well known Charleston sights on the wall. This isn’t the kind of place I imagined Flynn eating at.

“What are you thinking about?” he questions.

“I’m surprised you’re a regular here.”

His dark brows lift. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I imagined your taste in dining being more refined.”

“Really?” he asks, letting out a quick laugh, and I nod. “What about me says five star dining?”

“I don't know, exactly. I guess I assumed you like attention and would eat at places where you’d be treated like a celebrity.”

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate a five star dining experience from time to